I thought we were drowning then, I don’t know what the fuck you’d call how we are now.
After she spent the entire day in bed, crying for most of it, she went back to work the day after we got the news. I tried to talk her into taking some time off, but she didn’t want to hear anything I had to say. And in complete contrast to how she usually is, she hasn’t wanted to do much talking this week. This silence has thrown me; I don’t know how to reach her or help her. She told me she doesn’t want me to try to make her feel better, but fuck, watching her go through this is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. If I could take all her pain away, I would.
“I picked up some Thai for dinner,” she says when I come home just after 7:00 p.m. and find her sitting on the couch scrolling through her phone. “I’m not very hungry, but I can heat some up for you if you want.”
She’s barely eating and I’m growing concerned. “Angel, you need to eat.” And fuck, I want us to have a meal together, something we haven’t done this week.
“Yeah, I will, but later.”
“I’ll wait to eat with you.”
She glances at me and stands. “Okay. I’m gonna have a shower.”
As she moves past me, I reach for her hand and pull her to me. Smoothing her hair off her face, I say, “How was your day?”
“Long. Sucky. How was yours?”
Fuck, I detest what IVF has done to us. Her arms hang by her side, her hands nowhere close to being on me like they usually are when I come home at the end of the day. This has become our norm this week. On top of that, I haven’t fucked her in weeks. We need to get through this together, in every way we can. The ache in my soul can only be soothed by Birdie, but she doesn’t want me anywhere near her.
“Mine was the same.” I hold her face with both hands and kiss her. She kisses me back, but her heart isn’t in it. I drop my hands and let her go. I’d rather nothing from her than something I’ve forced her into giving. “Go shower.”
A text comes through as I watch her walk away.
* * *
Ransom: Everything’s lined up for tomorrow.
Me: I’ll be in at 6am. Let Striker know he needs to get his ass there on time.
Ransom: Have done. He’ll be there.
Me: Thanks, brother.
* * *
I exhale a long, frustrated breath. Tomorrow will be make or fucking break, and I need to get my head in the game. After forcing three of Zenith’s delivery guys to talk, we finally discovered where they operate from. We’re attempting a negotiation with them tomorrow to put an end to this turf war. I don’t expect it to go well, and if I’m right, fuck knows what the outcome will be. I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to ensure Storm comes out on top, which is why I need to get my shit together.
I head out to the gym in the garage. It helps me take my mind off Birdie and IVF, and while she’s spent each night this week in bed watching TV, the gym has given me somewhere to come when she’s turned away.
I lose myself to the weights for the next hour, and when I emerge from the garage, Birdie is predictably in bed zoning out to another episode of Queen of the South.
“You hungry now?” I ask as I walk past her into the en suite.
“No. Don’t wait for me if you are.”
I place my hands on the vanity and stare in the mirror at her sitting in the bed behind me. “It’s after eight. We’re eating after I shower.”
My commanding tone catches her attention and she looks at me. “I don’t want any.”
“You haven’t wanted dinner all week. Starving yourself isn’t useful.”
She stares at me for a long moment before turning back to the TV.
When she doesn’t say anything else, I spin around and go back into the bedroom. “I’m out of ideas for how to reach you, angel. I’ve tried to give you space; I’ve tried to do what you asked by not being practical about this; I’ve pushed aside my instinct to fix shit; and while I know it’s only been four days, I’m concerned, because instead of pulling together it feels like you’re