Page 15 of Phobia
Had his rank and place in his society been worth more than his own flesh and blood? His daughter’s happiness?
“We won’t be like that, right?” I asked softly, buying myself a little more time in here.
“Like what?”
“Shitty parents.”
I’d been pregnant once when I was twenty. My ex bailed when he found out.
How could you be so stupid?
It had hurt at the time, being blamed for something I hadn’t done on my own, but I realized quickly, I wasn’t anywhere near ready to be someone’s ma. Never mind raising my ex’s child while I still felt like a kid myself.
My siblings were supportive of my decision. My ma, not so much. She wanted me to get married, have the kid.
But I couldn’t. So, with Sean’s help, I dealt with it. I didn’t regret my decision, but every so often, when I heard a story like the Rose of Rockchapel’s, my memories came back to me. The angry tears stung the back of my eyes, and my chest heaved a little. I felt the weight of chains digging into my wrists and the trepidation of feeling trapped again. I didn’t regret my choice, it was the best one I made for myself at the time, but it altered the naïve way I viewed the world and the people my life had once orbited around.
People should be allowed to make their own choices about their own bodies. They should be allowed to love who they love and be who they were. They deserved families and parents who honored and respected those choices, too. Who didn’t force them to make decisions that weren’t theirs to make.
I never wanted to be like that.
Adam was more than aware of my abortion and how it had shaped me. He was as familiar with my trauma and my past as he was with the roadmap of my body.
“I just mean…” I swallowed, trying the sentence again. “I mean, we won’t try to make them into someone they’re not.” Like my ma had tried to do with me. “We won’t try to stop them from loving who they love.”
A rumble vibrated in the back of his throat. “Within reason.”
Huh? I glanced his way, watching as he layered his hands on top of his head, a terse sigh breezing through his slim nose. “If our kid brings home some little shit, I’m gonna break their fucking legs.”
“Adam.”
“No kid of mine is dating someone who doesn’t deserve them,” he argued, earning the eyes of a couple who turned around when they realized there wasn’t much to see in the gallery room.
I tried to fight back the smile. “Ours,” I corrected, pointing at myself with my thumb. “I’m the incubator.” I fought the urge to smile at my joke. He was going to be an overprotective dad, and I pitied anyone who came knocking on our door. They wouldn’t just have to contend with Adam.
They’d have to face Vince, Gabriel, and Maxwell, too.
The four of them would put them through the wringer just to prove their worth.
He smiled, but it was flimsy. “I’m serious, Trina.” He lowered his arms, rolling out his stiff shoulders. I could hear the clicking of knots in his back. “I want the best for them and of them. And I don’t mean I expect them to be a brain surgeon or something.” His hazel eyes crinkled in the corner. “I want them to know that they can be anything and they can love who they love, but that person needs to reciprocate that, too. I don’t want them accepting the bare minimum from anyone or offering someone their scraps, either.” He blew out a breath. “I learned that the hard way. I don’t want them repeating my mistakes.”
That was impossible because they had us as their parents.
Our children wouldn’t grow up to see a filtered-down version of love between their parents like I had. Of course, I’d known my parents loved each other, but it just wasn’t always evident until my dad died. Ma’s world stopped for her, and sometimes, I wasn’t sure it ever really started turning for her again.
“They won’t,” I assured, leaning against him. No one was harder on himself than Adam. He still punished himself for the shit he’d put me through. There had been countless nights I’d spent tucked against him on the couch, our legs twined together, our attention on the television, but all the while, he tested the rings on my fingers, as though ensuring they were too tight to come off.
Like he was afraid.
Flexing on my toes, I grabbed a fistful of his hoodie at the chest, forcing him to bend and meet me halfway. His eyes lowered as I swept my lips against his, his exhale fanning against my face. He framed my face with his hands, his thumbs brushing against the arches of my cheekbones.
“We won’t be shitty parents,” he promised. “We won’t be perfect. I mean, I’ve got the mouth of a fucking sailor and you’re a mess on a good day.”
“Hey!” I protested, twisting my fist in his hoodie, jerking him playfully. He grabbed my wrist, holding it tight against him, and snatched my lips with his, struggling to contain the smile.
Adam let me go, and my calves relaxed as I lowered my boots flat to the floor. “Can we get the hell outta here now?” he complained.
Nodding my head, I glanced back at the wax figures, giving them one last look. Now that I was this close, I realized they seemed newer than the other figures out in the gallery. Like they were more recent additions. The craftsmanship was different, and their wax had a sheen to it, like someone freshly poured it and it hadn’t had enough time to set correctly. Flicking my eyes over their faces, I took in the details of their features—noses of different heights and widths, lines set near their mouths, tufts of hair curling at their necklines. Coming upon the one closest to me, my heart stuttered to a stop and dread pushed through my pores when its left eye strained with a half twitch as though it had attempted to blink.
