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Here was a man who could hold conversations with ghost children, take down hordes of aphids, and fire an arrow into the eye-socket of a human without a hitch in his breath. Yet he struggled to deal with this.
“Two years.” He turned back to me, his long strides engulfing the space between us. “Two years I stayed away, kept my fucking dick to myself.” He bent at the waist with the force of his shouting, his shoulders curling forward. “Why did I even bother waiting? What the fuck was the point of an ultrasound, huh?”
I backed up, my heart hammering. “Calm down.”
He stepped with me, his expression a fuming-red canvas of misery. “I might as well have just fucked you with a goddamned pistol and pulled the trigger”—he shoved his face in mine and pointed his hand at my temple like a gun—“because the outcome is the fucking same!”
When he stormed across the room, my breath released in a staggering hiccup, my eyes burning, welling with tears. I moved to follow, but Michio hooked an arm around my shoulders and pulled my back against his chest.
Jesse kicked the bucket of soap and sent it careening into the wall. I flinched, and hot tears raced down my cheeks, trickling over the seam of my lips.
Near the door, Roark’s expression was a steel plate of armor, hiding his thoughts, his body poised like a sword, ready to tackle Jesse if this went too far.
Jesse crouched at the far end of the room, a hand on his brow, rocking with labored breaths. He seemed to force down his grief momentarily as he glanced at me. Then his breathing sped up again, his gaze snapping back to the floor as he moaned with wet, angry sounds and gripped his head with both hands.
More tears rained down my cheeks, and I tasted copper, my vision blurring in red.
I shoved against Michio’s arm. “I need to go to him.”
“Evie?” Roark pushed away from the wall and erased the distance between us in three hurried strides.
His hands cupped my face, tipping it upward, staring at me with horror. “Your eyes…” He looked up at Michio. “What’s happening to her?”
“If you're asking for a medical answer, I don't have one. I just saw this for the first time today and would need to do some scans.” Michio kissed the top of my head, his free arm locking around my waist. “Though I assume a Catholic priest would have his own theories to explain the enigmatic language of her tears.”
Roark’s chest hitched, his mind likely trawling for biblical explanations.
I blinked, swiped at my cheeks, and stared at my bloody fingers, my voice thick. “It’s about as fucked up as the spots on my back.”
Footsteps approached, and Jesse moved in. His hands closed around Roark’s on my face, tilting my head toward him.
A lone tear wandered over Jesse’s cheekbone and vanished into his whiskers. “Oh, God, Evie.” His trembling fingers moved over my face, wiping at the bloody tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
He gathered me in his arms, seemingly oblivious of Roark and Michio holding onto me. Eventually, the other arms fell away, leaving Jesse and me in a shaky bubble, our bodies molding together so tightly I couldn’t tell where my heartache ended and his began.
Tight muscles surrounded me, our swaying movements setting a rhythmic pace with our breaths. I held his stubborn jaw in my hands, my fingers lost in his hair. Would our daughter inherit his auburn highlights? Or the depths of his faceted copper eyes? Or the tiny, off-centered cowlick that whorled at the peak of his hairline? I hoped she had all of his endearing features.
I hoped she acquired Roark’s passion, too. And Michio’s analytical mind. If she embodied even a fraction of my guardians’ qualities, she would be an influential force of nature.
Roark and Michio sat shoulder to shoulder against the wall, watching me. Michio’s legs were bent, his chest leaning forward and his arms braced on his knees. Roark’s head rested against the tiles, chin up, and his hand on Michio’s back.
I’d once thought emotions were a sign of weakness, but my guardians were a powerful display of torment. Eventually, the shadows on their faces would flee, and their slumped shoulders would fortify. Even now, they were absorbing the shock, not cowering beneath it. They plowed over obstacles rather than sidestepping around them, because adversity was the foundation of their strength. I might not have had conviction in a god, but my faith in the men I loved was unwavering.
Jesse lowered to a squat before me, his hands gliding over my breasts, testing their weight and perhaps checking for tenderness as he studied my face. They felt the same, but I was still so early in my pregnancy.
He lifted my t-shirt, tucking the hem beneath my boobs, and smoothed his palms over the vertical plane of my stomach.
