“You guys ready?” my attorney asked.
“No.” Grabbing our divorce papers out of his hand, Christian ripped them up right in front of them before he announced, “We won’t be needing your services anymore.”
They grinned.
They fucking grinned.
“I told you,” Christian’s attorney said to mine.
“You knew we weren’t going to go through with this?” I asked.
“Mrs. Troy,” he replied. “I’ve been a divorce attorney for almost forty years, and I know what misery looks like. And you guys”—he looked back and forth between us—“are still very much in love with each other. I’m glad this made you open your eyes. It doesn’t happen often, but it’s nice to know that second chances can happen.”
Christian grabbed my hand. “Thank you. Your invoices will be paid when I get back to my office.”
It felt like a dream I never wanted to wake up from. We left the courthouse hand-in-hand, and I was nervous the entire drive to Christian’s office, fidgeting while he said nothing. I could tell he was lost in his thoughts. However, he still reached over and grabbed my hand, knowing I needed his support.
We didn’t talk. Both of us were overwhelmed by the turn of events. Our marriage was still in a rocky place, and it was going to take work to get us back to where we needed to be. But for the first time in a long time, I felt hopeful that we’d come out of this stronger, better, and more in love than ever.
The guilt I’d carried for the last ten years still weighed heavily in my heart, but there was something else now battling it.
Worry.
Could I carry to full term? Would we have a healthy baby?
As if he knew what I was questioning, Christian’s hold on my hand tightened before he brought it up to his mouth to kiss it, making my heart melt. I’d been so angry at life that I stopped seeing how amazing he was to me, how much he always knew what I needed without me having to say one word.
New remorse settled over my conscience, and I tried hard to ignore it until Christian said out of nowhere, “Kinley, you know I forgive you. You’re my girl.”
I didn’t know I needed to hear it until that very moment.
My anxiousness subsided, and once we were in the ultrasound room in his office, I felt like the walls were suddenly caving in on me.
“Christian, what if the tests were wrong? What if I’m not pregnant? Ten different tests can’t be a false positive, right?”
He lovingly smiled at me, once again being my anchor like he’d been for the last twenty years. Stepping toward me, he grabbed my face and kissed my lips as his other hand moved to my panties. Hiking up my dress, he pulled my panties down a little. Never once did he stop kissing me as he walked us back to the table in the center of the room.
Gripping onto my ass, he carried me onto it, and within seconds he was down by my feet, ordering, “Spread your legs for me, baby.”
I scoffed out a chuckle, knowing how much he was enjoying this. Me at his mercy.
“Let me take care of you,” he added.
Even after all these years, those words still had an affect on me like they did the first time he’d said them on the Ferris wheel.
“Now be my good girl and close your eyes.”
I did. My heart was beating a mile a minute.
I heard him moving around, and when I felt the probe go into between my legs, I swear I stopped breathing.
Seconds.
Minutes.
Hours could have gone by.
Until a loud, fast heartbeat filled the silence of the room. I couldn’t hold back, I just reacted, bursting into tears.
Big.
Fat.
Ugly tears.
Unable to keep it in, it flew out of me like a tornado, taking down everything in its path.
I bawled for all the times we’d gotten a negative test.
For every month I told him we weren’t pregnant.
For every period I got.
For every dream that was ruined after every negative test.
For the names we’d picked out and could never use.
For the nursery in our home that remained cold and empty.
For all the love we had to give, with no children to share it with.
For the home we bought with no babies to raise behind those cream-colored walls.
For all the guilt.
The I’m sorrys.
For the years that passed us by fighting.
For the little girl who was told she was worthless.
For the mother I didn’t have.
For the husband I’d almost lost.
Most of all, for the baby growing inside of me…
I cried for it all.
I couldn’t stop sobbing.
Shaking.
Feeling like I was dead and now revived.
My chest heaved, my lips trembled, and when I looked over at Christian for emotional support, tears were streaming down his handsome face too.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” I repeated over and over, wanting him to feel my regret, all my hurt, and shame. I threw my arms around him, wanting him to understand how truly sorry I was for what I was doing to us.
What was I thinking? How could I do this to him?
After everything he’d done for me, his love, his family, he really did heal me.
There we were.
Two broken people.
Husband and wife.
Who were trying to find their way back to one another, with a baby on the way.
Which was simply created out of pure desperation and love for each other.
Chapter 20
Kinley
Then
“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Kinley! Happy birthday to you!”
I smiled wide, blowing out the twenty-one candles on my bright turquoise cake.
Everyone that mattered to me was there in attendance.
Christian.
His family.
Jax.
My mom.
It had been three years since she’d appeared at our graduation, and from that point forward, she was everything I’d ever wanted and needed. We had the best relationship. I saw her all the time since Christian and I attended the University of Dallas. I lived in my own apartment off-campus, near Christian and Julian’s house that they rented.
Jax lived in my complex, within walking distance of my place. We were still best friends, much to Christian’s disappointment. I swear he got an apartment close to me just to piss Christian off. They still butted heads over everything and anything, often bickering over the stupidest shit.
“Honey,” Mom interrupted my thoughts. “You look stunning. Is that a new dress?”
“Yeah.” I nodded to Christian. “It was one of my gifts.”
“Christian, you have great taste.”
“Thanks, Miss McKenzie.”
“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Linda?”
He chuckled, winking at me.
I wish I could say his feelings toward my mom had changed, and I guess in some ways they had. He was respectful of our time together and the fact that she was in my life. However, he was still cautious when it came to her. Worrying that one day she’d hurt me again, but I wasn’t.
She’d made up for all the years she wasn’t there.
Always telling me how much she loved me, and how truly sorry she was for what she’d put me through. I always told her it was in the past. I didn’t forget what had happened, but I’d forgiven her for what she’d done to me.