Chapter 16 This Is How You Fall Apart Cara
Twenty-nine months ago
“DID YOU BUY A BACKUP, Mrs. Brodie?”
“Did I—” I let a cackle fly free as my back hits the wall in the bathroom, Emmett’s mouth on my neck, his hands on my ass. “No, Mr. Brodie, I did not buy a backup. Do you have any idea how much this wedding dress cost?”
“No.” He licks a line up my neck. “We’re rich. Buy another.”
“I like this one.”
“So do I. Love to see you in it again.” He hoists me onto the counter, the sounds of our wedding reception roaring just beyond the door, and slips his hands beneath the slit in my dress. “But I’m gonna destroy this one in about twenty seconds, give or take.”
“Try it, and I’ll detach your cock from your body.”
He grins, bunching my dress at my hips. “There’s my feisty girl,” he murmurs and spreads my legs wide, whimpering when he finds the surprise I left for him: no panties.
He sinks two fingers inside me and presses his next words to my ear.
“Fuck, firefly. All I wanna do is fill this cunt up with my cum, watch it drip out before I fuck it back into you.”
I moan, rolling my hips, grinding my clit against the heel of his hand. “Sounds like a good way to wind up pregnant.”
His fingers disappear, and I’m about to cry about it, but then I see the smirk on his face, devious and determined. He swipes the head of his cock through my soaked pussy and wraps his free hand around my throat. “Only one way to find out.”
Twenty-eight months ago
“Imagine, pregnant on the first try?” I grin, swinging my legs from the bathroom counter as we wait for the timer on my phone. “If anybody could do it, it’d be us.”
“Please.” Emmett cups his balls and points to my lower half. “My boys and your uterus? In a heartbeat.”
My giggle is interrupted by the blare of the timer, and I leap off the counter. “I’m so excited. You look! I can’t!”
“Let’s look together.” Emmett winds an arm around my waist, tugging me into his side. “Ready?”
I nod. He flips over the test.
“Aw, shit.” I frown, hands on my hips as I stare down at the single line. “Well, good try, bud.” I hold up my hand and Emmett slaps it, followed by my ass when I turn and head out the door.
“We’ll get ’em next time.”
Twenty-seven months ago
“Imagine Ollie and I pregnant at the same time?”
“Literally no.” Emmett shakes his head, eyes wide with fear. “I’m scared of both of you as is. We all are. I don’t know if we can handle it.”
“But imagine the kids growing up together? They’ll be best friends!”
The timer buzzes, and I grin at Emmett as I flip over the test. “Oh, come on!” I throw my hands in the air before poking Emmett in the stomach. “You got lucky this time.”
He catches me as I turn around, throwing me over his shoulder before he dashes for the bed, throwing me down on it and stripping off his shirt. “Wanna try again?”
Twenty-six months ago
“I read online that the average couple gets pregnant within the first three cycles.”
“What’s this?” Emmett picks through the candy dish he just filled for me, sorting the Skittles from the M&M’s before carefully selecting three red M&M’s for himself. “Numba twee?”
I grin down at the package. “Number three, yes.”
“What do you think the baby will like more, Skittles or M&M’s?” He stuffs a handful of Skittles into his mouth, drawing a matching rainbow over the bathroom mirror, us holding hands below it.
“As if I’d ever make them choose,” I murmur, turning over the test the moment the alarm sounds. A single line stares back at me, and an odd sensation pulls at my chest.
“Babe? What’s it say?”
“Um…” I swallow, then toss the test in the trash can, shrugging at Emmett. My smile feels a little tight when I tell him, “No.”
He swings an arm around my shoulder. “That’s okay. You and me, we’ve never been an average couple.”
Twenty-five months ago
“Wish I was there.”
I smile at Emmett through my phone. “Me too, baby.” The timer buzzes, and my stomach flips. I have a good feeling about this one, but I don’t want to jinx it by saying so out loud. “Drumroll, please.”
He gives an A+ performance, all the way from Washington, but when he’s done, my fingers pause on the test. “Care? You okay?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Here we go.” I turn over the test. My heart sinks. “Uh…” Heat pools in my cheeks as my gaze connects with Emmett’s. I shake my head. “No.”
Twenty-four months ago
I stop pacing when the alarm buzzes, shaking out my hands and taking a deep breath before I pull the test toward me.
My jaw tightens, teeth clenching. I close my fist around the test and shake my head, meeting Emmett’s eyes on my phone. “No. Sorry.”
Twenty-three months ago
I stay off camera, head in my hands as I sit on the lid of the toilet, eyes screwed shut, fingers crossed while Emmett rambles on from Los Angeles about an argument he and Carter had about how early they can get the kids out on skates.
“Here we go,” he whispers when the timer goes off, and the hope in his voice sparks a little bit in my heart.
