Birdie steps out onto the deck where I’ve been sitting lost in my thoughts for the last half hour.
I run my eyes over her, taking in the sadness that clings to her. “Did you sort the shifts out?” She’s been on the phone trying to rearrange shifts at her work so she can take another couple of days off. We arrived home from Brisbane this morning and I told her I want us to take some time together. Fuck knows we need it.
She slides her hand over my shoulders and bends to kiss me before folding herself into the chair next to mine. “Yeah. Andrea’s taking care of it. I’ve got two days.”
I place my hand on her thigh and we sit in silence for a long while. It’s been five days since Max’s death and we’ve spent a fair bit of time sitting in silence. Birdie appears to be as lost as I am; instead of talking like she usually does, she’s turned inward.
Finally, she takes hold of my hand and says, “I’m scared for you.”
I frown at the fear in her voice. “Why?”
She brings her legs up to sit cross-legged. “Your brother was just murdered outside your clubhouse. And while I’ve learned to live with what club life involves, this has me freaked out.”
Fuck.
It hadn’t occurred to me that Birdie would internalise Max’s death in this way.
“Angel, you don’t need to worry about this—”
“You always say that, but I can’t not worry, and I just needed to say it out loud this time. I can’t keep it on the inside anymore. It feels too heavy and it makes it hard to breathe, especially when I think about you getting…” She chokes up and her eyes fill with tears. Gripping me harder, she continues, “I can’t lose you. It’s been hard enough losing Max, but if I lost you, I don’t know how I’d go on.”
I pull her into my lap as her tears fall. Smoothing her hair, I say, “Baby, I’m not going anywhere. I fucking promise you that.” Tipping her chin to bring her eyes to mine, I add, “Max’s death wasn’t part of a situation that you needed a heads up on. It wasn’t even really to do with club shit. We don’t have anything going on right now that should give you cause for concern. I need you to know that and believe that, because I need you to focus on our baby and to stay as calm as you can.”
She wipes her eyes and nods. “Okay.”
“You don’t sound like you believe me.”
“I do believe you because you’ve never lied to me before. It’s just going to take me some time to sort through all my thoughts.”
Birdie’s quiet strength helps get me through club shit. It has since the day she moved to Melbourne. She may worry too much about me, but she doesn’t often express those worries. She doesn’t hesitate to let me know all the things she frets over when it comes to IVF and infertility, but when it comes to the club and me, she locks that shit down tight and stands fiercely by my side. I appreciate the hell out of that because it gives me the space to take care of everything I need to.
“Keep talking to me about those thoughts,” I say. “I don’t want you struggling with this on your own.”
Her lips press to mine before she says softly, “I’ve missed this.” At my confused expression, she elaborates, “Us connecting like this. Sometimes you feel so out of reach to me.”
“I feel that, too.” I smooth her hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear as I contemplate what I’m about to say to her. “Max was coming to talk to me about you on the day he was killed.”
She stills. Her eyes bore into mine as she says, “What about?”
“He told me you don’t feel like I listen to you anymore, that I switch off about things that are important to you.”
Her eyes don’t let mine go. “I did say that to him.”
“I hate what IVF has done to us, angel. There are days where I feel like an ocean sits between us.”
Tears fill those beautiful eyes of hers again. “Yes,” she whispers. It’s barely a breath but the anguish it carries twists my heart inside out.
“It’s not that I’m not listening or that I’m switching off or that I’m refusing to hear what you say; it’s that I don’t know how to take it all in. I don’t know how to watch you lose yourself to it anymore, because it fucking feels like you’ve already lost so much.” I wipe the tears sliding down her cheeks. “I’m going to try harder.”
“I am, too. I hate the moods I put you through and I’m sorry I do it.”
“Don’t apologise for something you can’t control.”
She smiles through her tears. “I love you for saying that, but it’s not all true. I could try harder to bite my tongue.”
“Baby, I can handle your moods.” I place my hand to her heart. “This is what I can’t handle. When this breaks, it fucking shatters me, and that’s when I lose my way.”
Her lips press to mine and after she kisses me, she says, “I thought I’d pushed you too much, that you were getting close to done.”