“I’m not ready,” I blurt out, then clamp my lips shut, bracing myself for her reaction.
“What do you mean, you’re not ready?” She sounds genuinely confused.
“For babies. I love you, Fable, but my life is finally on track. I’m on top of my game—literally—I’m married to the best woman ever, and I’m still freaking young. I’m not ready for us to have a child yet.”
“No one’s ever really ready,” she starts, then drops her head so she can stare at her hands, which are clutched in her lap. “It scares me, too, you know. I’m the one who has to be pregnant, who has to carry and then deliver the baby.” A visible shiver runs through her.
My fear over having a baby switches to the fear of Fable pregnant and all the complications that could arise. Yeah. Never even thought of that. “We don’t need to have … any children, right?”
She stares at me, her eyes narrow, her mouth in a grim line. Great. I’m worried sick about her and I just pissed her off. “You don’t get it,” she mutters as she stands and storms off toward the bathroom. “All I want is a little piece of you, Drew. I want to create a family with you. You’re my husband; we’ve been together for a long time. It’s the natural progression, right?”
“Fable, wait,” I start, but she turns to glare at me and I shut up. Fuck, she’s mad. I can’t remember the last time I saw her this angry. Sure, we argue sometimes, but not too often. We get along. For whatever reason, the two of us together equals a healthy relationship. The two of us apart equals unhealthy behavior on both our parts.
We freaking need each other. It’s scary to think of life without her by my side. That may sound too dependent—a psychiatrist would have a field day with us—but I don’t give a shit. We’re happy. That’s all that matters.
“I’ve sacrificed everything for you,” she murmurs, her voice small and sad. “I’ve given up my dreams for yours.”
“You’ve given up your dreams?” I’m incredulous. “I never asked you to give up anything for me.”
“I know. But I did. I followed you everywhere. You wanted to go pro? I supported you. You wanted me to come to your games and leave Owen behind? I did it. You wanted me to start talking to the media? I did that, too. Always putting aside my own fears and insecurities so I could make you happy. The least you could do is consider doing the same for me. I really don’t think I’m asking for much.”
Her words render me silent as I absorb them, shock coursing through me, leaving me cold. She’s asking for so much, it’s not even funny. I don’t know what to say, how to act. Loving me and supporting me is a sacrifice? Is that how she really feels?
But before I can ask her, she’s disappeared, the bathroom door quietly clicking shut behind her. Shutting me out, shutting her in.
Keeping us apart.
Fable
Men. They’re f**king ridiculous. Selfish, idiotic creatures that have no clue what’s really going on around them. If I weren’t in Drew’s life taking care of him, where would he be? What would he be doing? Living a cold shell of a life, moving through the world like a zombie, still having to deal with his dad and his stepmom and whatever other sick, disgusting things that woman might’ve done to him?
Or would he have become stronger? Would he have broken free of her mental chains? I’d like to think so. We’ll never know, though, because I came into his life at just the right time and changed everything—for the better. And once we committed ourselves to each other, I did what he wanted. No questions asked. I never had a doubt about any of his choices or mine, or ours together.
So why can’t he give me this? I’ve thought about having a baby with him for a while. Yeah, the idea of being pregnant, of getting big and fat and then actually delivering the baby frightens me; I’m not going to lie.
But spending time with Amanda and her baby son was so much fun. He’s such a sweet little boy and he smells so good. He’s four months old, full of smiles and little baby giggles, and my heart jumped to my throat every time he smiled for me, his blue eyes twinkling. He’s chubby and was bundled up for the cold weather, looking snug as a bug in his stroller. When Amanda pulled him out to feed him and then asked if I would hold him while she went to the bathroom, I gladly took him into my arms.
And stared down at him in wonder.
I imagined having Drew’s child. Holding a wiggly dark-haired little baby that we created, cuddled in my arms night after night. Feeding the baby, loving the baby, seeing Drew with his baby … the mere thought of it all made my heart fill to bursting. I’d been so excited, so eager to talk to him I couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel. I wanted to tell him all about Bryce, and how much I wanted to have his baby. I thought he’d be agreeable and say yes. I thought we’d be naked in bed right now, trying our best to have a baby.
Well, I’d have to stop taking the pill first. That would help.
And then I come back to the hotel and discover he doesn’t want one. Clearly. He looked ready to run at the first mention of a baby, which is his usual mode of operation. When the going gets tough, the Drew gets running. He loves to escape his problems. I’m the one who always makes him face them head on.
But look: I just did the same exact thing. Rather than continue our discussion, I walked out on him. Locked myself up in this bathroom so I could hide from him, fill the giant sunken tub with hot steaming water, and soak all my troubles away.