I manage a smile and a deep breath before grabbing the test.
My throat squeezes. I try to clear it. I keep my eyes on the test instead of searching for the comfort of Emmett’s on my phone. “Sorry,” I whisper.
Twenty-two months ago
“Are you sure you want to do this over FaceTime? I get home tomorrow, Care.”
My heart pounds an angry beat as I stare down at the test in my hands. “Doesn’t matter anyway,” I murmur, tossing it in the trash.
Twenty-one months ago
“What if we only test if your period is late?”
“You don’t need to be here if you’re tired of hearing no,” I bite out, immediately regretting it.
Emmett’s hand finds my back, rubbing gently. “That’s not what I meant. I thought it might save you the heartache, that’s all.”
But the heartache is still there, isn’t it? Either I’m pregnant or I’m not, whether a test tells me or my period does.
This month, it’s the test. I toss the negative test in the trash and walk out without meeting Emmett’s eyes. “Sorry.”
Twenty months ago
My hands shake so bad I drop the test. Emmett reaches around me, scooping up the test as he hugs me back against his chest, his other hand on my lower belly.
“Sorry,” I mutter, pulling free from his hold, walking away.
Nineteen months ago
I lean against Emmett’s chest, eyes closed as I wait, his hand moving slowly over my belly.
Soft lips touch my ear. I squeeze his forearm.
“Not this time, firefly.”
Eighteen months ago
Emmett holds my hands in his, our foreheads pressed together as I sit on the edge of the bathroom counter.
I keep my eyes closed as he reaches for the test. When he’s silent a moment too long, I open them.
I’m not sure if it’s the negative test he’s holding or that his hand is trembling as he stares down at it.
All I know is that I’ve done this to him.
“I’m sorry.”
Seventeen months ago
Emmett’s hand closes over mine when I reach for the test. He touches my chin, forcing my eyes to his. “Whatever this says, Cara, we’re in it together. Okay?”
He says that, but sometimes it feels like he gets to let it go. Feel the pain for a day and then move on. I don’t know how to do that, not when it’s my body that’s failing us month after month.
Still, I nod, even while fear crackles in my chest like the coals of a roaring fire.
The same fire that dies when I uncover the window on the test, replaced by a bitter disbelief, a strange feeling of betrayal I can’t explain.
My entire body trembles, angry tears gathering in my eyes, blurring my vision.
But the first one that falls, the one that lands on the test between us… it’s Emmett’s.
Twelve months. Twelve months, and not a single positive test. Twelve months, and all I have to show for it is the bags under my eyes, the quiver in my hands that didn’t used to be there. Twelve months is all it took for me to break down my husband.
Twelve months, and I finally voice the question I’ve been screaming in my head as I collapse in Emmett’s arms, choking on the violent sobs that finally break free.
“Why us?”
Sixteen months ago
“Please,” I whisper, hands folded together, head bowed, knees bouncing as I sit on the toilet lid and wait. “Please.”
My hands shoot out as soon as my phone starts buzzing, grabbing the test. My bouncing knees slow to a stop, and for a moment, there’s nothing but silence.
Then the voices in my head start, whispering words I try to deny. Climbing to my feet, I wrap the test in toilet paper and hide it at the bottom of the trash can before washing my hands and throwing open the door.
Emmett pauses with his fist in the air, ready to knock. “Care? What were you—”
“Going to the bathroom.” I force a smile, sneaking past him.
“Are you—”
“I’m fine!” I call over my shoulder, but the voices in my head disagree, yelling at me as I race down the stairs.
Inadequate. Defective. Failure.
My chest heaves, and I barely see the patio door as I throw it open and hurl myself through it.
Inadequate. Defective. Failure.
I round the corner of the house, pressing myself against the hot stone, burying my face in my hands, and I cry.
Inadequate.
Defective.
Failure.
Fifteen months ago
“Please,” I whisper, one hand on my belly as I try to breathe through the tightness stretching across my chest. “Please.”
My eyes open, settling on that single line.
Silent tears stream down my face as I throw it in the trash.
What’s the use in trying anymore? Maybe I should just give up.
Fourteen months ago
One line. Two words.
“I’m done.”
Thirteen months ago
“Please,” I sob, collapsing alone on the bed, a negative pregnancy test ditched on my bathroom floor. “I can’t keep doing this! I’ll do anything! Please!”
Twelve months ago
“Ah!” I pull at my hair, chest heaving wildly as I chuck the negative test. I drop my face to my hands, sobbing as I slide down the wall. “Why won’t my body work?”
Eleven months ago
Hot, angry tears slide down my face as I tear at the test in my hands, trying to break it. “I’m… fucking… done!”
Ten months ago
“Please, please, please.”