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“We do care for her,” Matt says slowly. “We pay for her lifestyle, the house, the car, everything. Heather’s set up for life.”
The air leaves my lungs in a whoosh. The Morgans really have no idea what’s wrong in this scenario. No clue whatsoever.
“That’s not it,” I say tightly, “She misses you, and it’s gonna kill her. Heather was the center of your universe for years and then – poof! – you’re gone. That’s bullshit and you know it. Money doesn’t make up for that.”
For the first time in a long time, all seven Morgan brothers are quiet. There’s no posturing, no arguing, no ordering. They’re just quiet, stares trained on me. I get a hold of myself, jerking my robe tight before starting for the second floor, ready to retreat to my room.
But as my slipper touches the first step, Sam’s deep voice sounds from across the room.
“It wasn’t great what we did, you’re right,” comes his baritone.
My head swivels like the girl in the Exorcist, almost flying off my shoulders. I stare in shock. Really? An admission of error? Acknowledgment of a mistake? From the Morgans? This can’t be happening.
But he nods slowly.
“We care about Heather,” interrupts Tim. “We absolutely cared about her, all the way until the end. But you have to understand Macy. We wanted something, and she couldn’t provide. This isn’t a question of money or wealth or any of that other shit. The biological urge for a child is real, and infertility is devastating. Even for happily married couples, it can wreck a relationship.”
My mouth snaps shut. That’s true. I’ve read articles about how infertility is a silent killer, devastating marriages because of dreams destroyed, visions of a family vanished into thin air. But still, it didn’t make sense.
“Break ups are break ups,” come my slow words, head shaking. “But this girl, she’s different. She’s wrecked. Absolutely wrecked, just a shadow of a human being now. And she says you did that to her.”
The men nod.
“She’s having a hard time, for sure,” says Smith, expressionless. “It was bound to happen.”
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“Bound to happen?” I guffaw. “Why is that?”
Sam’s blue eyes are intent.
“Because she was at the center of a vortex. There were seven of us, and just one her. The feelings are magnified, emotions running like electrical currents all the time. Any woman would be broken once that current is shut down.”
But I shake my head again.
“I get it, sort of,” come my slow words. “But still, it’s crazy. Heather was a shell, nothing more than a living, breathing corpse. Is there something you can do for her?”
Silence once more.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” says Trent smoothly. “Most women don’t want their lovers to have any contact with exes.”
“It’s a bad idea,” interrupts Smith, voice harsh. “This is a fucked-up idea if there was ever one.”
But my head nods slowly.
“Listen,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I want to help Heather, if we can. Ex or no ex. Somehow, I want her to be okay. Or at least better than she is now. But there’s still this question about me ….” The words falter on my lips.
Suddenly, all seven men are on full alert.
“And?” comes Trent’s raspy question. “And what about you, Macy?”
I’m not sure what to say then. But I have to tell them of my uncertainties.
“I don’t know,” come my slow words, jerking my robe tighter around my waist. The air is heavy now, filling my lungs, making it difficult to breathe. “I just don’t know anymore. Meeting her, realizing that I’m just a cog, it’s disturbing.”
“Not that disturbing,” bites Tim. “We’re all pawns in a master game.”
I shake my head slowly.
