Battle Hearts

by Nina Levine

  His eyes meet mine in the mirror. “What are you thinking, angel?”

  I smile and move closer, gliding my hands around his waist and pressing a kiss to his back before positioning myself on the vanity next to him. “I was thinking how much I love watching you apply that balm and that maybe”—I take the container of balm from him—“you should let me do it for you today.”

  He moves in between my legs. “You can do it whenever you want to.” The deep rumble in his voice curls deep inside me; we haven’t had sex for weeks and today I’m missing the intimacy.

  I rub some balm into my hands and gently smooth it over his beard. My touch is light, tender, and my eyes remain locked onto his. “I was also thinking,” I say slowly as I wrap my legs around his, “about how much I miss you.”

  He places his hands either side of me on the vanity and leans closer. “And?”

  I like the heat I see in his eyes. My tummy flutters at that heat, something it hasn’t done in weeks. God, how I miss him. “And how much I want your hands and mouth on me.”

  He drops his mouth to pepper kisses along my collarbone. As he moves up my neck, he murmurs, “We’ve got five minutes until we have to leave.”

  I thread my fingers through his hair, holding his head in place so he continues kissing me. “Yeah, but that’s really ten minutes because you’ve allowed for extra time. We could use the extra time to get naked.”

  His kisses make their way to my mouth, and after he kisses me thoroughly, he says, “You sure about that?”

  I know what he’s asking: Do I really want to have sex before our pregnancy test this morning when I’ve been committed to the doctor’s advice of not having sex during this two-week wait?

  The answer to that isn’t black and white. While our doctor has given us this advice, I’ve read plenty of studies online that refute it. Some say sex is okay; some are all for it. I haven’t really felt like it, so it’s been an easy decision for me, but I’ve woken up wanting Winter in the way I haven’t for what feels like so long now.

  “Fuck,” I mutter, placing my hands to his chest. “You’re right. We’ve come this far; we’re nearly there.”

  “Yeah,” he agrees, and I hear all his regret in that one word. Taking a step back, he runs his eyes down my body, lighting me up even more. “I’m taking a raincheck. Tonight, if the doctor says we’re good to go.”

  “It’s a date,” I say, leaving the vanity and kissing him one last time. “We better go.” This is the one appointment I’ve been ready super early for. And more anxious than ever for. My tummy has been a mess of nerves; this moment with him is the first time I’ve relaxed in days, but now that I’m thinking again about the pregnancy test we’re having soon, my nerves are back full force.

  I grab my bag while Winter finishes locking up the house. Five minutes later, we’re on our way to the clinic and I feel nauseous.

  What if we’re not pregnant?

  How many cycles will it take to fall pregnant if we fail this time?

  What if we are pregnant and there’s something wrong with the baby?

  Oh God, what if I miscarry?

  How will we keep affording IVF if we need to keep going back again and again?

  “Birdie.” Winter’s hand lands on my thigh. “Stop thinking.”

  I turn to him. “I can’t. Like seriously, my brain just won’t shut off.”

  His gaze meets mine. “Talk to me. Tell me all your thoughts.”

  I fan my face. “Jesus, it’s hot in here. Are you hot?”

  He squeezes my thigh before reaching for my bottle of water. “Have a drink. It’s not hot; you’re panicking.”

  He’s right. I am. After I drink some water, I say, “I feel sick. Like, I could throw up thinking about all the possibilities of what our life will look like after this test today. I just want to have a child and love that child.” My voice wobbles as I add, “It’s not too much to ask, is it? We’ll be good parents.”

  “It’s not too much to ask. Let’s just get through this morning before worrying about the next step.”

  “Why do you have to be so bloody practical all the time?”

  He looks at me again, his amusement clear in his eyes. “One of us has to be.”

  “Ugh.”

  After he pulls into the clinic’s car park and parks the car, he curls his hand around my neck and pulls me close. “Whatever happens today, we’re going to be okay, angel.”

