“You’re taking it too far,” Caz says. “You’re losing sight of what’s important in your quest to knock her up.”
I jump to my feet. “Who fucking died and made you the expert?” I jab my finger in Caz’s direction. “You don’t get to dictate to me about this.”
“I fucking do when you’re stressing our wife out and upsetting her,” he replies, climbing to his feet and glaring at me.
“Everyone, calm down.” Theo stands, his gaze bouncing between us. “We’ll get nowhere if this continues.”
“If Lo’s so upset, why hasn’t she come to me?”
“Because I was afraid of hurting you,” she says from behind me. I whip around, surprised to see her leaning against the doorframe.
“Why are you home early?” Theo asks, his brow furrowing as his gaze rakes over her. “And why do you look like you were crying?”
“Because I was,” she says, offering us a weak smile.
“Because of me?” I ask, her words registering in my stubborn brain. It seems the guys were right. I’ve hurt her unknowingly, and I hate myself for it.
Lo is my everything. I never want her to feel like she’s not.
“Because of the situation,” she quietly replies, pushing off the door. “I talked with Jazz.” She holds up one hand when I open my mouth to speak. “And I’m not apologizing for that. I should have talked to her months ago, but I didn’t want to disrespect your wishes.”
“I don’t want others knowing our business,” I say, working hard to keep the anger from my voice. It’s bad enough I can’t knock her up. The last thing I need is everyone in our circle finding out.
“She’s my best friend, Saint. She won’t gossip.” She steps closer, and I note the redness surrounding her sad eyes.
“Come here, baby.” Theo opens his arms, and she readily falls into them. He squeezes his eyes shut as he holds her to him, pressing kisses into her hair.
A sob rips from her mouth, and it kills me. It fucking kills me. How did I not see this?
“Lo,” I croak, taking a step toward her, but Theo shakes his head, cautioning me to stay back.
“I’m so sorry, Saint,” she cries, her words muffled against Theo’s chest. “I hate that I’m letting you down, but I can’t keep doing this. It’s destroying me.”
Everything locks up inside me. “You don’t want a baby with me?” I hear how cold my voice is, but her words are tearing strips off my heart.
“No!” She lifts her head, pinning me with tearstained sad eyes.
My breath stutters in my chest, and I rub at the piercing ache ripping across my ribcage.
“I mean yes,” she quickly replies, shucking out of Theo’s arms. “This isn’t coming out right.” She strides to me, cupping my face in her hands. “Of course, I want a baby with you. I love you, Saint. Nothing would make me happier.”
“But?” ’Cause I sense one coming.
She lowers her hands to her sides. “But it’s not going to happen unless we make changes.”
“I don’t understand.”
Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips, and she bites on the corner of her mouth.
I have a sudden urge to kiss her, to kiss all her worries away, but I don’t think she’d appreciate it right now.
“Can we sit down?” She gestures toward the couch.
“Do you want us to go, Lo?” Theo asks.
She shakes her head. “No, please stay. We need to resolve this as a family.” She looks around, and her brows knit together. “Where are the kids?”
“With Freya. They won’t be home for a while,” Galen says. “We had planned on talking with Saint,” he tacks on the end when he sees the confusion on her face.
“You had?” she asks, her gaze jumping between us.
“We knew you were upset last night, and we’ve noticed things seem tense between you two,” Theo explains.
“We have tried to respect your privacy,” Galen adds. “But we realize now we made a mistake. We shouldn’t have let it get this far. You’re both upset, and this impacts all of us.”
“We’ve always done things together,” Caz says. “And we’ll get through this together.”
I don’t see how, not when I’m the one who needs, wants, craves, to put a baby in her belly, but I keep those thoughts to myself.
We all sit, and I reach out, taking Lo’s hand in mine, lacing our fingers together. “Have I been hurting you?”
Her eyes well up again, and I hate myself in this moment. “Yes,” she softly admits. “I know you don’t mean to. I know you’re just focused on getting me pregnant, but it’s almost like I don’t matter anymore. Like I’m just a baby-making machine, a vessel for you to impregnate, and I can’t even get that right.” Tears spill down her cheeks, and I can hardly talk over the messy ball clogging my throat.
“No, Lo. That’s not who you are to me.” I brush tears off her cheeks. “I want a baby so badly with you. I want a child who is a part of me and a part of you. I want to see if he or she looks more like you or me and whether he or she resembles Bishop or either of our girls. But I don’t want that at the expense of our relationship, because no one or nothing means more to me than you. I’m sorry if my actions have made you doubt that. Doubt me.” I peer into her eyes. “I love you so much. You’re my queen.”
She smiles softly as fresh tears flow from her eyes. “I want to see what our child would look like too. Trust me when I say I want to have our baby as badly as you do. But everything is messed up.”
Her chest heaves, and she pauses for a second. Her lower lip trembles. “When was the last time you kissed me, Saint? Or the last time you held me in your arms for no reason other than wanting to feel me close? When was the last time you spontaneously made love to me because you wanted to, not because we were on a schedule?”
I pin her with an incredulous look, because she’s being ridiculous. I know I might have been a bit obsessive about fucking her when she was ovulating, but it’s not like it’s been a chore or that I’ve stopped being affectionate with her. “I kissed you last night when we were in bed,” I tell her.
She shakes her head, sadness washing over her face. “No, you didn’t, Saint. You stripped me and fucked me like I was some nameless, faceless vagina, telling me how perfect the timing was and this was going to be the month. Then you came, and when I didn’t want you to touch me, you made me sit on pillows and wait for fifteen minutes so your sperm could reach my egg.”
My mind revisits last night, and I replay it, scene for scene, dismayed to discover she’s right. How have I been so blind? I go further back, trying to remember the last time I kissed her, and I can’t recall it. I feel sick. She’s right. The guys are right, and I just didn’t see it.
I won’t defend myself by mentioning how depressed I’ve been month after month when her period arrived. Or how stressed I’ve been at the thought I might not be able to father children, because making excuses just won’t cut it. There is no acceptable justification for shutting her out. For treating her so coldly. I’m disgusted with myself.