Page 58 of Control: XXX Vadim 1
“What happened?” Vadim prompts, his voice soft. I look down, surprised to find that he grabbed my hand without my realizing it. His thumb strokes my palm, and I find that it’s easier to continue now—when I’ve never spoken about this to anyone. Not my one-time therapist. Not my parents. Not even Jim.
“I have some pre-existing medical issues, so I knew it was a risk from the start. I prayed for a healthy pregnancy, anyway,” I add thickly. “I promised that I would be perfect, just as long as everything went well. Jim wasn’t happy, but for the first time, I didn’t give a damn what he thought. I was happy. I was confident I could do it alone if I had to, and that was enough. But…” I sigh, and tears fall, impossible to keep at bay. “I woke up one morning, barely four weeks in, and I knew something was wrong. I went to the hospital, they told me there was no heartbeat, and… I can’t explain what that felt like. I can’t. I don’t think anyone can ever understand unless you sit there watching some stupid machine refuse to pick up what you know in your heart should be there. It’s devastating. It is world-altering. But at the back of my mind, I always knew that it was probably a blessing. I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t ready.”
Case and point? Jim got the privilege of becoming a parent before I ever could—a “fuck you” from the universe if there ever was one.
Vadim’s silent, but I suspect he’s thinking again, mulling over the best way to phrase his next question. “You’ve never considered adoption?”
I shake my head. “I had a friend—well, a member of the church—who adopted through foster care, and it was a magical experience. That is until the drug-addicted mother attended a few classes and decided she wanted her baby back. All it took was one overzealous judge to mandate visitation, and the adoption was undone. I can’t go through that pain. I can’t…”
“I’m sorry.”
Something in my heart rips open, and I can’t stop the vicious onslaught of tears. His judgment I could handle. Maybe a scoff, or an eye roll, or a gentle reminder that loss happens and I should get over it or some bullshit like what my therapist—who lasted a week—tried to shove down my throat. His understanding is a balm on an infected, blistering wound, and it burns like disinfectant.
“What about you?” I croak, wiping at my eyes. “Are children in your future?”
He goes rigid again, and I shiver as his fingers trace a path up to my wrist. “Too personal? I’m sorry—”
“I was abused as a child.” He says it so tonelessly that it takes my brain a second to process it. When I do, horror washes over me so heavy I can’t suppress it. I gasp. A million of his little nuances flash through my mind, cementing his claim. His piercing. His mistrust. His initial approach to sex.
And I suddenly feel like the biggest bitch in the world for pushing him. Taunting him. Dragging him from his comfort zone without a damn given to anyone but myself.
“Oh, baby…” I reach for him, lacing my fingers with his free hand.
“I won’t go into the details,” he adds, his tone eerily level. Robotic almost. “But whatever form or manner you can envision happened, most likely did.”
I twist around and stroke his jaw, my eyes brimming with even more tears. He looks so cool again, so distant. But this time, his wall is down, and I can sense the monstrous effort on his part that must take. To let me in. To allow me to feel the tension rippling through him.
“Children of my own was never something I envisioned.” A cold, slow smile shapes his mouth. “But it seems the universe enjoys taunting me by challenging my past perceptions.”
“How?” I ask hoarsely.
He shakes his head—a topic for another day, I suspect.
“You’d make an amazing father.” I sound mournful as I admit it. To gauge his reaction, I turn around as I sink against him. “You’re patient. Gentle…”
“You can be so sure despite knowing me for only a week?” he questions skeptically, throwing his arm over my hip.
I nod. “Yes. Call it my special gift—” Either that or a major character flaw. “I’m good at reading people.Toogood. I knew within two days that Jim was a self-centered, abrasive asshole. I just ignored the warning signs. But you? I find myself trying harder just to ignore thegoodthings. So yes, I have no doubt that you’d make an amazing dad.”
Given the empathy evident in how he cared for his horse alone, a child of his would grow up both spoiled and cherished beyond measure. And he deserves a woman who could give him that future.
“I’ve upset you,” he says as I roll off of him.
“No.” I shake my head as I climb from the bed and stand on shaking legs. “I’m fine. I promise.”
I just feel the need to put distance between us, any way I can. I wind up in the bathroom, slumping over the counter. My eyes are bloodshot, my bottom lip trembling. Self-pity?
No.The pain ripping through my chest has everything to do with guilt. Vadim is such an infuriatingly stubborn, guarded, mysterious man. And the more time I spend around him, the more of him I’m starting to crave. My instincts are warning me to run far and fast. Before it’s too late and I do something stupid.
Like jump into another relationship with someone I barely know.
I splash cool water onto my face and then reenter the bedroom with a lazy grin. He’s still propped up in bed, watching me warily.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes.” I skip to his end of the bed and climb onto the mattress—directly onto him. He grunts in shock, capturing my waist to keep me steady. I plant a drunk kiss on his jaw and keep kissing my way down his chest until the tension drains from him completely.
“I love being with you,” I confess, somewhere near his navel. “May your future fake wife burn in hell.”
