Perfect Chaos

“I’ve been to the local pool twice a day for the past three days,” she says, and I smile, but only mildly. “I wasn’t scared,” she pants, exhausted, nuzzling deeper into me. “The only thing that scares me is losing you.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and close my eyes, absorbing her in her entirety.

“I need you to forgive me, Tyler. Maybe it’s too much to ask, but . . .”

“But what?”

“But this pain in me is like nothing I’ve felt before, and it’s all because I’ve hurt you.”

Forgiveness. It’s a strange emotion, and one I haven’t experienced before.

Lainey pulls away from my body and pushes her forehead to mine. “I was so overwhelmed by you, I didn’t know how to handle you. By the time I found acceptance, accepted us, it was too late. I tried to fix things, and I screwed it all up. I’m sorry. I wanted to clear the air with Sal before telling him about us. I wanted to explain myself. I didn’t sleep with all those men, Tyler. I’ve not slept with any man since I started working for Christianson Walker.”

“What?” I whisper. “But all—”

She shakes her head. “After my first time with you, there was no one else.”

“No one?”

“No one.”

Oh God, I could kick myself. I can’t say the same, and Lainey knows it. Yet she’s not ridiculed me for it. “Then why did you see them all, Lainey?”

“To tell them that I couldn’t see them.” Her glassy eyes bore holes into me, begging me to understand her. “Please don’t give up on me, Ty. I’ll face any fear for you. Water. My past. Anything.”

My lids drop, my eyes squeezing shut. Despite my turmoil and everything that’s happened, I can’t let go of her. Or, most significantly, my heart won’t let me. But I can’t stand any more secrets. If we’re doing this, we’re wiping the slate clean. A fresh start. “What did you lose, Lainey?” Her explanation that she lost her mind is rubbish, even if she did. She must have for us to be here in this mess. But there’s something else, something significant that she stopped herself from sharing. “No more secrets,” I say, seeing sadness settle in her eyes.

“A baby.”

“What?” I whisper.

Her legs loosen from around my waist, telling me she’d rather face the scary water alone than face me and talk about it. She lost a baby? I blow out a shocked breath, but pull her back up to me, not willing to let her go, but also not willing to force her into telling me more.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, feeling the hurt radiating from her body and seeping into mine as I put her back where she should be, against my chest. “We don’t have to talk about it.” My mind is filled with sorrow and a million questions, but I don’t ask them. I won’t force her into feeding my need to know about this.

“I knew he was cheating. And I know it’s stupid of me, but I thought the baby might change things. I was twenty weeks pregnant.” I feel her swallow against me, clinging tighter. “I went for my routine scan and they couldn’t find a heartbeat. She’d died in my womb.” Her pulse is quickening, and I squeeze my eyes closed. “I had to deliver her soon after because the doctors were worried about an infection setting in. And then I hemorrhaged and they had to operate to remove some retained products. My womb didn’t take too kindly to the invasion. They told me I wouldn’t be able to conceive again.” Her voice breaks, and my heart splits for her. “He left me shortly after that.”

“Oh, Lainey,” I sigh, wondering what kind of monster her ex-husband was.

“So, you see. I really am broken.”

“No.” Her comment, filled with belief, makes me so mad. I pull her from my chest. “You are not broken. It’s that bastard who’s the broken one in this.” Who would do that?

“Knowing I could never have everything with a man made me convince myself that I wanted nothing. That I hated men. It was easier that way. And now . . . now there’s you.” She swallows. “And I can’t give you everything.”

“I don’t want everything. Just you.”

“I can’t give you children, Tyler.”

I grate my teeth, the news having no effect on my fortitude. “I want you more than I want children.”

She smiles sadly. “You say that now. You don’t know how you’ll feel in a year. Or two. I don’t want you to resent me.”

“There are other ways,” I say without thought, never dreaming I’d be having a conversation about having kids. Or, as it seems, not having them. “We could adopt. There are thousands of children out there who need good homes.”

That sad smile widens, a piece of true happiness appearing. “You’d do that?”