Page 37 of Breathing Wisteria
Flynn
Her face crumples slightly as the words leave her mouth, but she stares at me defiantly.
“What?” I need her to repeat herself because there’s no way I heard what I think I just heard.
“I can’t have kids, Flynn. So now you see why we will never work.” She moves away from me, in the direction of the door. “You should go now, please.”
I shake my head, walking in the opposite direction, and I take a seat at the small dinette set.
“I don’t understand. The doctors never said you couldn’t have kids.” My mind is refusing to accept this. I was there. I was at every appointment. Every exam. We were warned that any future pregnancy would be high risk, but never, not once, did they say we couldn’t have a baby.
Her shoulders drop, and she walks slowly over to the table, taking a seat opposite me. Her eyes are so fucking sad I have to look away.
“It happened a few years later. I was having horrible abdominal pain and when I went to the doctor, I was diagnosed with endometriosis. More tests showed that I had severe scarring on both fallopian tubes.” Her entire demeanor is resigned. “The chances of me getting pregnant are almost zero.”
I can’t look at her. Her pain is too much for me, so I keep my eyes locked on the huge picture window on the other side of the room and concentrate on keeping my breathing even.
“I warned you,” she whispers, her voice aching with grief. “I told you we couldn’t happen, I wish you’d just left it alone.”
Her admission snaps me out of my trance and for the first time, I feel a surge of anger toward her.
“You think we won’t be together because you can’t have kids?”
“You want kids, Flynn. God, when I was pregnant, you were already talking about the next one.” She leans forward and rests her head in her hands before continuing, her voice slightly muffled. “I can’t give you what you want anymore.”
I act instinctively, my hand slamming painfully down on the table.
“You are what I want. Don’t you dare act like you’re doing this for me.” I fume. “You don’t get to break my fucking heart again and tell me it’s all for me.”
“It is for you,” she screams, shooting up. The sound of her chair crashing to the floor reverberates throughout the room. “I’m broken, Flynn, and do you know why I’m broken? Because I fucking ran toward a fire instead of away from it.” Her voice cracks on a sob. “What kind of fucking idiot does that, huh? I lost everything because I made one wrong decision. All of this”—she waves a hand between us—“is my fault. Mine.”
She sinks to the ground, her hands covering her face and her body convulsing as tears slide down her face.
It’s a moment before I can move, her words paralyzing me, but when I do, I can’t get to her fast enough.
I wrap my hand around her neck and pull her to me, her cheek soft against my own. She clings on to my t-shirt, pulling me to her as though she is trying to climb inside me. I wish to God I had the words she needs, the words that can heal her. But all I can do is hold her and make promise after promise that we are going to survive this.
So that’s what I do.
I hold her until her body calms and her pained wails taper down to quiet whimpers.
I hold her until her face turns to mine, her eyes troubled and her mouth swollen.
I hold her until her hands land on my jaw and the sound of her fingertips scraping along my stubble is all I can hear.
I hold her until our pain and need become entangled, charging the air around us.
Only when her lips find my neck do I let go. But just long enough to stand.
I drag her body up with me before my hands slide down along her curves and grasp her ass. Any illusion of control vanishes, and I slam my mouth to hers, all skill I have deserting me. It’s messy and it’s real. Just like us.
She moves against me, pushing me back, her mouth never breaking our connection. I take the hint and lower my grip to her thighs, curling around them and lifting her up. She wraps her legs around me, crossing her feet at my back, and grinding her pussy against the waistband of my jeans.
I turn and move quickly to her bedroom. Our bodies are connected from head to foot, but it’s still not enough. The need to consume her, to wreck her once and for all for anyone else, fuels my movements.
She moans around my tongue and my cock hardens to the point of pain. I want to take my time with her, cherish her the way a real fucking man should, but neither one of us has the patience for that now.
I step blindly into her room, darkness enveloping us. Our bodies are movement and music, shadowed by melancholy, but driven by hope.
