Chapter 27
Kabir
Full access to Decker’s home office has been a godsend this week. I’ve made camp here for the last forty-eight hours, only vacating the space to use the bathroom and eat a few quick meals.
There’s work to be done. There’s always more to do.
That’s what I’m telling myself.
My desire to hide away has nothing to do with Hunter’s declaration or my deplorable reaction to her proposal.
I am ashamed of myself for losing my cool not once, but twice within the context of the conversation. Nevertheless, my feelings remain unchanged.
We are at an impasse; I am on one side, while my entire cohort is on the other. I don’t trust myself to not lash out again should we revisit the topic anytime soon.
Three curt knocks on the partially open door pull my attention from the memo I’m drafting for the South Carolina Cougars front office. The merchandising ideas for the upcoming season are cheap and tacky. They have another think coming if they want me to sign off on these concepts.
After waiting the socially acceptable amount of time, Kylian enters. He closes the door behind him, then steps forward without preamble, hovering in front of the executive desk.
When I lift my gaze, he wastes no time.
“The armadillo idea is DOA. Jo is too fond of the creature. I can’t risk it.”
I stifle a laugh. I assumed it would be more of a hassle than it was worth to attempt to inflict leprosy on Magnolia. The diagnosis and antidote would likely come too quickly for it to be truly debilitating.
“Very well,” I say, turning back to my computer. “Back to plan B.”
Rather than take his leave, Kylian remains planted in front of the desk.
I take a cleansing breath, tamping down on my agitation, and remind myself that he is not privy to the issues I’m facing and therefore does not deserve the misplaced anger I’d very much like to unleash.
“Is there something else?”
He pulls up a chair and takes a seat.
Bloody hell.
I don’t have the time or bandwidth for small talk.
But then I remember who I’m dealing with. In true Kylian fashion, he doesn’t rely on the social modality, instead barreling forward with his agenda.
“You aren’t with your cohort.” Eyes narrowed, he scrutinizes me from behind the lenses of his glasses. “Haven’t been for the last two days.”
“And?” I press. I’m not interested in his general observations. If he has a question, he needs to come out with it already.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
My instinct is to shout no. To shut down and send him away. But I force myself to exhale, lean back in my chair, and, fingers steepled, consider his question.
Finally, I settle on sharing. Perhaps an external opinion will help me navigate the possibilities of what to do next.
“My cohort and I, we are in disagreement about how to proceed with a sensitive matter.”
“You against them?”
Nodding, I shove down the frustration and betrayal that flare when I consider just how alone I am in this situation.
“Before we continue conversing, I need to know: would you prefer I listen without comment or ask questions as I see fit?”
I smirk. I very much value Kylian’s genius-level hacking abilities and general intensity.
His candor, though, never ceases to surprise and impress me.
The world would operate in a much more efficient, productive way if everyone communicated the way he does.
More Kylian Walshes in the world would be a very good thing, indeed.
“Please feel free to ask questions. The challenge may be of benefit to me.”
When he nods and settles in, I launch into my story.
I tell him about how Hunter and I met and how we fell in lust. Though the way she fell apart is crucial to my explanation, I gloss over the most intimate details of her breakdown—those will only ever stay with me.
I’m the keeper of her darkness, the holder of her lowest lows.
I do share about how we fell in love as she found herself once more and admit that there isn’t a version of her I don’t love with every ounce of who I am.
Once he has all that information, I breach the heart of the issue.
“Three years ago, I underwent a voluntary vasectomy so she would never have to stress about unintended outcomes of any of our encounters. Now, she wants to get pregnant.”
Kylian’s eyebrows raise above the frames of his glasses. He still hasn’t commented, despite my desire for him to do so.
Eager for his input and frustrated to have not received it, I continue.
“This request is not because she seeks a temporary solution to our problem. I see the yearning. I know her heart. Getting pregnant now would give her the opportunity to rewrite her story. The chance to carry a child to term. To chart a new path in her subconscious, to redefine what it means to be a mother. I get it. I understand where she’s coming from.
And yet… I just can’t bring myself to get on board, given my personal situation. ”
He tilts his head from side to side, considering me. “Did she ask you to get a vasectomy?”
“No.”
Deadpan, he asks, “Do you make it a habit of making life-altering decisions on your own?”
