Chapter 15 #3
I reached out and shook his arms. He wrapped those arms around me, laying his chin on my head. Comfort instantly seeped through me. I shouldn’t let it, knowing it would be short-lived, false comfort. His sigh reverberated through me, and then he spoke.
“You’re right. You’re not a one-night stand. You’re far too special for that. You’ve gotten under my skin, Red, in spite of the fact that I have no room for you in my life. Can’t see how we can have any kind of a relationship and—”
He stood back from me, pulled me back inside the door, and closed it. He took my face in his hands, looked into my eyes with his dreamy deep blue eyes matching how mine must look, sad and full of all kinds of unspoken regret. My heart hammered.
“And what?” My voice sounded shaky. I didn’t care, didn’t know where I’d gotten the courage to ask.
“And I don’t know why you’d want any kind of relationship with me. You’re young and fresh and have so much to give and so many firsts ahead of you. Me? I’ve been there, done that, been broken trying.”
“No, don’t say that. You’re far from broken, as far from broken as any man I’ve ever met.
If this is you broken, then I can’t wait to see what you’re like after I’ve fixed you.
” I gave him a half smile to let him know I was only half serious.
He laughed. And then he dropped his hands and stepped away.
Everything in me, especially my aching uterus, screamed for me to grab him, to hold onto him, to not let him go.
But how could I? I couldn’t force him to want me enough to take a chance, to see what we could have that had nothing to do with our age and experience gap. To tell him I was just as broken as he was, that I had baggage too.
Well, maybe I could tell him that.
“You haven’t cornered the market on hard knocks and rough times,” I said, trying to keep it light, to not cry, not make a fool of myself, to not seem like I was begging him, even though I had no reason not to beg him if I thought it would work. But I knew it wouldn’t.
“You’re probably right. But you’re young and resilient. And I . . . have my little girls to think about. They’re my top priority right now. If it means I’ll be a little lonely for a while, then so be it.”
“That’s the most tragic and noble thing I’ve heard a man say in real life.” I didn’t believe him, couldn’t believe him.
He had that half smile but no dimple showed, making him look more sad than happy. “Believe me, I’m not noble. You’d know that if you could read my mind.”
I laughed, drinking up the little thrill with my parched soul. But then I noticed his smile was all gone and he went from sad all the way to seriously troubled.
“Then why don’t you tell me the real reason, Max?” My voice hummed low and ominous. “Why can’t you have a relationship with me?”
I tried steeling myself, tried breathing deep, but my chest was too tight. He plowed a hand through his hair, that gorgeous full wavy head of hair, and I could tell the gesture spoke of real angst, real pain.
“I should have told you before . . . yesterday. It shouldn’t be so hard to say.”
My heart convulsed as he dragged in a ragged breath like a man dying and I held mine.
“I know you love kids and I know you’ll want children of your own.” He paused. I still couldn’t breathe.
“And I can’t,” he said.
Of all the things he might say, I hadn’t anticipated this because it made no sense.
“What are you talking about, Max? You have the twins. You love kids.”
The utter pain on his face confirmed the truth of my words and twisted my gut.
“I had a fucking vasectomy, Red.”
The words sounded forced, as if purged from his very soul. They slammed me like an asteroid from space, hard and random and unexpected.
There was no air in my lungs and my heart almost stopped with the impact. Then, when it all started up again, it was too fast, like my heart and lungs needed to catch up but were confused. My head was confused. Max spoke again and I tried to listen.
“I’d known it was a mistake at the time, but I did it for Liz.
” He took a step back, took a long breath and went on.
“She’d had a hard time with the pregnancy for the twins and I couldn’t blame her for not wanting any more children.
We argued about what to do about it. Should we wait, should she get her tubes tied, should I get myself snipped.
” He stopped and sighed, his expression raw, like an old scab pulled away, creating a new fresh wound.
“In the end, the trauma of her C-section made the vasectomy the right thing, the kind thing to do.” He stopped, working his expression into one of resignation, sad and self-deprecating as if he were some kind of broken machinery, all pristine on the outside, but with a fatal malfunction hidden inside making him ready for the junkyard. Defective.
My heart pounded so hard, as if my future self, the one who wanted to be a mother more than anything in the world, was inside banging furiously trying to escape, trying to make sense of it all.
Dizziness came over me, spinning the world faster than my insides could handle as I breathed fast and hard to stop it all, to stop the madness, the craziest worst-case scenario that I could have dreamed up, the kind that I had in nightmares.
Bending forward, I put my head between my knees and I felt him there, leaning over me, felt his hand on my back, warm and gentle, heard him talking, saying something, but my head was too full, too busy whirling and trying to fight against the dizzy nausea to hear him, to understand his words, to make sense of him.
What he told me, I had a vasectomy, had shut my brain off and now replayed in an endless loop. Nothing registered but those words.
“I’m sorry.” It seemed like the right thing to say, automatic.
He looked so full of regret. I felt numb with shock, too confused by the news, baffled about what to think, how to feel, so I postponed it all.
My heart still beat, although too fast, so I focused on that, on taking deep breaths to slow it down.
“I know it’s a surprise, hard news to register,” he said. “But it’s the real reason I’m not right for you. I’m certain of that.”
I nodded. “I should get back to my room. Shower and change. I’ll see you at the brunch,” I said, my voice shaky, like it was on the verge of something but I didn’t know what.
He nodded, followed me to the door. His serious, sad face still in place, he leaned in and kissed me on the forehead.
The gesture sent cracks of disappointment spreading through my heart. He opened the door and I stepped out into the hall, as tears sprang through the cracks. Then I ran to my room in my ball gown, feeling like a Cinderella gone wrong. Terribly wrong.
But as I closed the door behind me I had to acknowledge that this was real life.
I wasn’t in a fairytale and had no right to expect the perfect prince.
Was that how I’d been thinking of Max? As some perfect all powerful prince charming with no vulnerability, no imperfections whether through no fault of his own or not?
My heart ached again, but not about disappointment at the loss of some distant future fairytale ending. I ached for Max and his dreams and longings dashed, at how he must feel real loss as a man who clearly loves children.
If he didn’t think I was a selfish flighty girl, it would be a miracle. If he let me, I would make sure he knew how I really felt about him—vasectomy or not. Future or not. He should know from a woman with a lot of experience what a special man he was, how lucky someone would be to have him.
Tightness clamped down on my chest. That someone lucky could be someone else, but I still wanted a shot at relationship with him. So much. I bit my lip as I stripped off my dress and turned on the shower.