Chapter 19 #2
She talks faster and faster. “I had them taken out, but it was so bad that there was significant scarring. The docs told me that I have little to no chance of becoming pregnant. Deformed uterus, and all that.”
“Chess . . .”
She talks over me, the pitch of her voice rising. “It isn’t as if I’d been going around dreaming of babies or anything, but
when the choice is taken away from you . . .” She shakes her head, blinking rapidly.
Before she can move again, I grab her hand and tug her onto my lap as I sit on the couch. Her posture is rigid when she turns
to face me. “It isn’t the same as what you went through, but I know how it feels to lose something you didn’t even know you
wanted.”
“I’m so sorry, Chess.” I tell her, cupping her cheek.
She leans into my touch, and her hand comes up to rest on my chest. “It is what it is.”
“Yeah, but you’ve had to listen to me go on and on—”
“Hey,” she cuts in softly. “I want to listen. I want to be here for you.”
I nod, but before I can reply, she talks again.
“But you want something I can never give you.”
The words swell between us. And I go still. “What do you mean?” But I know.
Chess gives me a sad smile. “You want kids. You know that now. And I can’t have them.” Her lids lower, hiding her eyes. “I
think about that and what it means for the future of us. And it scares me.”
“Chess—”
“Let me say this. I know my worth. I know that who I am is the sum of all of me, not the parts that aren’t perfect. I know
that if I want children, I can adopt or find a surrogate. There are options. I’ve had all these conversations with myself
already.”
Her hand glides over my chest in a slow, steady circle, as if I’m the one who needs soothing.
“I also know that we’ve just gotten together and thinking about this stuff is kind of jumping the gun. But we’re living together now, saying . . . emotional things to each other.” She flushes pink. “And it feels weighty. Like it’s more than just casual dating.”
“Because it is.” How can she doubt that?
Chess’s fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt. “Which means we have to go into this relationship knowing the facts. I don’t
want to be a regret. I don’t want you wondering somewhere along the way if you made the right choice.”
“You think I’m not going to want you because you can’t have kids?” I don’t know if I’m hurt or insulted, but it doesn’t feel
good. It feels a lot like pain and panic.
Chess shakes her head. “This isn’t something you can just declare in the moment.”
The hell I can’t, but I bite my lip. Instinct is telling me that the more I push, the more she’ll push back.
“Maybe . . .” She hesitates, licking her kiss-swollen upper lip. “I don’t want to wonder if you’re regretting things. When
I found all this out, I made a promise to myself that any relationship I went into would be the right fit for me as well.”
For a second I just stare at her, trying to process what she’s saying. My words come out rough and halting. “Were you planning
on finding a guy who didn’t want kids? Is that it?”
Her green eyes go wide, and then she glances away. Guilty.
Something hot and itchy swells in my chest. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
That hot thing grows, climbing up my throat. “I think I do. You’re basically dooming us before we’ve even started.”
Chess’s eyes snap to mine. “I’m telling you how I feel. You wanted to know. Well, this is it. I get scared. I think about
these things. I don’t fucking want to. Believe me, I’d rather laugh and make love, and have my biggest worry be whether we
get meatballs or onions on our pizza—”
I silence her with a kiss. Pressing my mouth to hers so she can feel me.
Chess stays stiff for a second then relaxes, her hand spreading wide on my chest.
I pull back and look her in the eye. “I’m sorry, okay? I did ask. And I’m glad you told me.”
She rests her forehead against mine. “You keep apologizing. Don’t. It isn’t your fault that I can’t turn off my brain when
I’m with you.”
How fucking ironic: the only time I can turn off my brain is when I’m with Chess.
Gently, I set her aside. I feel a headache coming on and my joints are stiff. “Let’s get this closet filled. Then I need to
go for a run.”
She looks at me for what feels like forever, but is only the blink of an eye.
When she talks, her voice is subdued but understanding. “Putting away clothes is something I can do myself. Why don’t you
go for a run now?”
I don’t argue. I leave her to it and head out. I run for a long time, but I don’t find any answers while I’m gone.
Chess
What if I’ve made a mistake?
The thought tumbles around in my head with relentless persistence. I told Finn something intensely personal. The only other
person who knows is James, who found out because he was at the studio when I came back from my appointment.
Maybe it was too soon to tell Finn. Who wants to talk about conception or the lack thereof less than a month out from having
sex with someone? I probably sounded like an emotional jock chaser. I wouldn’t be surprised if he fears I’ll be asking for
a ring next.
