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“I can’t hurt anyone else,” he whispers, desperation entering his voice. For a brief moment, I can see the man I love breaking through this deadened façade he’s trying to portray. “Especially not you or our baby.”
“Give me the gun, Xavier.” I try to swallow my tears. “We had a fucked-up start, okay? I’m not going to romanticize it. You bringing me here like you did was majorly fucked up.”
He nods like I’m making his point for him. I shake my head vehemently. “But getting to know you, to love you—it’s been the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” I can see in the way his eyes shutter and his face closes down that I’m losing him again so I press on.
“I always thought that submission meant weakness. I grew up thinking the only way I’d make it in the world was on my own because no one was ever going to help me, not even my own father. I never believed I could belong anywhere. I had to be strong on my own terms, always, 24/7. I could never let my guard down for even a second.”
I take a step toward him when I see what looks like the slightest bit of hesitation on his face. Am I getting through to him? Oh God, please let him hear me. “Do you know how exhausting living that way was? I didn’t even realize it until you started breaking down my walls and showing me a different way.” I have to make him understand. He has to understand. “You showed me how lonely and empty a life is without real connection. We’re wired to connect. But that’s only possible if we open ourselves up to trust. And God,” tears course down my cheeks, “that was so goddamned terrifying, I fought you tooth and nail every step of the way. Making myself vulnerable enough to trust you? To trust anyone? After what my mother did to me? Or even Dad, how he pushed me away my whole life, even though he thought it was for my own good? You gave me the gift of learning how to trust. And now I’ll be able to pass that on to our son or daughter.”
“Don’t come any closer,” Xavier says, blinking rapidly. His hand holding the gun starts to shake so badly I’m terrified he’ll accidentally pull the trigger. “You’re stronger than me. You always were. I knew it from the start.” His voice is strained, like every word is gutting him. At least I’m not talking to a zombie anymore.
I shake my head, taking another step toward him. “I’m sorry I didn’t see how much you’ve been hurting. We can work through this. You have to trust me now.”
“Stay back!” he yells, his eyes wide and neck so taut with tension all the veins are standing out. “I hurt everyone around me. I swore I’d protect you! And I will. Even if it’s from myself.”
Oh my God— “No! Okay, give me the gun and I’ll go.” Something is seriously wrong with Xavier. And it’s bigger than me or logic or maybe even love, a poison that’s been warping his perception of himself and the world ever since what happened in Afghanistan. Right now the only priority is to get that gun away from him. “I’ll go with your father. We’ll leave. Okay? Just give me the gun. I can’t leave without knowing you’re going to be okay.”
Behind Xavier, I see his father step forward from behind the horse stalls. He raises a finger over his lips as he approaches his son from the back.
“I’m doing what you wanted,” I try to soothe. “I’ll go. But you have to give me the gun. I won’t leave unless you give me the gun.”
His dad is almost to him. Just a little bit closer…
Xavier shakes his head rapidly back and forth and I see tears forming at the edges of his eyes. “You and the baby have to be safe. From me. This is the only way.” His finger twitches on the trigger.
“Xavier, no!” I shout.
His dad lurches forward in the same moment as the shot rings out.
Chapter 21
“Push! You’re doing great. Just give us another good push!” the perky twenty-five-year-old blonde nurse encourages.
“I fucking hate you!” I shout and then bear down. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”
“Oh, you’re a feisty one,” Perky Nurse enthuses. Her actual name is Kristi or Kelly or something. “Your baby is going to need all that wonderful energy as soon as he comes out.”
Oh my God, this woman is unflappable, no matter how many obscenities I shout at her. Turns out the first words my son hears in this world are going to be the four-letter kind because, yeah, pain brings out the potty mouth in me.
Which brings a pang that feels almost as wrenching as the pain currently splitting me in half because I can just imagine his father leaning over me and growling, “Language.”
But little Dean’s father isn’t here.
I think Dean is a good name.
Pritchard told me that Xavier always hated how fancy the first names in their family were. So Dean sounded like a good, simple, solid name.
Not having Xavier here to meet his son when he’s born, I can’t, it’s just—
Oh shit, here comes another one.
“Where is my goddamned motherfucking epidural?”
“You know you’re too far dilated at this point for an epidural,” Perky McPerky Fuck reminds me. “Now push. You’re almost there.”
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shiiiiiiiiiiit!!” I yell then take a breath and push while the pain rips through me. The doctor holds one ankle while the other’s in the stirrup.
“He’s crowning,” the doctor announces. “Keep pushing.”
