Page 70 of Mr. Infuriating

My little brother stood up straight and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“I can’t give her what she wants.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

I needed to keep moving, like that would keep me from thinking too much, and headed back toward the shop for the next cupboard.

“She’s still young. She wants babies.”

“So? Are you shooting blanks or something? Did you get snipped?”

“No!”

We squatted on either side of the cabinet and lifted at the same time.

“So, I don’t understand the problem.”

“The problem is, I’m not Maverick. I don’t want any more kids.”

“Well, to be fair, I don’t think Maverickwantedanother one, either.”

“That’s true. But when it happened, he saw it as a blessing and a second chance. I don’t know if I’d feel that way.”

“Maybe you need to change your mindset. I saw you two together, Gabe. There’s definitely something there. I’d hate foryou not to pursue it. It wasn’t that long ago that you wanted more kids, too.”

“That ship sailed.”

We set the cabinet next to the first one, and I started back to the shop. Derrick, however, didn’t move past the tailgate.

“Is this about Bodhi?”

Hearing my dead son’s name out loud felt like a blow to the stomach, and I froze in my tracks.

Without turning around, I stated flatly, “No.”

“You sure about that?”

My fists clenched, and I turned to glare at my brother. His sad expression mirrored how I felt whenever I thought of Bodhi, so I consciously relaxed my fingers.

I still didn’t want to talk about it, though.

“It’s not about him. I just don’t want more kids, okay?”

“Why not? You always wanted a big family. Bodhi’s death is the only thing that makes sense about why you wouldn’t want another one. Or two.”

I’d never told anyone why Becky and I never had more children. It didn’t take a psych degree to figure out that losing our son had put a serious strain on our marriage. The divorce two years after Bodhi’s death said all that needed to be said; there was no need to discuss all the reasons behind our failed relationship.

Maybe now was a good time to be more forthcoming.

“We never had any more because Becky had her tubes tied without telling me. She let me go a whole year thinking we were still trying.”

Derrick sagged against the tailgate.

“You’re kidding me. Why would she do that?”

I found I needed the support of the truck’s steel frame, too, and moved to stand by him.

“She said she couldn’t bear the thought of losing another child, so she didn’t want to risk bringing another one into the world.”

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