Page 110 of Pain in the Axe
My chest constricted, and my breaths were shallow. All I wanted to do was go inside, turn on reality TV, and pretend none of these problems existed.
Tears pricked at the backs of my eyes. God, I was such a cliché—the weeping pregnant woman. I was disgusted by my own weakness.
“I’ve always been good at handling what life throws at me,” I said, wiping away a tear. “I was a badass. I compartmentalized my feelings and got on with it.” A sniffle escaped me. Dammit. “Now look at me. I’m a crying mess. Pregnant and confused and terrified I’ll do the wrong thing or make the wrong decision.”
“Are you done?” he asked gently.
Pulling in a shaky breath, I nodded.
“We can work through it all together. But first, you have to let me in and accept that you can’t do it all yourself.”
I bristled at that comment, even if he had a point.
“I mean it.” He brought my hand to his lips and kissed the backs of my fingers. “If we’re going to do this and do it right, I need to trust that you’ll ask me for help.”
Logically, I knew he was right. Even so, my defenses engaged. I’d been on my own for a long time and had done a pretty excellent job.
“I’m working on it,” I said, gritting my teeth. “But trusting and sharing don’t come naturally to me.”
He laughed. “You think it’s easy for me?”
Fair point.
But saying it out loud, putting it out into the universe, would only make the fears more real. And then he’d know the truth. That I didn’t have everything under control. That I wasn’t the badass I pretended to be.
“You want me to share?” I finally asked, sniffling loudly. “You’ll regret asking.”
“Never,” he said, his brows pulled low and his mouth fixed in a straight line.
Like a dam had broken, the words came fast. There was no containing them any longer. “I am in a constant state of panicbecause I’m worried I’m not maternal enough, that I’m not loving enough to be a good mother. Happy now?” I wiped at my tearstained cheeks. “I worry I’m deficient. I look at Celine and how easily motherhood came to her, and I worry that I’ll fuck it up.”
I stopped there, desperate for a breath. Gus watched me, his eyes full of sympathy. Before he could speak, I went on.
“Then there’s the nagging fear that my geriatric uterus isn’t up for the job and something will go wrong. I’m forty. In olden days, I’d be a grandmother or dead by now, not having my first baby. The fear of my body failing this child is all-consuming.”
“Chloe,” he said.
I held up a hand. “You asked, and now I’m telling you.” I was gaining speed, and nothing would stop me.
“My family is fractured and dysfunctional. And you and me? Yeah, things are great now, but we don’t have the best track record. Not to mention the circumstances that led to this baby were fucked up. We had hate sex after twenty years of mutual resentment. God, it’s the stuff Hallmark movies are made of.
“I own a distressed lumber company under the daily scrutiny of the FBI. I’ve got creepy men following me around, arsons targeting my business, burglars, and incomplete financials. Oh, and then there’s my corporate job, which is in Seattle, working with partners who want me to get my ass back to making them money instead of babysitting this shitshow.”
I took a breath, hiccupping but determined to keep going.
Gus grabbed my arm. “Creepy men? What are you talking about?”
“It might be nothing,” I hedged, waving him off.
He wasn’t having it. His grip tightened, and he asked again. “What the hell do you mean by creepy men?”
With a resigned sigh, I filled him in on the interaction in Heartsborough last week and the weird comments at the lumberjack competition back in August.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “How could you not tell me?”
“I have a lot on my plate,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Chloe, if scary criminals are stalking and threatening you, don’t you think I have a right to know?”
