“Didn’t. What?”
I touch my abdomen.
He starts to shake with rage. He looks down at my hand spanned across the place he likes to talk to, to kiss, then his body shakes even harder—frighteningly hard.
I take a steady step backwards, the tether snapping like a physical thing, leaving us separate. For the first time in four years.
“No, baby. No,” he mutters, his voice breaking with each word. “No.”
“Bronson.” I step to touch him, but he surges away from me as though I am a snake. Just like my dad did, pulling away from me in disgust.
“Don’t touch me right now.” He shakes his head, his ominous fury seems to build in his face, his eyes bright green and thin like slits, his body taut and vibrating.
My pulse thrashes around in my neck and ears, alerting me to run away from him but Bronson would never hurt me.
Would he?
“FUCK!” he suddenly roars, gyrating his body around as though he can’t control the violence within himself. “Fuck.”A force that wants to claw out through his stomach or mouth and incinerate everything.
He bursts into tears, growling and sobbing at the same time, and the two pieces of my heart turn to ash within my ribcage. “My boy. . .” he mutters, sorrow wrapping itself around each letter in those words. Tears roll down his broken face, falling into his mouth as he sobs. I can’t bear it. It is the most gut-wrenching sight to behold. “Where did he die? Where is he now?” Suddenly, he turns and strides towards his bike.
“Don’t! Don’t ride like this,” I say, struck by panic. I run after him, but my body hurts. “Don’t ride,please.”
My cries fall on deaf ears.
He is too focused on leaving me to retrieve his helmet. Dragging the bike up from the ground, he starts the engine with an aggressive rev. He jumps on and speeds off; the motor growling up the street, leaving an echo of aggression and pain and heartbreak in its wake.
I watch him disappear.
Helpless.
Sobbing softly, I drop to my knees, the ache inside me now moving through all my cells. From the empty bloody spot in my uterus to the embers and ash of my heart.
I shudder.
“He’s taking me away from you, Bronson,” I whisper to the cold air, hoping it will carry my love and message to him. “Happy eighteenth birthday for next month.I love you, nutcase. . . for all your crazies.”
Shoshanna
Present day
“A girl!”
I’m awoken by a bang from the door hitting the stopper and a little girl squealing those words. I pull the covers up quickly, hiding my nakedness beneath them. Bronson groans, his body weighing me down, a heavy leg and arm slung over me, a seemingly protective measure. I guess he wants to ensure I don’t go anywhere. He slowly rolls to the side, his leg still hooked around mine, his mind wrapped up in slumber.
I sit up, holding the blue sheet to my chest. My dark hair is mussed around my head and down my shoulders.
“Hi,” I say to the little girl staring at me with wide grey-blue eyes. “You must be the famous Kelly.”
“Oh my God. I’msofricking sorry.” A pretty blonde appears behind Kelly, quickly scooping the little girl up to straddle her hip as she tries not to look at me sitting up in Bronson’s bed. “Kel, you need to knock.” She turns away from the room, her beautiful wavy blonde hair swaying around her slim frame. I presume this is Cassidy. She doesn’t walk off though, but rather shuffles nervously, like she is fighting with what to do. She finally says, “I can’t wait to meet you, Shoshanna. I’m really excited.Frick, I’m sorry. We’ll go now.”
“Her name is Jasmine,” Kelly says as Cassidy closes the door behind them.
Falling back on the mattress, I exhale hard.Life is a peach, Akila.Fuck me. Memories of his words whispered in my ear, of his desperate choked tone when he all but begged me to give him another baby, of him wanting to start where we left off, crash down on me. How am I going to tell him that I may not be able to have children? Will he still want me? What if this feeling he has, this insane, beautiful, intense feeling he has for me, is a mask to rewrite history? To take away that day?
“Was that my outlaw?” Bronson murmurs, his voice husky and deep. Propping himself up on his elbow, he stares down at me, assessing my expression fondly. “What’s going on in your impressive mind, baby?”
“Yes, it was. And Cassidy. She’s. . .really pretty.”