Page 46 of Four Calling Birds

26. Honeymoon

Lotte

“Didyoumeanit?”Mack grabbed me by the bicep after he locked the door behind Big Mack. He spun me so that we were chest to chest. I shivered, the latent cold from last night still in my bones.

He swore under his breath, and walked to the hearth, squatting down to throw in a log on top of the dying fire that had kept the house warm last night.

“Did I mean what?” I pulled the blanket up closer to me.

He came to a stand, placing his hand on the mantle, his eyes glaring at the flames like it owed him money.

“That you’re staying for Christmas.”

“Do you not want me to?”

He let out a sigh of exasperation. “Answering a question with another question? That’s kinda rude, sweetheart.”

He had a point. But I didn’t want to be the one to put myself out there first. I didn’t want to be the one to confirm or deny desire, even though I felt like we had already discussed this. Wasn’t that what that fight was about? Wasn’t that what we were leading to?

“Don’t fuck with me, Lotte,” he dropped his head to his hand on the mantle. I wondered what was going through his mind right at that second. “Are we still getting divorced?”

I swallowed, the tears burning my eyes. “Do you want to?”

“For fuck’s sake!” His hand pulled back and he struck the mantle so hard that it shook off the wall. Plaster fell to the ground. “Answer the question, Lotte. Please. Just answer it, because I’m not the one in charge here. I’m not the one...”

The fire kicked up, as the new log heated. The room got hotter, and I flushed. At least I wanted to believe it was from the fire.

“I want to stay,” I whispered. “I had thought… I thought I was staying, but if you don’t want me to, then…”

“Lotte!” He snapped, his eyes shut, wrinkling at the corners.

I don’t know what madness made me think that this was a good idea. But I dropped the blanket to the floor, and the blanket rustled as it piled up on the ground.

His head whipped up and he looked at my almost naked body from top to bottom. It wasn’t a look of lust and arousal, though the bulge in his pants told me that it might be a part of it. It was an assessing look, as if he was trying to piece together something in his mind.

“This is what I look like now,” I said, feeling my voice waver. “I have new scars that won’t ever disappear. I have aches and pains that I didn’t have three years ago.” A hot tear went down my cheek. “And I can’t change the past.”

I put my palms out, pleading to him. But he stayed perfectly still, just looking at my eyes.

“I’ve changed a little, but not really,” I kept on going. I took one step toward him, then stopped. I waited for a second before I grasped for the words I wanted. “And I still can’t give you children, and I will always cry over the babies we didn’t have. And a part of me still wishes that I could have had a child, even if it cost me my life because…” I placed my hands on my lower belly. There was a slight pouch there that never quite healed from the one time we had made it past the first trimester. Before it all happened again, ending in blood, pain and heartbreak. “I really wanted to see a baby with your features, even for just a second…”

“Lotte…” his voice wasn’t angry now. His tear matched mine going down his cheek and disappearing into his graying beard. I knew that he remembered. We had dared to hope that time. We had bought little baby clothes. We had even gotten the blood test to find out the gender. She was a girl. We were naming her Amelia, and I had bought all the pink things, and… it didn’t happen.

“It will always be a hole in my heart.” I was crying freely, letting them fall from my cheek to the ground. “And I will always feel pain because of it. And it will be a burden to you if…” I took a deep breath, trying to push the words out. “If youletme stay.”

I took another step forward, and he still didn’t move, even though I saw his jaw tick with tension.

“Do you still want me?” I asked, putting my arms out to the side so that he could see every scar, both inside and out. “Do you still want…”

“Yes!” He lunged forward, grabbing me by the ass, pulling me up to wrap my legs around his waist. “Yes!”

He kissed me deep, pushing me against a wall. Our tongues clashed and my fingers wove into his hair, feeling how rough it had become with its new length. His gray hairs were more prickly than the smooth brown locks I had known three years ago, and I liked it. I liked that we were growing old together and might spend our later years on rocking chairs on the porch.

He pulled away just long enough to grunt out, “Of course, I fucking want you. I love every scar, and every heartache. I’ll take it all, as long as you stay with me.”

His lips came down to where the chain of the Forget Me Not dangled against my clavicle and he sucked on the skin, his teeth grinding it until I felt a bruise form. He was marking me like a fucking teenager. I laughed.

“I burned the divorce papers,” I finally admitted in a gasp.

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