She stood. With the conversation they needed to have, she needed to be wearing more than just a shirt. She pulled lounging pajamas from the top drawer of her dresser and hurried into them. What the hell was she going to say to Tristan? Her plan had been to leave the past in the past. Yet, somehow it kept popping up at every turn.
After sliding on a pair of thick socks, she took her coffee and left the room. It was a little early for breakfast, but cooking helped her relax.
“Omelets could work.”
As she pulled ingredients from the refrigerator, Tristan strolled into the kitchen. He must not have seen his T-shirt that she had left on the bed because all he had on was a pair of pants and socks. The upper half of his body—his strong, muscular, no-fat-nowhere body, was bare. All that deliciousness on full display for her eyes only, and boy, did she want to…
“Cree!”
She startled, and her eyes leaped up to meet his. “What?”
“I called your name like ten times. I asked if you want some help, but clearly, I must be distracting you. What? You can’t focus with all this in your presence?” he asked, flexing his biceps and making his pecks dance.
Good Lord, the man was too fine and sexy for his own good, and right now it was pissing her off. She couldn’t lure him out of the kitchen and back to the bedroom for some wild and sweaty sex since they needed to talk.
“You’re right, I can’t,” she said seriously, emotionally preparing herself for a conversation she didn’t want to have.
Tristan searched her eyes for a second before he nodded and went back upstairs. While he did that, she started chopping vegetables for their omelets.
I can do this, she told herself. It’s the right thing to do.
A few minutes later, she glanced up when Tristan returned, wearing a shirt she hadn’t seen before, and she remembered he had brought clothes with him. Returning her attention back to the cutting board, she continued chopping vegetables.
“Walking away from you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” she started and grabbed a green pepper to cut up. She slashed it in half, probably with more force than needed, and Tristan moved to her side. He put his hand over hers and slowly removed the knife from her grasp, setting it on the counter next to the stove.
Cree let him. It probably wasn’t a good idea to be swinging a knife right now.
She had just huffed out a breath when Tristan stood behind her. He wrapped his strong arms around her, and Cree melted against his hard body.
“I hope you know you can talk to me about anything,” he said and placed a kiss on the side of her head. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Cree’s body trembled involuntarily. Not because she was cold, but because she wasn’t. There wasn’t much that made her uncomfortable, but the last twenty-four hours had brought its share of uncomfortable moments. Which was probably good. She had buried the past instead of taking time to deal with it.
Tristan tightened his hold, and Cree wasn’t sure if his nearness was helping or making it harder to speak. Emotions swirled inside of her like butterflies taking flight in her gut, making her feel as if she were going to puke. Seconds ticked by as they stood in her kitchen next to the center island while she tried to figure out where to start.
She inhaled deeply and then released the breath before saying, “When I walked away from you, I didn’t know I was pregnant.”
After a slight hesitation, as if he needed to process her words, Tristan stiffened. Cree wasn’t sure, but it also seemed like he stopped breathing for a minute. Without a word, his arms fell away from her and he stumbled backwards, and she missed his warmth immediately.
“Cree,” he said, and that one simple word held so much anguish, disbelief, and a hint of pleading in his tone.
He went to the opposite side of the counter, adding more distance between them, and faced her. Shock and fear marred his handsome face.
“Please tell me you didn’t have an…” His words trailed off, and she swallowed hard.
“I didn’t.”
She bit down on her lower lip as stupid tears filled her eyes, but there was no way in hell she would let them fall. She had cried for what seemed like months after she and Tristan broke up. She shouldn’t have any tears left. Yet, emotion clogged her throat, and a rogue tear slipped down her cheek before she quickly wiped it away.
“At twelve weeks, I had a miscarriage.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she cleared her throat.
Her chest heaved and her heart cracked as she struggled to keep her emotions in check, but she was failing miserably. Everything inside of her wanted to cry out and throw something for the heartbreaking pain she had endured thirteen years ago.
Instead, she braced her hands on the counter and stared down at the gleaming hardwood floor. She couldn’t look at Tristan, but she could tell he hadn’t moved from his spot on the other side of the counter. He stood there motionless, and Cree couldn’t even imagine what he was thinking.
There’d been days when that time in her life seemed like a bad dream. A dream that invaded her peace of mind at the same time every year. The death date of her baby… their baby.
“You didn’t tell me,” Tristan said barely above a whisper. “How could you not tell me? You went through that, and you never said a word. Were you ever going to tell me?”
