Page 66 of When I Should’ve Stayed (Red Bridge #2)

Josie

I run, as fast as my feet can take me, and they end up leading me into Bennett’s barn.

Tears are a river down my cheeks when I reach the still-open doors.

The lights are on, and I don’t stop until I’m inside, standing beside the large mirror that Norah and I stood in front of just before she walked down the aisle.

Our smiles were tearstained, and we’d laughed about how ridiculous we were being, and I’d hugged my sister so tight, telling her how happy I was for her.

My tears were filled with joy and happiness, but they were bittersweet too. Years ago, when Grandma Rose was still alive, I imagined a wedding just like this, in front of family and friends and with Clay standing at the altar.

“Josie!” Clay calls out as he jogs into the barn, hot on my heels.

“What do you mean by that? Kept right on living?” he questions, and anger and confusion and sadness, so much sadness, etch every line of his handsome face.

This man has been put through the wringer…

because of me. I know this to be true, and I hate myself for it.

I hate myself for all the things I should’ve told him but didn’t have the strength to.

He’s right behind me now, his eyes staring at me in the reflection in the mirror. When I don’t say anything, he keeps asking questions, determined to get answers once and for all.

“Are you talking about Rose? The accident? What the fuck do you mean by that?” He’s angry, and he has every right to be. I’ve kept him so far in the dark that he couldn’t find his way out of this if he tried.

This battle he thinks he’s fighting is a lost cause. It’s worthless. Just like me.

“Clay, just stop,” I say, my voice a near whisper, and my heart is pounding so erratically inside my chest that I can hardly hear the words when they leave my lips. “Just stop. Just let it go. Just walk away.”

“Walk away?” he shouts. “You think I’m going to walk away? I don’t think so, Josie. Walking away from you that day you handed me divorce papers is the biggest regret of my life. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve fought for you. I should’ve fought for us.”

I don’t say anything. I can’t say anything.

He places two hands to turn me around to face him, to lock our eyes together.

I hate that tears are still streaming down my cheeks, but I can’t help it.

I’m powerless against them. All the tragedy and pain and tragic misfortune of our past are hovering over us like a thunderstorm, and I feel lucky that I can even breathe at this point.

That I can even stand on my own two feet.

Clay is talking about all of this like it’s a straightforward thing, but it is all so loaded that I fear any second the trigger will get pulled.

“Josie, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.

Tell me why everything ended up here,” he whispers, and I don’t miss the way his voice shakes.

“Please, tell me the truth. Finally tell me the truth about why you wanted the divorce. Tell me why I’ve spent the last five years having to live without you.

Tell me why every time we kiss, I can still feel how much you love me,” he says, and his voice is rising with frustration and desperation.

“Fucking tell me why the other night you told me you wanted me and needed me and loved me and why in the fuck having sex without a condom didn’t matter to you if you had no plans of getting back together! ”

Bang. His words are my official undoing.

“We’re not together because the day we got into that accident, I was pregnant!

I was pregnant, and I didn’t tell you! I was going to tell you, but then everything happened, and I lost the baby, Clay!

” I scream at the top of my lungs. The truth flies out into the open and takes up all of the space in the room.

“Because I was too busy arguing with you about telling everyone at dinner that we were married and wasn’t paying enough attention, we got in an accident that almost killed you, and I lost our baby, Clay! ”

“Josie.” His breath comes out in a harsh whoosh, as if my words just stole all the oxygen from his lungs.

“The miscarriage…” I whisper. “And complications from the accident. It caused ovarian torsion. I…I can’t have kids.” I just stand there, tears still running, and let the information soak into his mind.

“Josie,” he whispers my name again, and he reaches for my hand, but I can’t fathom his touch right now.

It feels like it’ll shatter me. “I’m so sorry, Josie.

I’m so sorry you went through that all by yourself.

