Brutal Game (Flynn and Laurel #2)(39)

“Why’s that annoying?”

“Because how the f*ck do you not know? How do you lose a baby that way and not realize afterward what you felt about it?”

“Because miscarriage is f*ckin’ confusing as shit,” Heather said, and took another long pull off her cigarette. “Take it from me. I had three—two babies I wasn’t ready for and another I really goddamn wanted. You feel everything, no matter what you think you should be feeling. You feel guilty and sad and responsible, every f*ckin’ thing.”

“Laurel said she felt relieved.”

“Of course she did. It made the decision for her. I don’t blame her—it’s bound to be a shitty-ass choice to make. So what did you feel?”

“Sad.”

“And relieved?”

“No, not really. Just sad. And a little angry.”

“At Laurel?”

“No, of course not.” And was he actually angry at her now? Not really. What he felt was betrayed, only it wasn’t. He felt left behind. He still felt lost, and she was busy finding normal again. Better than normal, even.

“So what’re you really angry at, then?” Heather demanded.

He huffed a big, noisy breath, annoyed all over again at this interrogation. “Like I even know… Just mad she had to go through that. Mad that she got her decision taken away from her.”

“Mad she didn’t get to decide.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Mad that fate made the call, and she was helpless to do anything about it.”

“Sure.”

Heather smiled in the dimness and a car honked down in the street. “You feel helpless.”

“Maybe,” he allowed, rankled.

“Of course you do. And of course that f*ckin’ hurts. Every other thing in your life, you get some say in it. Even in the pregnancy—Laurel would’ve let you speak your piece if you’d been willing to. But then losing it? That, you had zero control of.”

He made a face, thinking she was on to something but not happy to admit it.

“You couldn’t protect it,” Heather said, marking the thought with a stabbing motion of her glowing butt in his direction, squinting with triumph or maybe just from the smoke. “That’s your currency in this life, Mike. You’re the strong one. The one who takes no shit, and takes care of the people you love. That tiny little speck in her belly—you couldn’t protect that.”

“I don’t even know if I wanted her to keep it, necessarily.” That was true, despite what he’d told Laurel in the heat of the moment.

“No, but that doesn’t matter, see? Even if Laurel had decided to get an abortion, that was still in your control, because you gave her your blessing, whatever she decided, right?”

“Yeah. I suppose.”

“But neither of you got to decide. It just went poof. And that stole away your power.”

He nodded, grudgingly accepting that Heather might have him pegged. He didn’t like thinking that anybody had a better handle on his shit than he did, but her words had loosened something that’d been knotted up inside him.

It wasn’t the baby he was mourning, was it? Heather was right. It was the control he felt robbed of.

So what did you do? Fucked your girlfriend like a stranger you couldn’t give two shits about. That wasn’t his way, not even with an actual one-night stand. Flynn might be a sick f*cker, but he was a gentleman, in his way.

Not tonight, I wasn’t. Tonight he’d been the sort of man he’d be more than happy to punch in the mouth.

He leaned forward, gesturing for Heather’s cigarette. “Gimme a taste of that.”

“No f*ckin’ chance.” She sucked the final gasp of life out of the butt and crushed its corpse under her sneaker, tar paper grinding. She drained her glass and stood, stretching. “The thing is, Mike, all this shit you’re going through? That’s how kids work. From the second they’re conceived, you’re pretty much f*cked.”

He laughed, just a little hum of a thing, but it felt good. Another couple tangles came loose in his chest.

“All bets are off with kids,” Heather said, “whether they’re Kim’s age or they’re a little blob of cells. Hell, you’re basically my kid and you’re f*ckin’ thirty-three and I still can’t sleep on weekend nights, knowin’ you’re playing chicken with brain damage in that goddamned basement—”

“I got it.”

“Anyhow, the little cell-blob decided for you. You want kids someday, get used to havin’ f*ck-all control. Second you start carin’ about somebody on that level is the second you hand all your ammo over to them, throw out your arms, invite ’em to take aim straight at your heart.”

She offered a hand to help Flynn up but he shook his head. “Gonna stay up here a little while longer.”

“Suit yourself. She know where you are?”

“I left a note.”

“She know you’re pissed?”

“Yeah. Probably.” Flynn was unpracticed at hiding his feelings; he said what he thought, never censored himself. That little speech he’d made after the sex couldn’t have been all that reassuring.

“She finds that note, she’s gonna start worrying,” his sister said. “Maybe start wonderin’ what she did wrong, as us fool-ass women are programmed to do. Don’t make her worry a minute longer than she has to.”