  “I hope so,” I say softly.

  “We’ve pulled through some rough shit, and if we have to do that again, we will. Together. Always fucking together.”

  The fierceness in his words hits me in the chest. He’s right; we have pulled through some awful stuff in the past. I just need to cling to him if we get the worst news today.

  Pressing my lips to his, I kiss him, showing him how much I love and appreciate him. Even if he is too damn practical for me sometimes. Smiling, I say, “Love, fight, battle, protect.” The Morrison way.

  He returns my smile and nods. “Yeah.”

  I take a deep breath. “Okay, let’s go do this.”

  The room spins as I fight for oxygen. Drawing breath in, though, is hard to do when you can’t focus enough on the process because every ounce of your being is completely focussed on processing news you never wanted to hear.

  I’m not pregnant.

  We failed IVF.

  Oh my God, I’m going to pass out.

  I can’t breathe.

  I stare at the doctor. She’s speaking to Winter and me. I see her mouth moving, but I no longer hear anything coming out of it.

  Winter’s hand crushes mine as he listens intently to what she says. He hasn’t let go of me since the moment we sat down across from her. At first, I welcomed the physical contact, but now I need to extricate myself from him.

  I. Can’t. Breathe.

  I need to get out of here.

  When I try to pull my hand from his, Winter resists. Meeting my gaze, he frowns.

  “I need to go,” I choke out, pleading with my eyes for him to let me go.

  “Birdie,” Dr. McLeod says, her voice so warm and caring that I want to scream at her to stop being so fucking delicate. I just want her to stop fucking talking. We didn’t get pregnant; what else is there to say about that? We. Failed.

  Yanking my hand from Winter’s, I stand. “You two finish going over everything. I can’t do this.” I’ve done every fucking thing I’ve had to up to this point; this, I can’t fucking do.

  With that, I’m out the door, down the hallway, and exiting the clinic before Winter can stop me.

  The cold air stings my face, a welcome sensation. It doesn’t take the ache from my chest, but it shifts my attention for a moment.

  I tried to prepare myself for this outcome, but just like nothing could fully prepare me for an IVF cycle, nothing could ready me for what this news feels like.

  I believed my baby was growing in my stomach.

  I believed I had her for one week.

  I believed too many lies I told myself.

  Hope is just a bunch of fucking lies we weave into a story we tell ourselves.

  And this feeling I’m left with now? It feels like a death I have to find a way to recover from. Another one. After two ectopic pregnancies and the loss of both my fallopian tubes, I know all about this kind of death, but fuck me, it only gets harder each time. It slices deeper. Carves its wound more cruelly. Bleeds more profusely.

  An icy gush of wind slaps me in the face, and as I turn my head to flick my hair out of my eyes, I spot Winter coming my way. The strain he carries is too much for me to bear. This is all my fault. He may never be a father because of me. I’m damaged goods and he’s the one suffering the consequences.

  Turning away from him, because I can’t cope with his pain as well as my own, I walk towards the car. I’ve taken two steps when Winter’s strong arm wraps around me from behind, settles across my chest and pulls me against his body. He doesn’t speak a word; he doesn’
t need to. He simply holds me until finally, I slowly curve around to bury my face in his chest. With my arms tightly around him, I let my tears fall.

  He smooths my hair while I cry, still not uttering a word. How he knows what I need is beyond me. For once, I have no words. All I have is a broken heart and nowhere to take it to be fixed.

  I have no idea how long I cry, but as my tears subside, Winter presses a kiss to my forehead and says, “You ready to go home?”

  Looking up into his eyes, I nod.

  He takes hold of my hand and walks me to the car. Once he’s got me bundled in, we make the drive home in silence. I stare out the window, tracking the rain that’s started falling. The raindrops drizzling down the window are like the sad soundtrack to my pain. Winter’s hand squeezing mine the entire trip home is the thing that keeps me from disconnecting completely. Because that’s what I want to do. I want to sever my connection to the world. I want to shut down and forget everything I know and feel.

