Chapter 19 Thunderstorms Emmett
IT’S PERFECT.
A chocolate ganache rim, coated with crushed graham crackers. Homemade whipped cream floating in the shape of a wonky heart. Two roasted marshmallows, ribbons of chocolate sauce, and the finishing touch? A milk chocolate snowflake, because dark chocolate is a bitter crime punishable by death.
Cara’s words, not mine.
A hot chocolate thirty minutes in the making, and it looks like a fucking bomb went off in this kitchen.
At least it matches the shitshow in the living room.
“Did you do this?”
The words are soft, but as they startle me at the kitchen counter, there’s something else there too.
Something raw. A disbelief, or a realization, maybe.
Whatever it is, it’s tangible. Heavy, like the weight on my chest when Cara appeared at the end of the aisle on our wedding day, stealing every chance I had at breathing.
I wipe at the corner of my eyes with the heel of my palm, clearing my throat.
“Hey, firefly.” Grabbing the mugs, I turn, finding Cara with her back to me, coat still on as she slowly takes in the mess of décor in the living room.
I slide the drinks on the island, cringing as I remember Natasha’s thoughts on it.
“I know it looks like Santa’s elves threw up in here, but I thought maybe seeing this…
”—I gesture haphazardly at the decorations—“this dumpster fire would kickstart your excitement. Christmas is your favorite. I just wanted to remind you.” My hand goes to the nape of my neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job.”
“A better job?” She turns, slowly, and like always, my heart skips. She’s so beautiful, she’s fucking ethereal. Her head cocks as she looks me over. “Your eyes are red. Are you okay?”
“Totally fine,” I lie, and I fucking hate myself for doing it, for the lack of hesitation.
“Tired, that’s all.” My eyes widen, and I grab my phone, navigating to Cara’s Christmas Showdown.
“Gotta start your playlist over again.” Smiling as Mariah Carey starts us off, I gesture at the drinks.
“I made hot chocolate. Garrett sent me the recipe. I guess fancy hot chocolate is, like, his and Jennie’s thing, and you deserve fancy everything, so…
” Another smile, equal parts cautious and hopeful as I slide Cara’s mug closer.
She steps toward the island, staring down at the drink. Her throat bobs, and I’m not sure, but the murmur that barely leaves her mouth sounds a fuckload like “I don’t deserve you.”
“What did you say?”
She shakes her head, gripping the handles of her purse. “It’s beautiful, Emmett. Thank you.” Her gaze coasts the island, brow furrowing. “Where’s Natasha?”
“Huh?” I grab the grocery bags off the counter, stuffing the contents away. I meant to do this, but got too wrapped up in the hot chocolate, making it just right. “Oh, I told her to head home early. Also, I told her not to come back.” My eyes collide with Cara’s, then ping away. “Ever.”
“What?”
I barrel into the pantry, shoving the milk inside, which is 110 percent not where it goes, but fuck it, we’re going with it. Eggs, yogurt, orange juice, even my fucking Toaster Strudels, they all go in there. I’ll switch them out when Cara’s preoccupied.
“Emmett.”
Halting, I let my head hang before swiveling back to my sometimes/always scary wife. “Yes, angel pie?”
“Did you fire Natasha? Right before Christmas?”
“No!” I shake my head frantically, wringing my hands. “But also, yes.”
Her eyes widen, lit with more emotion than I’ve seen in days. “Emmett! She’s a single mother!”
“She’s also a horrible fucking person and I couldn’t stand a single second longer of listening to her disrespect my fucking wife!” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Shit. Fuck. I scrub a hand over my jaw, blood drumming in my ears as Cara stares at me, mouth wide, chest heaving.
“What did she say?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
“Care, it was just time, that’s all. It wasn’t anything—”
“Bullshit. Bullshit, Emmett.” She stalks toward me, fury building in those eyes as her heeled boots click against the floor, and she jabs me in the chest. “You’ve been able to keep your mouth shut for three years.
Through all the shameless flirting, backhanded remarks, and cheap little jabs, you’ve never pushed it when I asked you not to. So why now? Give me the truth, Emmett.”
