Page 21 of Afterglow

I force myself to inhale deeply through my nose, to rein in my own haywire feelings, before expelling the breath. “Yeah, you did.” Her pleased huff helps me relax too. “Okay, why don’t you go sit down and I’ll bring you some crackers and water to go with the soda. Then we can talk, yeah?”

“Fine,” she grumbles, but a tiny smile almost lifts her lips, and I take that as a win.

I eye the decor of her house as she meanders toward the couch. It’s an open concept space with windows that look out onto a back deck and yard with luscious green grass and trees. The sectional takes up most of the living room and faces a fireplace, with bookshelves lining the wall behind it. The kitchen is open to the dining room which is open to the living room. It’s all one big space, and I’m taken with how light and modern it is.

It’s yet another contrast between us. Her home is mostly white. White walls, white couch, whitewashed wood dining table.

My home is all dark wood beams, dark fixtures, dark leather couches… No matter how many windows I have, it could never have the same feel of this place.

I move through the kitchen looking for plates and cups and find them above the tea kettle. Armed with crackers and water, I make my way over to where Leanne is snuggled into the corner of the sectional, almost melting into it with a blanket wrapped around her. She looks small, which for someone who has such a large personality—at least in my experience—is very odd to see.

I set the crackers near her feet and the water on a side table, then take up a place near the arm of the couch, as far away as I can be while still being in her proximity.

She smirks. “Afraid I might bite?” she asks, reaching for a cracker.

“Absolutely,” I offer, because honestly, I never know how she might react. We don’t have a glowing track record of good communication or decision-making skills, so I need to keep my wits about me.

She nods subtly and sips her drink before resting her head against the cushion. Her eyes drift closed and she looks utterly wrecked. Has she been able to get any sleep if she’s feeling this sick?

“I’m not sure what to say,” she whispers, then lifts her head to look me in the eye.

“Let’s start at the beginning then.” I cross my ankle over my knee, settling back into the cushions. “You said, when we were together, that you couldn’t get pregnant—”

“I can’t!” She sits forward and nearly spills her soda. At my raised eyebrows, she slumps back again and sighs. “Or at least, I believed I couldn’t.”

I nod, hoping to encourage her to continue, because I’m going to need more than that to understand what happened here.

“My ex and I, we tried for over a year… and nothing. Not a single pregnancy, not even a failed one.”

I nod again. “This is the ex-fiancé you told me about?”

He’d called her that night—after the rehearsal—and I can’t deny that was the likely impetus for us ending up in bed together. She was hurt and angry and I was there—someone to fill the void. How many times did I do the same thing after I lost Sarah?

“When I finally suggested we go to a fertility specialist to get tested… he left.” She looks like she might get sick again. I feel a little ill myself thinking about this guy, and I know next to nothing about him.

“Did he leave because—” I hold off on completing the sentence, and like I knew she would, she finishes it for me.

“I couldn’t get pregnant? Yeah.” Her tone is clipped and defensive. More pieces of the puzzle that is Leanne fall into place with this admission. “He said I was…”

She gives her head a shake and chews on the inside of her cheek, eyes shut tight. Then, with a short inhale, she tips her head back like she’s steeling herself for the next part. When she finally brings her gaze back to mine, her eyes are resigned and filled with reluctant tears.

Watching this woman cry rips me up from the inside out. I break my own resolve not to touch her, sliding across the couch to draw her into my arms.

Please let me hold you, I silently beg. And it’s as if she heard me, because she does.

“Faulty…” she whispers so quietly into my flannel shirt I almost don’t hear it.

But I do.

It takes me a second to put it together, but when it clicks, I see red.

That motherfucker. I band my arms tighter around her, using my muscles for good instead of what my brain tells me I should use them for, which is rearranging the bastard’s face.

“You are not faulty, Leanne,” I say as resolutely as I can.

“Obviously,” she snarks with a weak and watery chuckle. I feel the vibration of it against my hand that runs along her spine. “One time with you and here we are.”

With that, the tension breaks and my desire to rage at someone I’ve never met lowers to a simmer beneath my skin. “To be fair, it was more than one time,” I reply with a laugh as soft as hers.