  When we arrive home, I somehow make my way into our bedroom. Winter is behind me every step of the way. I sit on the edge of the bed and he crouches in front of me. He removes my boots and crawls onto the bed behind me when I lie down. Spooning me, his arms around me like he’s never letting me go again, he lies with me in silence.

  More tears come as I lie and think about the child we’re not having. Quiet tears that just keep falling. This may be harder than when I suffered my last ectopic pregnancy. At least then, I wiped all hope from my mind. I told myself I would never have a child. I refused to entertain my options. This time, I opened myself fully to my options. I allowed myself to believe in and imagine the family Winter and I would have. I made plans. I started thinking about how I would set the nursery up. Hell, I even started thinking about whether we’d send our child to public or private school.

  “This isn’t the end of the road, angel,” Winter says. “This was just the first cycle.”

  My tears don’t stop. I know he’s trying to be positive, but fuck positivity right now. I don’t fucking feel positive.

  When I don’t respond, he says, “Birdie. Talk to me.”

  “I don’t want to talk.”

  “I know, but shutting down on me isn’t going to help you and it’s sure as fuck not going to help us.”

  I push his arms off me and leave the bed to go into the en suite. Closing the door, I sit on the toilet and suck deep breaths in. I don’t bother to wipe my tears; they’re not going to stop any time soon, so there’s no point.

  The crushing pain is strangling me. I don’t want to shut down on Winter, but I have nothing left to give. I’ve given all I have.

  The en suite door opens and Winter steps in. I don’t look at him. Not even when he says, “Birdie, look at me.”

  His phone rings before he can say anything else.

  “What?” he snaps when he answers it.

  I barely register his conversation, not until he says, “I’m not leaving Birdie. You’ll have to handle this yourself.”

  “You can go,” I say. I’d rather be alone.

  He ignores me and carries on his conversation. “I’ll be off-grid for the rest of the day. Just take care of everything however you think best.”

  Ending the call, he says to me, more forcefully than last time, “Birdie, look at me.”

  “No.”

  “Fuck,” he says, squatting so he can come down to my eye level. “Why not?”

  When he tips my chin up, I want to lash out at him. I want to yell at him to just leave me alone. I. Don’t. Want. To. Talk. About. This. But I don’t have the energy for that, so I allow him to force me to look at him.

  “Baby,” he starts, but I cut him off.

  “I can’t look at you, because all I see are your hopes and dreams that I’ve stolen from you.” I swallow the grief and fear clawing at me. “What if I can never give you a baby?”

  “We’ve discussed this. If we get to that point, we have other options. You know I’m good with that if it’s the path we have to take.”

  “Stop talking about paths and options and all that bullshit. I’m tired of it. I’m so fucking tired of it all. For once, just tell me how much this sucks for you, too.”

  “It sucks, but we knew this could happen. Hell, you researched the fuck out of success rates; you knew this was likely—”

  “That doesn’t make it any easier. God! Stop being so fucking matter-of-fact about this. You see everything so black and white when there’s so much grey here. I’m fucking drowning in the grey, and I just need you to acknowledge it exists, and to stop trying to solve it or fix me or make everything better. I just want to spend the day crying and grieving. Can you let me do that?”

  His eyes search mine and I instantly feel bad for vomiting my grief all over him, but I can’t take it back. I won’t take it back. It might have been hurtful, but it’s my truth, and it’s all I have to give him now.

  He nods and stands, holding out his hand. I take it and let him lead me back to the bed. After he wraps me in his arms again, he says, “I’m drowning, too, baby. Don’t shut me out.”

  I don’t know if it’s his confession or the torment I hear in his voice, but Winter admitting he’s as broken as I am over this makes me cry again.

  We turn silent after that, each lost in our own emotions.

  How will we survive this?

