tie kids down with it, either. I want to give you forever, but that only comes with my vow right here, right now. I promise I’ll be faithful, I’ll work hard to give you a good life, I’ll love you until my dying breath. But I’m never giving you my name.”
I let every heartbreaking word crash over me. I let them settle low in my belly, each word piled up like a mound of rocks, making my stomach ache.
It was on the tip of my tongue to argue, to rail and tell him I didn’t care who gave him his name, I still wanted it. I wanted to be tied to him every way I could be. I wanted to have kids and give them our name. But now was not the right time. It was late, he was tired, and the sting of his sister’s birthday and the anniversary of her death was still fresh.
So instead of doing what I always did, pushing and arguing, I found patience.
No, that wasn’t right. I remembered how much I loved Brady. I thought about all that was swirling in my mind, the hurt and devastation his parents had wrought, and how hard it was for him to face that. Yet, for me—for us—he was going to face those demons.
Then I thought about his promises. Forever. Faithfulness. Happiness. Love. Protection. I wanted that. He’d give me a ring and wear one himself but I’d never have the piece of paper that legally bound him to me. Did I need that paper, or did I just need him? I wanted both. I wanted it all. But what I needed most was him—so I could live without the paper.
I wanted kids. I wanted them badly. Giving up that dream would be beyond devastating—it would be earth-shattering. But now, us lying in my bed face-to-face, our bodies pressed tight, arms around each other after a long day, with everything that had happened yesterday still weighing heavy on Brady, it was not the time to try to talk him around to giving me at least one.
“That’s a lot to think about, Brady,” I stated, then asked something I shouldn’t have because it was borderline pushy. “How firm are you on all of that?”
“Firm.”
Quick. Decisive. Blank.
Heartbreaking.
“Right.”
“You want me to stay until you fall asleep?”
God, I hated that he had to ask.
“Always.”
I saw up close and personal—with our noses only inches apart it was hard to miss—relief followed by sadness.
I hated that, too.
26
It had been nearly a week since I’d told Hadley I never wanted to get married. Six days of her acting like I hadn’t seen the disappointment wash over her features when I told her. Six fucking days of her pretending I hadn’t gutted her when I said I never wanted kids. Six great days of us being together. Four of those nights were spent at her house, me leaving after I’d tucked her into bed and she’d fallen asleep. But before that, our nights included dinner together, watching TV, laughing, conversation, and mind-blowing sex. Last night, we’d switched it up and she came to my place. It had been more of the same, with the only switch-up being that I didn’t want her driving home, so I’d left her in my bed and slept on the couch.
During last night’s dinner conversation, she’d told me she was going to start the renovation on the kitchen and forget about redoing the master bathroom, which was the last update she’d make before the condo would be ready to sell. Then she told me she wanted to sell as quickly as she could. This had surprised me. The market wasn’t shit, but she hadn’t been there very long, and the smarter thing to do would be to hold on to it a few more months and wait. I expressed my thoughts, however, she was adamant. She wanted a bigger place with a backyard—a family home—then she’d swept her arm indicating my living room and said, “Like this place. If we’d been here last weekend, we wouldn’t have been packed in like sardines. And your backyard is perfect for a family blowout.”
It had taken so much out of me not to demand we address the gigantic fucking elephant in the room it’s a minor miracle I’d held it together.
Six more days of falling harder, drowning in her, tying her tighter, loving her more than breath.
I needed her to make a decision.
What I hadn’t had time to do was seek out Clark