Not this wall of resistance coming off her bare-chested husband.
“I donotagree.” His tone was firm, cold, absolutely uncompromising.
“I thought you wanted a child. That’s why we married.”
“I didn’t know you as well as I believed I did when we married. Now I know you well enough to recognize that you’re the last person on earth with whom I’d ever want to have a child.”
The words left her reeling, landing like crushing blows and inflicting whatever the emotional equivalent to gross bodily harm was. Up until this very moment she’d never really understood how badly Smith could hurt her. She hadn’t even recognized how truly important his opinion of her had become.
She’d spent her life insulating herself from emotion, from close attachments, but Smith had somehow crept beneath all of her defenses. She’d kept Smith at a polite distance for so longbecause she’d expected him to leave. But that hadn’t happened and she’d allowed herself to become complacent. Content, even. She’d let down her guard and hadn’t spent enough time shoring up her weakening defenses.
But she could now see that creating a life—andlife—with Smith, sharing intimacies, a home, meals, conversation, had given her a sense of kinship. She’d started seeing them as a team, a solid unit that had each other’s backs.
So his words—spoken in a quiet, almost gentle voice while dripping with acid and disdain—absolutely ruined her.
Her chest felt like it had caved in beneath the shattering impact of that statement and she found herself unable to speak as she battled to breathe.
“Shit.” Smith looked pained, regret pooling in his eyes. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Did you mean it?”
His hesitation told her all that she needed to know.
“How long have you felt this way?” she asked.
More hesitation. Then, “I don’t know.”
She saw the lie in the furtive movement of his eyes and the restless play of muscles bunching and contracting beneath his smooth skin.
“I don’t believe you,” she challenged.
“Fuck, Kenna…now isn’t the time for this conversation, okay? Why don’t we just get through this dinner and talk when we get home?”
“No. Tell me now.”
This time his eyes sparked with anger.
“Fine, you want the truth? I don’t see any longevity in this relationship. I haven’t in a while.”
“Because of the miscarriage?” she asked, stricken.
“Yes.” He inhaled deeply, angrily. “But not for the reasons you’re thinking. The loss of the baby was hard, but?—”
She was quick to correct him. “It wasn’ta?—”
“That!” The sharp interruption startled her. He stabbed a finger toward her, the movement uncharacteristically aggressive and full of suppressed rage. “Right fucking there. That is what I mean. Your pathological inability to acknowledge the loss. I fucking grieved for that baby. I know you did too. I wanted to comfort you and be comforted by you, but your stubborn refusal to even admit what we’d lost made it hard to connect with you. You’re closed off, hard to talk to, and you refuse to share anything that you’re feeling with me.”
“I never expected you to stay,” she blurted. Her words clearly confused him and he stared at her for a long moment while he tried to work it out.
“What?”
“After the miscarriage.”
He looked outraged, offended…hurt. “Seriously, Kenna? What kind of arsehole do you think I am?”
“No that’s not… It’s not that I think you’re… It’s—” She shook her head, impatient with herself.
Use your words, McKenna!
