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“I don’t know. I’ve always kind of wanted a Porsche. Can I have one?” His attempt at a smile faded.
I closed my eyes and shook my head. “This is different. This is . . . it’s screwing with me and I don’t know what to think.”
“Kitty. Stop talking around it. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Mine. His. It had been both of ours. “The doctor said I had a miscarriage. I called Shumacher at the Center, and she told me lycanthropes always have miscarriages. That shape-shifting and pregnancy . . . it doesn’t survive. I thought—I guess I assumed that if I wanted to have kids someday, it wouldn’t be a problem. I just assumed. I never even asked. But I can’t. And I didn’t think I’d be this upset about it. I’m sorry, I’m not making any sense.” I took a swig of beer and turned away to hide my face.
He didn’t say anything. I couldn’t guess what he was thinking. Wasn’t sure I wanted to know. So I didn’t look at him. I tried to block out the world, so I wouldn’t have to process anything that wasn’t in my own head.
Then he moved. Slipped out of his chair and knelt next to mine. Put his arms around me, held me against him, laid my head on his shoulder, and murmured, “Shh.”
He knew I was crying before I felt it myself. He saw it coming, but I didn’t know it until I was sobbing onto his shoulder and kneading the shirt across his back with stiff fingers.
After I’d cried myself out, we migrated to the sofa, where I lay curled up against him, snuggled in his arms.
“Did you know you were pregnant?”
“No. I should have known. Should I have known? You think I’d know something like that.”
“I don’t know anything about it.”
“I’m kind of glad I didn’t know. What if I’d known, gotten used to the idea, maybe even gotten excited, and then—” I shook my head. “Does that sound weird?”
“I don’t know. What would sound normal?”
“This happens all the time, people go through this all the time. Why is it so . . . What about you? Do you want kids?” I twisted around so I could see him better.
He waited a long time before he said, “No.”
“Then you’re glad it turned out this way.”
“Kitty, no, it’s not like that.” He blew out a frustrated sigh. “A year ago it never would have occurred to me that it was even a possibility. That I’d be living with someone and that the issue would even come up. I might have changed my mind. I don’t know.”
Neither did I. A common phrase, lately.
I snuggled closer. “I feel like someone’s taken something away from me. It makes me angry.”
We must have stayed there for hours. I was intensely grateful. I didn’t know how I expected him to react. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d run screaming. But I needed to be close to him, and he stayed.
I’d started to fall asleep—it must have been close to midnight—when the doorbell rang. The freaking doorbell.
“Who the hell is it at this hour?” Ben said, grumpy.
“Vampire?” I muttered.
He gave me the smirking you can’t be serious look. Neither one of us moved. We couldn’t be expected to answer the door at midnight.
But the bell rang again, longer, like our visitor was leaning on the button.
Ben groaned. “It’s an emergency. Has to be.”
“Light’s on. Can’t pretend we’re asleep.”
Making a production out of it, he extricated himself from my grip and stood. “You stay, I’ll check on it.”
I didn’t argue.
A full minute later I heard from the front door, “Kitty? It’s for you.”
