Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“You bought a house. In Maine,” Kane stated flatly.
I shrugged in response. “I did. I, um, like it here.”
It wasn’t a lie. Not really. If I had the ability to like any place, it would’ve been here. If I weren’t numb and broken, I would’ve appreciated it. As it was, for the past five months, I had been numb and broken and couldn’t really like anything. Therefore, Jupiter, Maine, was tolerable. The best I could do.
Kane clicked his tongue and looked out the window at the crashing waves. More silence followed. More coldness radiating from him.
I steeled myself to remain in the silence. No more babbling to fill it. It seemed to only make things worse.
“Can I get you a drink?” I eventually offered lamely, unable to stand the silence for a moment longer. “Coffee?”
Kane’s head whipped from the windows. “You have a room for the baby?” he asked instead of answering my question.
I nodded, uncomfortable with the way he spoke of the baby. There was no warmth in his tone even though he seemed to have softened some. Same with his gaze when it floated to my stomach.
Even though it turned icy the second it returned to my eyes.
“Show me,” was all he ordered.
I didn’t have it in me to argue with him, to assert any kind of dominance in my own home. I didn’t know what to do but turn my back and hope he followed me.
The thump of his footsteps told me he did.
I didn’t pass out ascending the stairs, so I was obviously breathing. But for the life of me, I couldn’t seem to feel the oxygen in my lungs. They were tight, burning, my stomach swimming with nausea. Worse than first trimester morning sickness. And that was saying something.
Kane didn’t speak. But he was behind me. Right behind me. I could smell him, feel the heat radiating off his body as it almost brushed against mine.
I was aching for his touch. For the feel of his hands on my skin, his lips. His arms around me. But he hadn’t touched me. Not since he arrived. He hadn’t seemed like he wanted to touch me. Kane, the man who’d made it his business to have our skin touching before he even knew my name. That thought was a knife to my heart.
I thought I’d made my peace with Kane never wanting to touch me again. Never wanting anything to do with me. But that was when he was absent; it was so much harder in his presence.
“Here it is.” I leaned in to turn on the light before stepping aside so he could walk through the door.
He brushed past me. The doorway was narrow, and I wasn’t exactly small these days. Plus, he was even bigger than he had been before, all of him pure muscle. But somehow, he made it so even our clothes didn’t touch. He didn’t look at me either.
It speared my insides, but I stayed upright. Somehow.
Kane walked to the middle of the room, still silent, looking around.
Yet again, I couldn’t stand the silence.
“I, uh, um, had high hopes about my ability to construct the crib,” I explained, standing awkwardly in the doorway. “But as you can see…” I pointed to the cardboard that I’d given up on. Why I didn’t buy the fancy stuff that came put together that people hauled in for you, I didn’t know.
Kiera had tried to insist on decorating this room too, but this was the only room I’d pushed back on. I’d even let her do the kitchen. I’d had to. I could barely step foot in there except to take care of my basic nutrition needs. The ILVE Nostalgie stove, the Shun Hikari knives and the large island all taunted me. Showed me what I’d had. What I’d lost. Who I was. Who I wasn’t.
But the nursery… it seemed like I had to do that. It was my job to take care of the nursery. I was the mother after all.
Mother.
Still, even with the baby now squishing all of my internal organs up toward my ribs, kicking me all night long and changing my body irrecoverably, I didn’t think the label fit.
Father.
That’s what Kane was. What I’d thought he’d refused to be. But he was standing in our baby’s unfinished nursery, a stern expression on his face. Yet even with that expression, the label fit him, bespoke.
Kane remained silent, just focusing on the wood and the boxes for longer than was comfortable.
“Who carried these upstairs?” he finally asked.
I tilted my head at his question, confused. “What?”
He turned to look at me then. Yet again, I had to stifle a gasp at the lack of expression on his face. “Who carried these upstairs?” He gestured to the crib parts and the boxes.
“I did,” I said, stating the obvious. “Well, the delivery guys did the dresser, thankfully. Just pushing that across the room was a workout.”