“It’s a girl!” Brittany announced later that evening.
Trey pushed his plate aside and downed half a glass of water. They were having a daughter. A little Brittany. He rubbed his jaw. His mother had begged him not to become a police officer, afraid the same fate as his father awaited him. Or if he did go into law enforcement, she’d pleaded with him not to become a patrolman. Become a crime scene investigator or a fingerprint analyst. Now he’d have three females worrying about him every time he walked out the door.
“Did you hear me? We’re having a daughter.”
He should’ve been at the ultrasound with her. He’d been looking forward to finding out the sex of their baby since he’d discovered she was pregnant and she’d held off receiving the information for him. But the intensity of their early morning encounter haunted him. His feelings for her. His inability to push her away. Their mutual emotional demands. He needed to think, needed time away from her. She kept him in fucking knots.
“Trey!”
“A girl? Congratulations,” he said in a moderated voice, determined to keep it flat and emotionless, unable to stay focused at the wounded look in her eyes.
“The very least you can do is talk to me.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Ever since you recovered you’ve acted as if you don’t want me or the baby. It wasn’t our fault you were shot.”
“I’m a cop. I was almost killed and could be killed at any time. Hardly anything stops the right ammunition. Do you think I want you to live the rest of your life wondering if the next time the phone rings, it could be someone informing you of my death?”
“So you’ve just made the decision to push me away? Forget the days and the weeks we spent together before you were shot?”
Forget them? Brittany and those memories had made him fight to live.
“I never took you for a quitter. But you are. Every time you feel uncomfortable in our relationship you walk away.”
“I’m a fucking man, not the goddamn knight in shining armor you want me to be,” he spat, not bothering to reply to her accusations because they were true. “Flesh-and-blood men quit. They fucking give up. Or move the fuck on. Or whatever. I can tell you I’m distancing myself to protect you, to continue your fantasy. But why should I fucking bother? As I recall the knight you want me to be also rescue their damsels. My damsel gave up on me a long time ago. She wants me to bare my soul to her when she won’t even give me the name of the fuckhead who hurt her.” He drew in a deep breath to control his anger, hurt and helplessness. He was bothered by more than the shooting. Brittany’s past played in to his current emotions and everything culminated in this moment. “You never intended for us to stay married. I’ve just decided I agree with you. I will take care of our child and support you as best I can. Pay for daycare and help with your tuition once you return to school. But we’ll divorce when the baby is born. I can’t allow you to become a police officer’s widow.”
“We’ll still have a baby together. Whether we’re married or divorced your daughter could end up fatherless. Whether we’re married or divorced I would still be heartbroken if something happened to you.”
Trey stared into the distance, angry and resentful.
“Let’s not wait until I give birth. You can start divorce proceedings tomorrow.”
His chest seemed to cave in at Brittany’s harsh words. “No. We married so you could have access to my health insurance. I intend to keep my promise.”
“I believe in your promises even less than I believe in your vows. No, our vows.”
She grabbed his glass of water and threw it in his face. He jerked in surprise, rising to his feet. Before he could respond she ran from the kitchen. A few moments later, she returned, throwing pillows at his head.
“Sleep on the sofa. You’re not welcome in my bed anymore.”
He swiped at the water still dripping from him. “How the hell did the bed become yours?”
She glowered at him, lobbing another pillow in his direction. The smaller pillow hit the glass she’d emptied over his head and it crashed to the floor, smashing into pieces. “Yours, mine or ours, you aren’t welcome in it.”
He opened his mouth to speak but a blanket slammed into him, catching on his shoulder. A minute later, he heard the bedroom door slam.
✽ ✽ ✽
On the sofa in the living room Trey wondered if Brittany slept. Did she finally, finally hate him? The whole goddamn bunch of them were fucking insane. He’d attempted to get out from under her influence for years but he’d never be free of her or his feelings for her.
She pushed. He pulled.
She pulled. He pushed.
And still she wrapped him around her little finger.
He longed for the untroubled days of her younger years before they became sexually aware of each other. Once he made love to her his fate had been sealed. Still he fought against his emotions, and still they trapped him in her vise.
But sometimes love wasn’t enough. Being in love wasn’t enough. Brittany owned him, body and soul. His need for her warred with his desire to shield and protect her from all hurt, harm and danger. She refused to let him protect her in the way he most wanted while he had the power to protect her against what he most feared.
By now, if he were in bed with her, she’d be cuddling against him, tempting him to make love to her. How he’d given in to her only this morning was a wonder of his life.
Trey sighed into the darkness. He’d led Brittany to believe their future stretched before them. He’d led her to believe they’d be together forever. Hell, because he thought they’d be together forever, he’d begged her to marry him in the first place.
He expected their forever to be at least forty or fifty years but the thought he had his father’s destiny to repeat paled in comparison to how much he needed Brittany.
He remembered the plans he’d had with his father. They were going to go on a fishing trip. Dad had rented the same cabin he’d taken them to for Trey’s tenth birthday. Just as before, he’d saved up for it for months so the three of them could go for another extended weekend. His mother didn’t like fishing so she’d stay behind to relax while Trey and his dad traipsed around the great outdoors. Each evening, they would bring the fish they caught back to the cabin and prepare their supper together. The fish would’ve already been skinned and cleaned since his mother refused to do such dirty work.
Only two days had separated that second dream trip and the bullet that had ended everything. Had his father been sick, Trey would’ve been more prepared. But that bullet cut his father’s life short and snatched away every moment, planned and unplanned, he’d intended to share with his wife and son.
Maybe he was a quitter. But at least this way Brittany was prepared for their separation. Trey turned his body, facing the darkness of the room.
He just wasn’t sure he was.