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“Yeah…”
“I don’t know that I can do it again, Genevieve. Nine months is a long fucking time to hold my breath, waiting for shit to fucking happen. And if it did?” That thought hung painfully between us. It happened once. Who was to say it couldn’t happen again? His voice broke as he whispered, “I don’t know that I could fucking survive it.”
I squeezed his hand tight, silently echoing his sentiment.
“But… we’ve done nothing but live in the pain,” Killian continued. “We need to grieve and live our lives for a while. Maybe then we can figure the rest out… do what’s best for us in the future. Maybe we have kids. Maybe we have a house full of fucking dogs and be the cool aunt and uncle. I don’t fucking know. I can’t think past… everything right now. I can’t picture our future. I’m just doing my best to get through the fucking day.”
“You’re doing good,” I assured him.
“I’m not, but I’m fucking trying,” he said. “Do you?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “We wanted kids—I wanted kids. But now? It doesn’t feel right. I want my baby back, Ian. I don’t want to feel like I’m replacing what we lost. Maybe that’s grief? I don’t know. I don’t know what the right thing to do is. I don’t want a house full of dogs. I can tell you that.”
“Two dogs?” He cocked a brow.
“Maybe,” I replied. “I just… want to get through the day—every day—without feeling… awful.”
“Then we focus on that. We focus on the day-by-day. Okay?”
“Okay.”
My house was ridiculously busy. It was the gathering of the Byrnes and company—Cade and Raven being the company. I stood off to the side in my living room, nervously fidgeting with the sleeves of my sweater. It felt like an invasion of our personal space. I knew that Killian needed the help. It wasn’t fair to expect him to do it alone. But still…
“Coffee for my second favorite lady?” Nolan came around the corner with a steaming mug in hand.
“Did you punch my dad?” I asked because it was the first time I could.
“I’m not apologizing,” he said.
“Thank you,” I whispered with a small smile. I’d never say it out loud because I couldn’t imagine what that said about me but a part of me wished I could’ve seen it happen. I wasn’t even sure why. A part of me wanted to ask my father a million questions—all the little things going on in my head—but I knew it’d get me nowhere. He never listened to me anyway.
Nolan’s shoulder bumped into mine.
“Are you okay?”
“No,” I told him. “I just…”
“Don’t want them in everything?” he finished for me, and I nodded. “If it helps, Killian threatened each of us individually about taking today to our graves. Not that he needed to. We’re here to help.”
I swallowed hard. The concept was so foreign to me. I’d carried so much of it alone for so long that I didn’t know what to do with people knowing.
“Do you think less of me?” I asked him quietly. The weight of his gaze was heavy, but I refused to look at him, putting all my focus on the coffee I couldn’t stomach.
“I know I don’t speak only for myself when I say it only makes us think higher of you,” Nolan replied. The doorbell rang before he could say anything else, and I frowned. Who else were we expecting? Everyone who was planning to help was already in the room.
When none of us moved, the bell went off at a constant rate.
“Okay, okay,” I grumbled. I handed my coffee to Nolan and rushed down the hall while the doorbell became utterly annoying. “Good Lord. I’m coming.”
I yanked open the door with frustration.
“It’s about fucking time!” Gabby exclaimed. Gabby? “What’s a girl got to fucking do to get you to answer the goddamn door?”
“You’re here!” I practically shouted with a mixture of surprise and shock. I hadn’t seen Gabby in almost six years. Right before she turned twenty-two, she vanished in the middle of the night. At least, that was how my parents saw it. I knew that she’d been planning to leave for weeks once she found out that our father intended to go through with her arranged marriage. Sure, we texted, but she never came back, and I’d never gone to see her.
And holy hell, had she changed!
Gone was the little sister I’d grown up with who liked pink sweaters and flowers—well, she still liked flowers if the black lace on her nearly see-through corset was any indication. High-waisted pants were sculpted to her lean body, and the gold buckle on her chunky belt matched the numerous necklaces dangling between her breasts. Strappy heels looked painful on her feet, I couldn’t begin to count the piercings in her ears, and her hair flowed in long layers down her back.
