I mean every word out of my mouth. These past two and a half weeks have been some of the hardest weeks of my life. I wouldn’t have gotten through them without Birdie. She hasn’t had to say or do anything to help me; all she’s had to do is simply be here. And knowing I have her helps me know I’ll get through every other minute of my life without my brother.
Birdie’s hands come to my face and she pulls me to her for a kiss. When she’s finished with my lips, and we’re settled with her snuggled against me, head on my chest, she says, “You know how you we used to talk about having two kids?”
I trace a pattern over her shoulder. “Yeah.”
“I know that will never happen because this was our last time doing IVF, but I need you to know I’m probably going to be cluckier than ever when I see you with our daughter. So you need to prepare yourself for that. Like, you may need to do battle with me over it at times.”
I smile. “With our son you mean?”
I hear the smile in her voice when she says, “Yeah, with our son, baby. That wasn’t the important part of what I said, though.”
“I know. And I hear you. I need to prepare for battle.”
“Yeah, you do. And I need you to know that deep down I know we can only have one child, so when I argue with you over wanting more, it’s not really me arguing; it’s my hormone-filled alter ego who I wish would shut the fuck up some days.”
I chuckle. “Don’t you worry about me. I’m used to doing battle with those hormones. I’ve got this, angel.”
She lifts her head and looks at me with a serious expression, like she’s grateful as fuck for something. “Thank you. You have no idea how much I love you for that alone. For always having me even when I give you enough ammunition to shoot our relationship down.”
I cup her face. “I’ve always got you, Birdie. Fucking always.”
She kisses me again and then says, “Okay, now we need sleep. God knows you exhausted my entire body tonight. It might take me days to recover.”
After I roll her onto her side and spoon her with my arms tightly around her body, I say, “You’ve got six hours to recover and then I’m coming back for more.”
She wiggles her ass against me. “I love my bossy man, even when he’s demanding things that will likely never happen.”
“Oh they’re gonna happen, angel. My mouth on your pussy is the only fucking way I wanna wake up tomorrow.”
Birdie’s asleep within ten minutes, but I lie awake for at least another hour, unable to shut my thoughts off. They’ve been like this since Max’s death. Replaying everything that happened that day. The what-ifs never fucking leave me alone. If I hadn’t asked Max to meet me at the clubhouse, he’d still be alive today. That knowledge fucking slays me. I’ll carry guilt and regret to my grave over his death.
Unable to sleep, I leave Birdie and head out to the back deck, grabbing the bottle of whisky from the kitchen on the way. Throwing some of the amber liquid down my throat, I scroll my phone looking at photos of Max. Fuck knows why I do this to myself every damn day, but it’s become almost compulsive. I have this driving need to see him each day. To remember our memories.
I lose myself in the memories and the whisky. It’s not until the silence is fractured by a scream that I’m jolted back to reality.
Birdie’s scream.
Fuck.
When I arrive in our bedroom, I find her sitting in the bed, panicked, staring down at the mattress. As I move closer, I see what she sees and my heart fucking breaks. It shatters into a million fucking pieces as I watch my wife sit with tears streaming down her face. Tears I know won’t ever stop. The blood Birdie is sitting in will guarantee that.
27
Birdie
* * *
My body rejected my child.
Again.
This time, though, it sent me a message I’ll never erase from my mind. Not only did it get rid of my baby, it expelled so much blood I didn’t think it would ever stop. The mattress was soaked with it. The toilet filled with it. The shower flooded with it. The message was loud and clear: stop putting babies in here.
I had an incomplete miscarriage that required a D&C. We were in the hospital all night and most of today; the worst day of my life. I’ve lived many worst days of my life, but this really is it. I don’t know what there is after this.
My body doesn’t work properly. I can’t give Winter a child. We can’t have the family we planned.
“Do you want a tea or anything?” Winter asks, drawing my attention to the doorway of our bedroom. He brought me home an hour ago and settled me in here before leaving to go make some calls.
I shake my head. “No.”
I don’t want to drink tea.
I don’t want to eat food.
I don’t want to breathe.
I just want my baby.
Winter joins me on the bed, sitting with his back to the headboard and his legs extended in front of him. He pulls me close and I welcome his embrace.
Smoothing my hair, he says, “Your mum called.” When I don’t say anything, he continues, “She knows you won’t be going to visit her next week and is thinking of coming down to spend some time with you here. Are you up for that?”
I love my mum, but I don’t want anyone here at the moment. I only want Winter. “No. Not yet.”
“Okay. I’ll let her know.”
I stare at the bed. “Thank you for organising a new mattress.” Winter organised his guys to come around today with a new one. Something I’m extremely grateful for.
He doesn’t say anything; he just bends his face to kiss the top of my head.
I curl into a ball with my head on his lap. Gripping his thigh, I say, “Do you think I did anything to make this happen? Or do you just think my body can’t ever make a baby?”
“You did nothing. The doctor reiterated that more than once. This wasn’t your fault, Birdie.”
So it’s just that my body is faulty.
We turn silent for a long while, each lost in our thoughts. Not for the first time, I wish I could read Winter’s thoughts. He always says none of this is my fault, but what if he’s really thinking he should have chosen a woman who could make babies? What if he grows resentful of the fact I can’t give him a child?
His phone rings and he swears before answering it. “Yeah?”
He listens for a beat, and then says, “I need you to take over for a few days, brother.”
Winter was supposed to leave tomorrow for a trip that would keep him away for a few days. He cancelled that earlier. I didn’t realise he was planning on staying home for a while, but I like that he is.
When he ends the call, I say, “Will they be okay without you?”
“They’ll have to be. There’s no fucking way I’m leaving you.”
My heart squeezes with love for him. As much as my mind tries to fuck with me over whether he’ll end up resenting me for never giving him a family, I know deep down that he loves me with every fibre of his being. I know he will always choose me regardless of what I can’t give him. And I know we will be together forever.
I just wish our forever wasn’t littered with heartache and hurt.