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“Okay,” I rushed out, cutting him off. Oddly enough, hearing him speak the truth of my possible infertility aloud made it exponentially more difficult to deal with.

“All I ask,” Eli redirected, seamlessly moving away from the delicate topic, “is that this doesn’t become a stressor for either of us, okay?”

“Agreed.” I watched Eli finish dinner with a smile.

It became a stressor.

Genuinely, I had done everything I could to keep trying to conceive from becoming stressful. But I was also type A. It started innocuously with me doing a bit of research. I learned dominant alpha’s have a higher chance of getting a mate pregnant, regardless of their presentation. I frequented a few forums and found countless stories of omegas like me who tracked their body temperature for months and were able to catch a spike in time for ovulation. There were others that followed calendars, some that drastically changed their diet, and others that swore sex in certain positions and angling your hips up after being knotted was the trick.

So, I tracked my temperature every day for two months straight, writing down information related to my slick and the consistency. I made sure to angle my hips after we separated. I did all of these things for months and nothing.

It had to be the frequency.

Although I made sure to initiate on certain days, for the most part, we were still spontaneously having sex.

If nothing else worked, then that had to be the issue.

Eli hadn’t returned home from work yet, affording me the opportunity to prepare for our night together. I showered and shampooed my hair, diffusing my long locks in order to give the curls more volume. I sprayed a bit of perfume on my pulse points before glossing my lips. Thanks to the habit of being extremely punctual, I was in position and sitting on my calves in the middle of our bed in pale blue lingerie, my hair falling around my shoulders right as Eli came home. I waited, slightly impatiently, my scent surely giving away my displeasure at his leisurely pace. I focused on tonight being “the night” and soon, my annoyance faded and was replaced with faint glimmers of promise.

“Delaney?” Eli called out, “Where are you? I have some news to… tell… you…” he slowly stopped speaking as crossed the threshold. “Wow,” he exhaled softly, “ You look… wow.” He walked over to the bed, running his hand along the lace garter wrapped around my thigh before leaning down to kiss me. He pulled back just as I lifted my arms to encircle his shoulders. “I have news!”

“It can wait,” I insisted. I tugged at Eli’s jeans, unbuttoning them, but was stopped by light notes of distress. I glanced up at him. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve said twice that I have news.”

“And I said once it can wait.”

His sigh was heavy, dragging down his shoulders. “I’m not in the mood, Laney.”

“What do you mean?”

Eli inhaled deeply, holding his breath in his lungs before exhaling slowly. “I mean… I don’t want to have sex tonight.”

Rejection was a scent reminiscent of something sweet catching fire. I pulled my lips in, nodding slowly as I climbed out of bed. “That’s fine.”

“It’s not and we need to talk about it.”

I whipped around, staring at Eli, my anger rising the longer we maintained eye contact without him saying anything. Folding my arms over my chest, I pushed. “Well?”

Silently, he scratched his head. After a while he finally spoke, albeit too slowly. “It’s become a stressor. The daily checking of your temperature. The tracking of the consistency of your slick. You’re not eating dairy, you haven’t had alcohol in months, not that I mind, and you cut out all processed foods, sugar, and beef. I love you. I love making love to you, but you hardly speak to me anymore. When you do it’s about some new thing you’ve learned and want to try out. I’m tired. I know you are too. So, tonight I just want to take a break.”

On some level, I understood and agreed with him. I was tired, but he didn’t get it. He didn’t understand what it was like to want something all of your life, just to be told that it was impossible. He didn’t understand the feeling of promise that grew with each article I read, and each person that said they conceived through those methods. He couldn’t know what it was like to be devastated month after month because I felt sick, I was more fatigued than usual, and certain foods made me nauseous, but it turned out to be nothing, leaving me even emptier than what I was before. He didn’t know what that was like. But I desperately wanted him to understand. Despite that, and understanding how he felt, I lashed out.

“You’re a dominant alpha. Act like one.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I wished I could take them back. I wanted to snatch them from the air and dispose of them, erasing their existence before Eli registered what was said. However, it was too late.

He took a step back, moving away from me. His expression was blank, but his scent gave away his true feelings. Hurt, anger, and the faint aroma of betrayal made me immediately regretful of my actions.

“Eli,” I started, taking a step towards him. He took one back, the small motion driving a knife deep in my heart. “I didn’t mean—”

“So, uh, I need to leave, okay? I’ll be at Jonah’s. Please don’t call me. Or do. I don’t know right now. I just,” he stopped to take a deep breath and when he spoke again his voice was brittle. “I need to go.” He grabbed his car keys from the nightstand and turned to leave. Before walking out of the room, he turned to face me. “I love you.”

I respected his boundaries, and despite feeling as if the foundation was crumbling underneath me, I didn’t go after him. I gave him the space he needed. I rushed for my phone once the taillights of his car were no longer visible.

“Yes, my lo—” a strangled sob bullied its way out of my chest, interrupting him.

“I fucked up, Tris. I fucked up so badly.”