I Never Knew Love 'til You (I Never 4)

Chapter 34

Kate

Eachtimetheball releases from the machine, I channel my emotions through the bat as it comes into contact with the ball. I’ve been here at the batting cage since before it even opened. I was sitting in the parking lot already when Trevor pulled his old Chevy into the spot beside me. One look at my face and he told me to take all the time I needed today.

I’m angry for the children who have to grow up without a parent like Andy.

Clink.

I’m angry for the women who miss out on raising their children like Courtney.

Clink.

I’m angry for the women who dreamed of one day holding their child, of feeling them kick, but never get the chance to, like me.

Clink.

No one prepares you for the anger and emotions that sink in as you process at only nineteen that you’ll never have kids. You’re supposed to be living life and making stupid decisions. As a teenager, I suffered from severe pain and cramping during my periods. One day in college, I was doubled over in pain so fierce I could barely breathe. It felt as if my insides were being ripped out like in some cheap horror film. When I started bleeding, my mom insisted I get rushed to the emergency room. By the time I arrived, a fever had spiked.

We learned I had severe endometriosis with fibroids lining my uterus. One of the fibroids ruptured, causing the bleeding. It was rare to happen, but I guess I’m just lucky like that. My mom and sister held my hands as the doctors informed me an emergency total hysterectomy needed to be performed to stop the bleeding. I watched the dreams my sister and I talked about as kids of being pregnant together slip through my fingers. It took years to process it. Hell, I still don’t even understand it. But I learned to stop asking why to questions I would never get answered.

I know there are plenty of options out there—adoption or surrogacy in some form—but there’s something about being told as a woman you can never bear your own child that makes you feel broken in ways you never imagined.

For years, I’ve watched everyone around me move forward in their life—marriage, babies, their happily ever after. I was honest and truly happy for them. I have enough love to give my nieces and nephews to last a lifetime.

For the first time, I saw that for myself, though. And it was all ripped out from under me. There was something about Jaxon that made me believe, but I was a fool.

I’ve lost count of the number of times the bat has come in contact with the ball. Since I arrived, I’ve only missed six. Maybe if art doesn’t work out, I have an excellent shot at the minor leagues.

“I figured this was where I’d find you,” my sister calls out. I quickly glance over my shoulder to see her leaning forward against the fence, a tray with two fresh coffees in one hand from my favorite coffeehouse.

Clink.

“Hey, Baby Ruth,” Lauren shouts, making a Sandlot joke, but it just makes my heart hurt, thinking of Andy. “Why don’t you take a break for a minute?”

“Nah, I’m good,” I call back.

Clink.

I’m angry as I play out last night’s events.

Clink.

Clink

Clink.

Time feels like it slows down while my heartbeat increases to a rate that has me panting as if I ran a marathon. My skin feels clammy, and my grip on the bat loosens. My throat is so dry it’s hard to swallow as I gasp for air. I run my hand over my chest and try to even out my breathing. I took my focus off the machine for a split second, and that second was too long. The ball releases, and before I can move out of the way, it hits me right on my back.

I wince at the sharp pain that vibrates through my body and drop the bat, dropping to my knees.

“Shit, fuck,” Lauren shouts as she opens the gate and presses the red emergency shutoff button to turn the machine off before rushing to my side.

“Oh my God, are you okay?”

The tears fall, and I can’t stop them. “It hurts, Laur.”

“Let me look at it.” She attempts to lift my shirt in the back, but I pull out of her grasp.

“No, not that.” The pain on the inside is far worse than any superficial wound. It feels like I’m grieving all over again. This time, not only am I grieving the loss I endured, I’m grieving their loss, our loss. It’s all just too much. Lauren comforts me as I let it all out. After a few minutes, my breathing calms slightly.

“Come on.” She pushes up to her feet and reaches a hand out to help me up. “Let’s go sit and talk.”

“I’m not really up for talking.”

“Well, I’m not asking.” Her voice is stern.

I stand and let her lead me over to a picnic table that sits just off to the side of the cages. I wipe my sleeve under my eye as the tears continue to fall.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me—it’s not like we were together all that long.”

“Don’t you dare do that,” Lauren scolds as she sets her drink back down.

“Do what?”

“Don’t downplay your feelings like they don’t matter.”

I throw my head back and let out a harsh, awkward laugh. “Why? He did.”

A somber cloud hangs between us. Lauren reaches over and squeezes my hand. I avoid looking at her, staring off into the sky as if it holds all the answers.

“He’s scared and hurting. His son was in the hospital.”

“Jesus, Lauren, whose side are you on?”

“Yours, dumbass, always yours. But what I’m saying is he feels guilty over something that he had no control over.” I know she’s only trying to play devil’s advocate. This entire situation can’t be easy on her or Finn. I don’t want either of them to feel like they need to take sides and create a rift in their relationship.

“No control over? He may not have controlled the situation itself, but he did have control over his reaction. God,” I scream, no longer caring if I cause a scene. “I fucking hate this.”

“If it makes you feel better, he’s a fucking mess. I had to go over there this morning to grab my purse, and he actually thought I was you because I was wearing that stupid hoodie of yours.” She presses her lips together as if she’s deciding to say more. “There was a moment of hope and regret in his eyes before he realized it was me, and then he just looked so dejected.” Good. He should feel like shit for how he acted.

“No, it doesn’t make me feel better. I don’t care.”

Lauren slams her hand down on the table, nearly knocking over her drink. “You know you can lie to everyone and even lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me. You forget, we are basically the same person. When you hurt, I hurt.” She gets up and walks around to sit beside me.