Probably because I know he was called to Theo’s office earlier.
And probably because he skipped dinner with me, saying he had to catch up on a few things.
And also because he hasn’t texted me until just now despite me sending him a few texts, one in particular of a picture of the carved fish I’ve been working on. Something I knew he would comment on because he’s been impressed with my whittling.
My stomach twists in knots as I keep my eyes fixated on the door, waiting for him to enter. We just found a neutral spot in our relationship. With all of the wedding planning going on in the background, and the demands of our schedule, we were able to sort out some normalcy, but now . . . now I feel like it’s going to be flipped upside down.
There is a knock on my door, and I don’t have to tell him to come in because he opens the door and fits his impressive body into my bedroom, closing the door behind him.
While I’m in a night set, tank top and matching silk pants, Keller is still in a suit, this one dark blue. But instead of his perfectly styled hair, it looks like he’s been pulling on the strands, sticking them up in all different directions.
“Hey,” I say as I scoot to the edge of the bed. “Is everything okay?”
As he moves toward me, he takes off his suit jacket and tosses it on the foot of my bed. He sits and positions his back against the headboard and then holds out his hand.
Concerned, I take it, and he leads me to sit on his lap. When I’m situated, he wraps his arms around me, buries his head against my chest, and squeezes me tight toward him. My hands fall to the back of his head, and I hold him close as well.
“Keller,” I say softly, my nerves firing with fear and uncertainty. “What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t say anything.
He just holds me.
Not lifting his head.
Not rubbing my back.
Nothing but clinging to me as if I was his lifeline.
The sorrow I feel in this embrace grips me in a chokehold, tightening my throat and raising the hairs on the back of my neck because this isn’t Keller. He’s strong. He’s protective. He’s a presence in the room, a presence that resembles courage, vitality. He’s the rock, the one you lean on, and right now, that rock is crumbling.
I drag my hand over the back of his head, reassuring him that I’m here for him, for whatever it might be, and as I hold him, my mind whirling with possibilities of what might be happening, what has driven him to this moment, I feel the telltale sign of a tear hitting my bare skin.
I freeze.
My heart pounds rapidly in my chest to the point that my lungs feel like they’re pulling harder for oxygen.
He’s crying?
Why?
I wet my dry lips. “Keller, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?” I take that moment to lift his head, and that’s when I’m confronted with the tears in his eyes, the wetness on his cheeks, the devastation in his expression.
I wipe at his eyes. “Please tell me what happened.”
His brows pinch together but not in the stern way they normally do when he disapproves of something I said or did. This is more like a hurt puppy look, and it just about kills me.
“I . . . I love you, Lilly,” he chokes out.
“I love you too,” I say, my eyes wildly scanning him.
“But . . .” He chokes on his words, unable to get them out, which makes this so much worse.
“But what?” I ask. I turn so I’m straddling his lap now, and I push his back against the headboard with my hands on his chest. “Keller, you have to talk to me because I’m really starting to panic.”
His head falls back and the muscles in his throat contract as he swallows. “Theo called me into his office. He . . .” More tears fall down his cheeks, and I try to wipe them away as quickly as I can. “He told me that, uh . . . that I have a low sperm count.” He lifts his head now, and when his eyes connect with mine, I know exactly what he’s going to say. “It’ll be hard for me to get you pregnant.”
Everything in me stills.
