“Mine was the same.” I hold her face with both hands and kiss her. She kisses me back, but her heart isn’t in it. I drop my hands and let her go. I’d rather nothing from her than something I’ve forced her into giving. “Go shower.”
A text comes through as I watch her walk away.
* * *
Ransom: Everything’s lined up for tomorrow.
Me: I’ll be in at 6am. Let Striker know he needs to get his ass there on time.
Ransom: Have done. He’ll be there.
Me: Thanks, brother.
* * *
I exhale a long, frustrated breath. Tomorrow will be make or fucking break, and I need to get my head in the game. After forcing three of Zenith’s delivery guys to talk, we finally discovered
where they operate from. We’re attempting a negotiation with them tomorrow to put an end to this turf war. I don’t expect it to go well, and if I’m right, fuck knows what the outcome will be. I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to ensure Storm comes out on top, which is why I need to get my shit together.
I head out to the gym in the garage. It helps me take my mind off Birdie and IVF, and while she’s spent each night this week in bed watching TV, the gym has given me somewhere to come when she’s turned away.
I lose myself to the weights for the next hour, and when I emerge from the garage, Birdie is predictably in bed zoning out to another episode of Queen of the South.
“You hungry now?” I ask as I walk past her into the en suite.
“No. Don’t wait for me if you are.”
I place my hands on the vanity and stare in the mirror at her sitting in the bed behind me. “It’s after eight. We’re eating after I shower.”
My commanding tone catches her attention and she looks at me. “I don’t want any.”
“You haven’t wanted dinner all week. Starving yourself isn’t useful.”
She stares at me for a long moment before turning back to the TV.
When she doesn’t say anything else, I spin around and go back into the bedroom. “I’m out of ideas for how to reach you, angel. I’ve tried to give you space; I’ve tried to do what you asked by not being practical about this; I’ve pushed aside my instinct to fix shit; and while I know it’s only been four days, I’m concerned, because instead of pulling together it feels like you’re pulling away. Help me here.”
She continues staring at the TV, and just when I think I’ve failed to connect with her again, she faces me and says, “I’m sorry. I’m not intentionally pulling away.”
Thank fuck for that.
“Do you want to see someone?”
She frowns. “A psychologist?”
“Yeah. Someone you can talk to.”
“Maybe.”
I move to sit on the bed. “I think it’s a good idea.”
She glances down at the bed, stalling with what she wants to say. “How do you feel about doing another IVF cycle?”
“I thought that was a given.”
Her eyes are full of doubt and confusion when she meets my gaze again. “I know, but that was before we started all this. I wasn’t sure if you feel the same way after everything we’ve been through.”
“Nothing has changed for me. If you think you can handle another round, I’m all in. If you’re out, we’ll move to our next option.”