“Nothing, you know how much I love it here, but once the baby comes, we won’t have enough room.” She laughs as she looks around the little space we have, and my heart sinks like a stone.
“Come on, it's perfect for us. It’s less than a mile away from the club,andthey have a three-bedroom left,” she informs me, flicking through the pages until she comes to the section that shows the bedrooms. “How perfect would this be for a nursery? Look at all that light coming through the windows?” She smiles adoringly at the picture, making me feel sick.
“We don’t need to think about moving, Peyton; you're not even pregnant.” I place the brochure down and shift her body off mine so I can get outta bed.
“No, but I will be. We’ve been trying so hard, and this time, I really think it’s worked. My boobs feel weird. Eden sai?—”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” I interrupt her. Every time she talks about our future, or being knocked up, it feels like I’m being sliced by a thousand daggers.
“Well, one of us has to get excited about it. What's wrong with you, Raze? I thought we agreed that we were committed to this.” Her head tilts as she stares at me with sad, confused eyes.
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just not getting excited about something that hasn’t even happened yet.” I wish I were man enough to stop prolonging her pain. What I’m doing to this girl is cruel. But kids are such an important part of her future; if I tell her I can’t make ’em there's every chance I could lose her.
“Well, why don’t you come back to bed and make sure it does happen?” She gets on all fours and crawls down to the bottom of the bed where I’m standing.
“Jesus, Peyton, you're fuckin’ obsessed!” I yell at her when it all gets too much, and the look of shock and disappointment on her face, when she rests back on her knees, makes me feel like a cunt.
“I thought you wanted this, too.” She tries her best not to cry.
“Well, maybe I don’t. Maybe, I want to enjoy some time with it just being us before we start having to worry about shitty diapers and sleepless nights,” I lie, because it’s easier than telling her the truth.
“Raze, you said–”
“I’m drowning, Peyton. I got so much shit going on for the club, the last thing I need is a fuckin’ kid to add to the stress.” Her bottom lip starts to wobble, and I take a breath to try to calm myself. “Look, baby, I want you to be happy. I want us to have kids, but maybe now just ain’t the time.” I take her hand, but she shoves me away, moving back to the top of the bed and crossing her arms.
“Don’t strop.”
“This isn’t me stropping, Raze. This is me feeling confused and disappointed. I knew you had doubts before, but you made me think you wanted this.”
“I did want it. I wanted it more than anything, but right now, there's just too much goin’ on.”
“So, whenwillbe a good time?” she questions me.
“I don’t know.” I shrug, heading to the liquor cabinet to pour myself something strong.
“Raze, can you not drink right now? I want us to talk about this. We’ve been trying all this cycle. What are we going to do if I’m pregnant?” I hear the worry in her voice; I refuse to turn around and see it in her face, too. Instead, I down my whiskey and pour myself another.
“Raze!” she yells at me, and I turn around to face the torment I’ve caused.
“Then we’ll deal with it,” I assure her, my voice coming out blunt and frustrated.
“Deal with it?” She laughs bitterly, shaking her head and looking crushed. “You're making it sound like it would be a disaster.”
“Pey, I would love nothing more than for you to be pregnant.” I smile just thinking about it, then shake the idea from my head when I remind myself that it ain’t gonna happen.
“You make no sense, Raze. Why are you saying these things? Why are you putting the brakes on, if it’s what you want?”
“Jesus Christ!” I storm out the door and let it slam when I have no answer for her. I need to get away. I need to fuckin’ escape, so I start to run. I run along the beach in the opposite direction to the clubhouse; my feet flicking up the sand, and my heart full of pain and anger. I run until my lungs start to burn and my legs give out on me, slumping onto the sand and tryingto think of a resolution. And when I realize there ain’t one, I drag my ass back up and start heading back.
It’s dark when I reach the lifeguard tower that signals our boundary. I must have run for fuckin’ miles, because it’s taken me ages to get back. I still haven’t got a solution for the situation I’m in, and when I notice a light flickering up in the tower, curiosity gets the better of me. Climbing the stairs, I open the door.
A candle burns in a jar beside the hunched-over figure, and as I lean closer, I realize it’s a child.
“What ya doin’ in here, kid?” I ask the skinny little boy who’s huddled in the corner, clutching a threadbare blanket and looking petrified.
“None of ya business,” he tells me, trying to puff his chest out and appear bigger than he is.
“Well, that’s where you're wrong. You're on Dirty Soul property, and I’m the club president,” I explain, looking at the floor and figuring from the empty food packets that the kid’s been here some time.
