Brutal Game (Flynn and Laurel #2)(33)

His brows rose when she turned, a dose in each hand. She delivered his and took her seat on the table once more.

“I don’t drink,” he said.

“You’re not an alcoholic, though. Just trust me. It might knock some of your feelings loose. Like an emotional laxative for constipated tough guys.” She sipped her own wine, enjoying the tight smirk that quirked his lips.

“Booze turns me into an *.”

“You’re already being an *. Double down. Let it all out.”

He shook his head, but ultimately put the glass to his lips. A deep swallow screwed his face up in a wince. “Jesus. Why d’you let me pick out wine?”

She took another taste, considering. “This is one of your better selections.”

“Tastes like cherry rubbing alcohol.”

“You’re just out of practice. Now choke it down and spill your guts.”

She realized in that instant that she was Flynn, tonight. He wasn’t necessarily being Laurel, but she was the take-no-bullshit partner, the strong one bullying the lost one into action. It felt nice. She felt…taller.

He suffered through another gulp then set the glass on the floor beside him. He met her gaze. “I dunno what to say.”

“Just tell me what you’re feeling. Tell me why you pushed me away, when I tried to start something.”

“Like I said, I’m not ready.”

“Not ready because…?”

“Because…f*ck. Because I’m still f*ckin’ sad, okay?”

“About the miscarriage?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” She’d had no clue, in fact. He’d so thoroughly put her feelings first these past couple weeks, she’d come to assume he was doing fine with it all. “I wish I’d known.”

“Why? So you could feel even shittier than you already were?” The exhaustion in his voice left the sarcasm toothless.

“Ever since I found out I was pregnant, it’s felt like… Like you don’t think you get to have any opinions about any of it. Which I never agreed with.”

He took a deep breath, attention on the hands flexing restlessly between his knees. “I know.”

“But you clearly do have opinions, and you obviously need to vent them. So tell me about them. You feel sad about the miscarriage. How come?”

He finally met her eyes. “Isn’t it obvious?”

She supposed that, yes, it was. “You were hoping I’d keep it?”

He didn’t reply immediately, looking hesitant, lost. “Maybe. Maybe I was.”

Laurel moved, settling at his side with her glass. Sometimes it was easier to talk about heavy things when eye contact was off the table.

She told the far wall, “You were always allowed to want that.” A fresh chill settled over her, nothing to do with the cold floor beneath her butt. If I’d decided to end it, would you have resented me? Left me over it, in time? “I wish you’d told me. But I know why you didn’t.”

“Thing is, nothin’ about having a kid right now made any sense. It didn’t make sense for you, job-wise. It didn’t make sense for us, together, not this soon.”

“No.”

“It didn’t even make sense for me,” he said. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve been sittin’ around twiddlin’ my thumbs, wishin’ I was a father. Not at all. I see people around town with strollers lookin’ like they haven’t slept in a year and I think, ‘Thank f*ck that’s not me, yet.’ And now that it’s gone, it’s not like I want us to try and get you pregnant all over again.”

“But…?”

He shrugged, the black of his sweater rising and slumping in her periphery. “My head was with you, with whatever you decided. But some other part of me…I dunno. It charged me up, imagining it. Or just knowin’ about it, knowin’ that was going on inside your body. I won’t lie, it felt really f*cking profound.”

“I wish I’d known.”

“It might’ve changed what you decided. And I didn’t want that, not when it was just some feeling.”

“Feelings are important. More important than logic, sometimes. And it kind of scares me that I didn’t know how you felt. Like, if I’d decided to end it, what would you have thought of me? It’s my body but it’s your life as much as mine that would’ve been turned upside-down.”

“It was always your decision. The stakes were ten times higher for you.”

At a loss, she took a sip of wine and Flynn did the same.

“You know what I think bothers me the most?” he asked at length, setting his glass between his feet.

“What?”

“It’s how mismatched this feels. Like, how can I be so sure about us—ready to marry you, ready to raise a kid, with or without you—and you have no f*cking idea what you want?”

She thought about that long and hard, emotions bubbling up to leave her face hot and no doubt red. “Because one of us knows themselves, and the other’s a f*cking mess.” Her voice broke on the swear, and in a blink tears were stinging. She willed them away, not wanting to cry. Not wanting to seem weak, to give this man any reason to pull his punches when it had taken so much pushing to get him to be honest in the first place. Still, fear was rising inside her, gathering dark and dense as a storm cloud. Where’s this going?