“It’s all in the shush,” I told her, trying valiantly to avoid the practical sear of heat coming off of Wade. “Sometimes you have to do it loud enough so they can hear it over their own cries, but I swear to Christ it works.”
Freya took her bundled son who was now staring around like it was all a party and grinned at me.
“I’ll give it a try.” She smiled.
Then her toddler knocked the Icee out of the other child’s hands, and red slush went everywhere.
Ridley sighed. “I’m sure you’re thankful you don’t have kids right about now.”
That was directed at Wade, who was staring at the mess on the floor like it only amused him.
“I’d give my right leg to have a kid of my own, Ridley,” Wade said, breaking my heart all over again.
And there was the other reason I’d left.
I couldn’t have kids.
One infection after a donation I’d given had left me infertile. So, I would never be having kids of my own—or giving Wade any of his.
Not only had the infection fried my reproductive system, but they’d taken my ovaries with the infection. To put the icing on the cake, I’d learned at the age of fifteen that my parents really didn’t care at all about me, because instead of trying to save my reproductive organs, my parents took the easy way out and just had them removed in case things went wrong in the future.
Why?
Because what if I got too sick, and couldn’t give their favorite daughter bone marrow if she may need it?
I’d, of course, known that my parents were pieces of shits from a very young age, but I hadn’t realized how far they’d stoop until they’d taken a piece of me that I hadn’t realized that I wanted until it was gone.
I felt something like a lead weight settle in my stomach, and I smiled at the crowd that was now gathered around.
“You ready, Wade?” I asked softly.
Wade’s gaze met mine, and I saw something there that was really close to understanding.
Wade had seen my reaction and didn’t understand it.
But he’d try to figure out why, and I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like the conversation that followed if he did find out.
But at this point, if he asked, I just might tell him what was wrong.
Which was exactly what he did the moment we got back into the car.
And, still feeling the heat emanating from the man beside me, I decided that it didn’t matter.
So what, if he knew why I was so sad?
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Why did you get such a long face when I said I wanted kids?”
I laughed softly under my breath.
“I’m sad because I want kids, too,” I told him truthfully. “It makes me sad that I can’t have them.”
He was silent for a few long seconds.
“We could have them,” he said, sounding as if he was gentling a skittish horse. “If you wanted to.”
I laughed, and that laugh turned into a sniffle as the tears started to prickle my eyes. “If it was only that easy.”
He shifted into fourth gear as he started to merge onto the freeway, and my breath caught like it always did as we rushed into traffic at breakneck speeds.
I closed my eyes and breathed through the terror.
“It’s that easy if we make it that easy,” he said, sounding confident. “We could share them.”
I swallowed past a lump in my throat. “If it were possible to have kids on my end, Wade, I might very well take you up on that offer. But I can’t. I had that possibility ripped away from me at fifteen.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes, and I felt the lowest of lows at seeing the look there.
“When we met, you said you didn’t want kids. You made it very clear before we married that you didn’t.” He paused. “You lied. You want kids, you just can’t have them.”
I nodded. “Correct.”
“Explains the no period thing…” He frowned. “Why lie about that?”
I looked down at my hands. “Because I hate thinking about it? Because had I told you that I couldn’t have kids, I would’ve then had to go into detail about why I couldn’t have kids. About how I donated bone marrow to my sister against my will, and that I got an infection that spread to my reproductive organs, which then were taken out of me instead of trying to correct the infection with antibiotics.”
Wade’s free hand clenched into a tight fist, while his hand on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles were white.
“You’re saying they just took them out instead of fighting with antibiotics?” he clarified.
I thought about that for a second. “They tried antibiotics. But, unlike with you, they didn’t keep on top of them. I just kept getting sicker and sicker until the infection had spread to my fallopian tubes. Taking my ovaries was precautionary, however.”