Broken Hearts (Light in the Dark 5)

I’m feeling numb.

In a daze, I pull myself from Jace’s arms and yank down my shirt, not caring there’s still goo on it. We follow the doctor out, setting up the time for the appointment at the hospital tomorrow.

When I step outside, the sunlight is gone.

The sky is a dark stormy gray, echoing the thoughts inside my head.

I stare up at it and a rain drop hits my cheek.

I had everything.

And now …

Now, I have nothing.

Jace

Nova hasn’t spoken one word since the news yesterday.

Not one fucking word.

I’ve tried desperately to get her to talk to me, to even look at me, but it’s like she’s comatose. She keeps sitting there, frozen on the couch, clutching her stomach like she can will the baby back to life.

My already broken heart feels shattered completely as I watch her helplessly.

I know there’s nothing I can do or say to make this better for her but I want to try—I want to try so much that my own grief is buried down so low I can barely feel it now.

“We need to go,” I say softly, lifting the duffel bag on my shoulder, full of a change of clothes and other things I thought she might need. It killed me packing the bag for her, thinking this was something we would’ve been doing closer to his due date, adding his stuff along with ours.

Nova doesn’t move. She sits there, staring straight ahead as her hand rubs her stomach, her face is void of emotion.

“Nova,” I say more sternly.

Slowly, she turns to look at me. Her brown eyes, once full of happiness and life, are now dark and void of emotion.

She stands and heads for the door.

“Nova,” I say again, “your shoes, and you need a coat.”

Woodenly, she turns back around and slips her feet into a pair of boots and grabs her coat.

I press my hand to her back, leading her out and she flinches away from my touch. That one reaction is like jabbing a knife into my heart and twisting it. The girl I love doesn’t even want me to touch her.

Yesterday, when we came home, she went straight to bed, fully clothed, and didn’t move. I don’t think she even cried, if she did I didn’t hear her, but it was like she had to shut herself out from the world.

As much as I didn’t want to, I took the time to call our friends to tell them what happened. They were as shocked as we were—are—and Thea sobbed when I told her. I felt like crying with her, but after leaving the doctor’s office my tears had dried up for the moment.

We get in my truck and I drive to the hospital. Nova looks out the passenger window, her reflection showing the complete blankness that has become all too familiar in the past twenty-four hours.

It’s like her soul has been sucked from her body and a shell has been left behind.

I park at the hospital and shut the truck off, sitting there for a moment.

“Nova,” I plead softly and she reluctantly turns my way after a moment. “I love you.” I don’t know why, but I need her to hear it, to understand I truly do love her, and nothing, not even this, could ever change that.

Her face changes, gone is the blankness and in its place is pure anger. At least it’s better than the nothingness of before.

“How? How could you love me when I don’t even love myself? How could you love me when my body failed us? Failed him?”