  18

  Winter

  * * *

  It’s been four days since Birdie and I received the news she’s not pregnant, and if I thought we were drowning then, I don’t know what the fuck you’d call how we are now.

  After she spent the entire day in bed, crying for most of it, she went back to work the day after we got the news. I tried to talk her into taking some time off, but she didn’t want to hear anything I had to say. And in complete contrast to how she usually is, she hasn’t wanted to do much talking this week. This silence has thrown me; I don’t know how to reach her or help her. She told me she doesn’t want me to try to make her feel better, but fuck, watching her go through this is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. If I could take all her pain away, I would.

  “I picked up some Thai for dinner,” she says when I come home just after 7:00 p.m. and find her sitting on the couch scrolling through her phone. “I’m not very hungry, but I can heat some up for you if you want.”

  She’s barely eating and I’m growing concerned. “Angel, you need to eat.” And fuck, I want us to have a meal together, something we haven’t done this week.

  “Yeah, I will, but later.”

  “I’ll wait to eat with you.”

  She glances at me and stands. “Okay. I’m gonna have a shower.”

  As she moves past me, I reach for her hand and pull her to me. Smoothing her hair off her face, I say, “How was your day?”

  “Long. Sucky. How was yours?”

  Fuck, I detest what IVF has done to us. Her arms hang by her side, her hands nowhere close to being on me like they usually are when I come home at the end of the day. This has become our norm this week. On top of that, I haven’t fucked her in weeks. We need to get through this together, in every way we can. The ache in my soul can only be soothed by Birdie, but she doesn’t want me anywhere near her.

  “Mine was the same.” I hold her face with both hands and kiss her. She kisses me back, but her heart isn’t in it. I drop my hands and let her go. I’d rather nothing from her than something I’ve forced her into giving. “Go shower.”

  A text comes through as I watch her walk away.

  * * *

  Ransom: Everything’s lined up for tomorrow.

  Me: I’ll be in at 6am. Let Striker know he needs to get his ass there on time.

  Ransom: Have done. He’ll be there.

  Me: Thanks, brother.

  * * *

  I exhale a long, frustrated breath. Tomorrow will be make or fucking break, and I need to get my head in the game. After forcing three of Zenith’s delivery guys to talk, we finally discovered
where they operate from. We’re attempting a negotiation with them tomorrow to put an end to this turf war. I don’t expect it to go well, and if I’m right, fuck knows what the outcome will be. I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to ensure Storm comes out on top, which is why I need to get my shit together.

  I head out to the gym in the garage. It helps me take my mind off Birdie and IVF, and while she’s spent each night this week in bed watching TV, the gym has given me somewhere to come when she’s turned away.

  I lose myself to the weights for the next hour, and when I emerge from the garage, Birdie is predictably in bed zoning out to another episode of Queen of the South.

  “You hungry now?” I ask as I walk past her into the en suite.

  “No. Don’t wait for me if you are.”

  I place my hands on the vanity and stare in the mirror at her sitting in the bed behind me. “It’s after eight. We’re eating after I shower.”

  My commanding tone catches her attention and she looks at me. “I don’t want any.”

  “You haven’t wanted dinner all week. Starving yourself isn’t useful.”

  She stares at me for a long moment before turning back to the TV.

  When she doesn’t say anything else, I spin around and go back into the bedroom. “I’m out of ideas for how to reach you, angel. I’ve tried to give you space; I’ve tried to do what you asked by not being practical about this; I’ve pushed aside my instinct to fix shit; and while I know it’s only been four days, I’m concerned, because instead of pulling together it feels like you’re pulling away. Help me here.”

  She continues staring at the TV, and just when I think I’ve failed to connect with her again, she faces me and says, “I’m sorry. I’m not intentionally pulling away.”

  Thank fuck for that.

  “Do you want to see someone?”

  She frowns. “A psychologist?”

  “Yeah. Someone you can talk to.”

  “Maybe.”