” He is crying now. “I…I can’t fucking believe you’ve been carrying all this for all this time by yourself. ”

“Stop, Clay. Just stop.” I’m breaking down. Fat, thick tears consume my face. “I ruined everything. That’s why we got a divorce. Because I ruined everything.”

“It’s not your fault, Josie,” he says. “The accident. It wasn’t your fault.” I cry harder, and he just keeps saying it over and over. “It wasn’t your fault, Josie. It wasn’t your fault.”

His reaction is the opposite of what I’ve always expected. And it crumbles any resolve I have left. It forced open the wounds of my past, and I can’t keep it all locked up inside me anymore.

“The condom didn’t matter because I can’t have kids, Clay,” I repeat, saying it as much for myself as it is for him.

I need something, anything, to put myself back at a distance.

It doesn’t work. “I should’ve gone to the doctor sooner, but I didn’t.

I waited. I waited too long.” I have to stop when more sobs bubble up through my throat, and Clay steps forward to place a hand on my back. I let him this time.

My knees buckle, and Clay helps me sit down in one of the chairs by the mirror. Memories of my follow-up appointment with Dr. Norrows race around in my head. I was in a lot of pain that day, but I figured it was because I was still actively miscarrying. Still actively bleeding.

In reality, I was in the middle of a medical emergency.

I had to have emergency laparoscopic surgery because cysts on my ovaries had caused them to twist in on themselves.

Dr. Norrows had said it was common to get ovarian cysts during pregnancy, but it was usually just one ovary and they usually resolve on their own.

But I am one of those very rare few who had cysts on both ovaries that didn’t resolve and ended up progressing into a condition called ovarian torsion.

My left ovary was removed, and my right ovary wasn’t in great shape. Dr. Norrows said the odds of me having kids after that were highly unlikely.

“The doctor had to remove one of my ovaries, and the other one that’s left won’t be able to release eggs anymore.

” I don’t sugarcoat it like Dr. Norrows did all those years ago after the surgery.

I don’t tell him that I could try to do IVF with someone else’s egg but there’s no guarantee, and also, because it’s not something I would ever want to do.

I don’t tell him any of that because the last thing he needs to hear is that there is this tiny glimmer of hope that it’s possible.

Because where would that leave us? Him holding on to some minuscule shred of hope that I can have babies?

“I can’t have kids, Clay,” I whisper. “I can’t have kids. ”

“Josie, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry,” he says, sadness in his voice and tears still in his eyes.

He lifts me back to my feet and wraps his arms around me, hugging me tightly to his chest. “You should have told me. You shouldn’t have carried this by yourself.

You shouldn’t have carried any of this by yourself. ”

Hearing him say that hurts. Because if he’s not angry and he’s not sure he wants kids and he still loves me…it was all for nothing.

I hug him tightly. I love this man. I’ve always loved this man. That was never the issue.

He leans back to meet my eyes, and when he moves his mouth to mine, I accept his kiss without hesitation. It’s masochistic to allow myself to have this moment that I know I’ll spend the rest of my life thinking about. But I can’t stop it.

I need to kiss him. I need to feel his lips on mine.

Hard and without anything holding me back, I dance my tongue with his and slide my hands into his hair, and I swallow down every single one of his greedy, desperate groans.

“I love you,” he whispers against my lips. “I love you so fucking much, Josie.”

I love you too, but it’s not enough.

When things become too intense, too passionate, and every cell inside my body wants to crawl inside him, I know I have to end this. I have to finally let go.

I pull away from his embrace, tears already in my eyes. Both of our breaths are panting and erratic, and I keep my eyes locked on the ground as I try to pull myself together. My heart never stops pounding furiously in my chest, like the damn thing is angry, so damn angry, for what I’m about to do.

But I do it anyway.

“I love you, Clay. I’ve always loved you,” I say and force myself to meet his gaze. Force myself to stare into his beautiful eyes one last time. “But I’m sorry. I’ll always be sorry. This is just how it has to be.”