I grab her hand, pulling her into me. “She came on to me, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I fired her ’cause she made a pass at me, and it’s fucking disrespectful to you.”
Cara’s fire doesn’t dim. It burns, bright, vicious flames licking up around her. I want her anger. I want anything that proves she’s still alive in there, in all her big-feelings glory. But then she asks, “What else?”
I break her stare. Barely a split second. She shouldn’t notice, but she does. Cara never misses.
“What else, Emmett? What did she say when she came on to you? Did she say she could love you better? Did she say she could give you something I can’t?”
“Care.” Taking her hands in mine, I pull her against me. “No one else could give me even an ounce of what you do. You give me everything I could possibly need and more.”
Angry tears build in her eyes, but her voice is soft, fractured. “That’s not true, though, is it?”
“It is. I have everything I need.”
“Right.” She nods, throat working with her thick swallow as she frees her hands, steps just out of reach.
“Except a baby. Because I can’t give you that.
” She grips her arm, one hand across her chest closing her off, gaze dropping to the floor like she can’t bear to let me see her.
“But Natasha could. A lot of women could. Just not… me.” The next words are whispered from behind timid fingers that flutter over her lips, like they’re not sure if they want to catch them, shove them back down, or let them free.
“My body doesn’t work.” Her eyes come to mine, feral and hopeless, a stark gray-blue sky that dulls furiously as the clouds roll in, stealing her light. “My body doesn’t fucking work.”
“Cara—”
She twirls away from me, hand on her heaving chest as she struggles for each breath, shoulders hunched.
“Oh my God, it hurts. Everything hurts.” She clutches her chest, keeling over, panting, and everything inside me fires, a panic I’ve never felt bubbling beneath my skin as I race over, grip her shoulders.
“Shhh. I’ve got you. You’re okay, baby.”
“I’m not okay!” She shakes me off, and the pain in her eyes stops me in my tracks.
Those tears build, flooding her eyes until they have nowhere to go but down.
They’re torrential, catastrophic, like a violent thunderstorm that sweeps in unexpectedly in the middle of a hot summer day, claiming everything in its path.
And when I try to take her in my arms, to shift some of her pain and carry it for her, when she pushes me away again, her tears become mine.
“I am not okay, Emmett! We are not okay! How will we ever be okay again?”
“It’s not the end, Cara. We have more chances.”
“One! We have one more embryo, and one more chance!”
“We can keep trying,” I insist. “There are so many options, Care. Egg donation, surrogacy, adoption. This doesn’t have to be the end if IVF fails.”
“You don’t understand!”
Don’t I?
I want it, the big family. Little humans built from a love so pure and deep.
To love them right. Show them how to be a friend, a partner.
How to communicate, how to believe in themselves and chase their dreams, all the while knowing how unconditionally loved and supported they are by their parents.
A chance to get it right, to be the parents mine never quite were.
I want to be a dad. Want it so fucking bad it tears me up.
But I don’t need it.
At the end of the day, this life we’ve built together is all I need.
So I can’t pretend to fully understand the depths of Cara’s grief.
The future she wants so desperately but might never see.
The hope she says goodbye to each month.
The pieces of herself that are being ripped from her grasp.
The hardest part of this journey for me, by far, is watching her fall out of love with herself, with her brave heart, her incredible mind.
And if that’s unbearable for me, what the hell is it like for her?
“I hear you,” I promise softly, hands running gently down her arms as my vision blurs. “But we’ll always be okay. Me and you?” Hot tears tip over the edge, dripping down my cheeks as I bring her hands to mine, sweeping a kiss over her knuckles. “We’ll get through anything. We always do.”
I think it can’t get worse, the pain in my chest. But then she collapses to the floor, buries her face in her hands, and weeps.
And I drop to the floor and weep right along with her, gathering her into my arms, clutching her tighter than I ever have, more afraid of her slipping through my fingers than I’ve ever been.
It’s when she chokes out three words—three words that tear her wide open, spilling everything at her feet and mine—that I lose it.
“I hate myself.”
My heart stops. “What?” I force her damp face to mine, sweeping her hair out of the way. I need those eyes, all their truths. “What did you just say?”