God, he’d looked spooked. And then so freaking stubborn. Finn is a problem solver. He relies on instinct, whereas I like to think things out.
“Argh.” I rest my head on the kitchen counter, letting the cool stone soothe my hot cheek.
I should have just told him the bare bones and moved on, had some fun with Finn without worrying about some shadowy future.
Yet, I can’t do that. I’m totally gone on this man. What did James call it?
Besotted. I totally am. If I let myself fall any further, it will wreck me if we don’t last. I need for us to go in eyes wide-open,
or I will always worry.
Predictably, after I dropped my no-baby bomb, Finn had been withdrawn. Oh, he had still reached for me as we got into bed,
slid his hand down my pants and insisted that I’d be more comfortable never wearing clothes to bed again. He’d fucked me into
oblivion, with quiet intensity that felt almost like desperation, as if I’d soon disappear on him. I’d felt the same and turned
to him with a neediness that bordered on painful.
But it feels as though there’s a rift between us now. I put it there.
Finn had left early for his home game today. I’d expected him to ask me if I wanted a ticket to go watch, but he hadn’t said
a word. Just gave me a light kiss on the mouth and said he’d see me tonight.
It hurt so much that I hadn’t watched him on TV. I caught up on work instead. Dinner at the kitchen table is lonely now that
I know how it feels to share it with Finn. My dinner is finished, and I’m still alone in a too quiet condo.
“Shit.” I push myself upright and open my laptop. I don’t know how to turn off my mind or stop from worrying. I put my focus
on work instead. Work is safe. Work I understand. I can control it.
I’m touching up a photo when Finn comes home. I look up from my perch on the kitchen stool to find him limping along, his
expression drawn and tight.
I know pain is part of his life. It still guts me every time I see him hurting. “Hey,” I say, catching his attention.
“Babe.” Finn moves toward me, going at a snail’s pace. Jesus, he’s in a bad way.
I jump off my stool. “Bedroom.”
His lips curl in a tired but pleased smile. “I like how you think, Chester, but you’re gonna have to do most of the work tonight.”
“My man, the eternal optimist.” I fight a smile. “But I was talking about getting you horizontal so you can rest.”
He bends his head and gives me a soft kiss. “I like my plan better. But keep calling me your man. It soothes my weary soul.”
I roll my eyes and put my arm around his waist. “Come on, hot shot, we can negotiate terms in bed.”
Finn slings his arm over my shoulders and gives me a light squeeze as we slowly move to his bedroom—our bedroom now.
“I love coming home to you,” he says with a content sigh. “I have from day one. But now . . .” He glances down at me. “It
makes it all worth it.”
A lump rises in my throat, and I press my lips to the side of his chest, just breathe him in for a moment. He smells of soap,
the clean cotton of his shirt, and the warmth of his body. “I’m glad you’re home.”
Once inside the bedroom, I grab a remote and turn on the gas fireplace. It flares to life, soon to send warmth radiating into
the cool room. The bedside lamps give the bedroom a soft golden glow. I realize why his decorator did his room in warm tones
and luscious fabrics. This place is a haven for his tough days.
“Want some dinner?” I ask him.
“Downed a cheeseburger and some fries on the way home.” He heads straight toward the bed.
“No soaking bath?”
“Had an ice bath after the game, then a hot shower.” Finn toes off his sneakers. “I have no interest sitting around in more
water.”
Gingerly, he moves to pull off his shirt, and I help him. My breath catches as we lift the shirt past his ribs. “Jesus, Finn.”
His sides and back are red and covered with a patchwork of nasty bruises. “Ugly game,” he says flatly. “Got sacked a few times.”
I rest my hand on his lower back, barely touching him, and he shivers. But when I try to snatch my hand away, he stops me
by putting his hand over mine. “No,” he says. “It feels good when you touch me.”
“Finn . . .” My heart aches as I brush my lips over his shoulder blade, my other hand slipping around to his front to stroke
his stomach. We stand in silence, Finn breathing slow and deep, leaning into me as I pepper soft kisses across the back of
his shoulders.
I hold him as if he’s fragile.
In this moment, he is. And I resent every hit that he’s taken.
Another tremor goes through him and slowly, slowly, he disengages from me, turning to sit on the side of the bed. “Come here,”
he whispers, taking my hand.
“Don’t you want to lie down?” I ask as he settles me on his lap.
“Gotta do this in stages,” he says with a grunt, then arranges me to his liking.
“Baby . . .” I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my forehead against his. “You are killing me.”