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“Get out!” I screamed and threw another. My aim was terrible—maybe it was the blinding tears or maybe I didn’t want to hit him. “Get out! Get out! Get out!”
For a moment, the darkness that crossed his face stopped me as I went to throw something else at him. Real fear weaved through my core as his eyes narrowed and his fists balled. Killian wouldn’t hurt me—not physically. I knew that. But we both had a capacity for great anger. And we were both just beginning.
I waited with bated breath for him to react, but he didn’t. Instead, he stormed out. The door slammed so hard on its frame that I heard something crack.
With him, every ounce of my fight left. My legs gave out, and I sank to the floor, sobbing. Every part of me was cracked open and bleeding out. The pain of memories I’d done my best to hide away reared an ugly face, clinging venomously.
Chapter 64
Killian
Ilifted my head, blowing out an unsteady breath, as I heard the front door open and close. Genevieve was back. Fuck. I ran a hand over my face, scrubbing away whatever tears I fucking could. Shit, I was a mess. This wasn’t how I pictured talking to her.
Fuck, this was going to be a goddamn shitshow.
I should’ve put the picture back, but I couldn’t do it. Instead, I shoved it in my pocket as I got to my feet. Taking the stairs two at a time, I found her in the kitchen. Those gorgeous eyes widened at the sight of me—not that I blamed her. Considering the stack of boxes she had, being blindsided by me wasn’t on the list of things she’d been expecting.
And upstairs no less.
“Genevieve—”
“Get out,” she snapped the second I tried to talk.
“Genevieve—”
“Get out,” she interrupted once more. The lower lip tremble, the tension in her shoulders, the glassiness in her eyes—none of it was lost on me. “Get out!”
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” I demanded, ignoring her as I pointed up the stairs. She couldn’t have really fucking thought she could hide this from me for that long. There was no way in hell. “Why haven’t you changed the goddamn room? Sleeping in the guest room? And his nursery? You can’t live—”
“Can’t?” Genevieve repeated. Her voice rose a notch, laced with more anger than I’d heard from her in a long fucking time. “You don’t get to tell me what to do! You left me! You left me, Killian! Alone and bleeding in the hospital! You lost every right you had to say anything! About anything!”
“You can’t live like this, Genevieve! It’s not healthy!” I exploded. I couldn’t fucking help myself. It wasn’t good for her. She had to see that.
“You know what’s not healthy? Telling the hospital staff that I didn’t have a clue where you went! Having to go file paperwork to register his stillbirth alone! Having to figure out if I should have him cremated or buried alone! Going to pick up our son’s ashes alone!” That last sentence was a punch to the fucking gut. Her breathing picked up as sobs tore through her. The sound ripped me apart little-by-little. I hadn’t fucking thought about any of that. She screamed, “I did that! Me! Not you! No, because you couldn’t be bothered with any of it!”
“Don’t you fucking dare act like that’s why I left,” I snarled. The fucking dark hole I’d fallen into after we lost him was one I thought I’d never be able to crawl out of. Hell, some days I wasn’t sure if I ever had and that my sanity was a temporary delusion.
“I wouldn’t know, would I? Because you didn’t tell me! You just walked out of my life and left me there to deal with all of it!”
“I never meant for you to go through all of that alone! You should’ve told someone!”
She gestured wildly around the empty house.
“Told who?” Genevieve shrieked. “Tell who what? I didn’t have a clue where you were! And no one knew about him! It was supposed to be you and me! You were supposed to be there for me! I only wanted you.”
“I’m sorry!” I yelled at her because what the fuck else was I supposed to say? What else could I say? I sure as hell couldn’t go back and fucking fix it.
“You’re sorry? You’re sorry? What good does that do me? Where was your sorry when I had to come home? By myself? And try to recover?” she demanded. Every question was another knife-twisting stab. Sure, I’d fucking thought about what it was like for her after I left. Those thoughts had been a major contributor to my downward spiral. But hearing them? Fuck. “Where was your sorry when I got sick because part of my placenta had been retained, and I had to drive myself back to the hospital? Alone!”
“I got that call.” I barely heard myself as I said the words. They were the wrong fucking words to say. Her eyes widened with utter disbelief.
“You got that call?” Genevieve asked quietly, her voice breaking. “You got that call, and you… what? Dismissed it? Told them to fuck off in true Killian Byrne style? Did you even answer the call?”
I said nothing, shifting uncomfortably as I stared at her. How the fuck was I supposed to tell her I ignored the call? That I heard the voicemail and deleted it because I was so damn drunk that I knew I’d only make it worse.
How the fuck was I supposed to tell her I wasn’t some white fucking knight? I was a fucking bastard with a cold heart.
“You coward,” she said, and my voice stuck in my throat. “You never even answered the call. You listened to a goddamn voicemail. You didn’t care.”