With a grunt, I push back and stand. Yes, I did this to myself. My past decisions have come back to haunt me. I have no one to blame but myself.
I pace the length of my desk, then pivot and backtrack.
“Vasectomies are reversible.” I pop the top button of my Oxford, and when I still feel like I can’t breathe, I work the next one free.
“I knew that if and when we wanted to try for a child, I could have a vasovasostomy and restore my ability to procreate.”
“Noted.” Kylian watches me pace, silent once more.
Anger bubbles in my veins. “Don’t you see, mate? There’s no time. She sprung this on me—on all of us—but there’s no bloody time to undergo a reversal before the next full moon, let alone recover and confirm the surgery was a success.”
Kylian continues to watch me pace, his intense scrutiny unnerving. Minutes pass before I finally break, desperate for him to give me something.
“Well?” I snap, my temper getting the best of me.
He holds up one finger. “Still processing.” With those two simple words, he proceeds to sit in silence once again.
Over the next few minutes, my traitorous mood settles. I almost never lose my cool, but agitation and anger have been my default settings since the moment Hunter made her declaration.
Finally, once I’ve eased back into my chair and my temper has flatlined, Kylian leans forward in his seat. With a tip of his chin, he asks, “What would happen if you were in control?”
I gape. “What sort of question is that?”
“The sort that Jo asks me when I’m spiraling. Decker, too.”
Fine. I’ll play.
Closing my eyes, I hold tight to the modicum of peace I just mustered.
“If I was in control, I’d tell her to be patient.
That her mother won’t be a threat much longer.
That once Magnolia is eliminated, if she still wants to get pregnant, we can try.
” Then, though it takes all the strength I have to utter the words, to allow myself to be this vulnerable, I add, “I’d ask her to wait for me. ”
Kylian dips his chin in one succinct nod. “What I’m hearing is that you’re concerned she’s making a desperate choice and that, from a personal stance, unexpected emotions about not participating in the group procreation sessions have risen.”
I scoff. “I would be participating fully in all group procreation sessions, despite my contributions’ inability to garner the desired result.
As for the desperation…” I rough a hand over my jaw.
“I’m not sure. I believe her desire is genuine.
She’s smart, and she’s self-assured and confident in her choices.
But she makes hasty decisions, and they’re typically grandiose and definitive. ”
“Was that how this was presented? That she had decided, and that was that?”
With a sigh, I shake my head. “No. She brought the idea to all of us. Her intended timeline is informed by her upcoming fertility window and by the intensity and depth of her longing.”
“So it’s not a hasty decision, but rather a situation that requires haste.”
I scrub one hand down my face. “If I never hear the word ‘hasty’ again, I’ll die a happy man.”
Brows knitted, Kylian cocks his head. “What an odd thing to say.” He shrugs, then continues. “So the only outstanding issue now is that you can’t contribute fertilizer the way the others in your cohort can.”
I drop back into my chair with a huff. This isn’t helping. Nothing he’s said has brought any semblance of calmness or given me any control over the situation.
“Are you going to be with her forever?” Kylian asks.
I scoff. If that isn’t the most ridiculous question. “Yes.”
“Do you expect the others to be with her forever as well?”
“Yes,” I repeat without hesitation. “The five of us… we’re endgame.”
“Do you all want to sire children?”
Based on the enthusiasm expressed by the others when Hunter brought this up, yes. That does not soothe my defensiveness, though.
“Why does that matter?” I demand.
“Statistically speaking, the sequence of deposit, followed by motility and morphology of the specimen, are the greatest factors that will determine the paternity of a child.”
“Meaning?” I press my fingers into my closed eyes.
“Even if you were fertile, there are four of you. Assuming everyone wants a shot—no pun intended; I don’t do puns—the order in which deposits are made will likely determine the paternity of the baby.”
I let this new information percolate. He’s right. Regardless of whether we all want our “shot,” only one man’s sperm will be responsible for fertilizing the egg.
“Additionally, camera footage shows you’ve used the lower-level hot tub liberally since taking up residence here. That greatly impacts fertility, although the effects are short term.”
My heart lurches. “You’ve got surveillance cameras on the hot tub?” I hadn’t noticed them. Hadn’t even considered it when Greedy and I played with Levi a few days ago.
Bollocks.