I hate how my good mood plummets at his words and how guilty I feel for my natural reaction.
Things are becoming complicated the longer this goes on.
Saint stomps into the room, and it’s as if his presence sucks all the oxygen from the air. Or perhaps it’s only me who feels like that.
“Dad!” Luna appears at the door from the playroom, her pretty little face lighting up the second she sees Saint.
“Princess.” Saint drops to one knee, opening his arms. “Come give me some loving.” He waggles his brows, and she giggles, racing across the kitchen and flinging herself into his arms. Tears prick my eyes as I watch him hug Luna, his eyes closing and chest heaving with emotion as he holds her close.
I know how much Saint loves all the kids, and he shares a special closeness with Luna. But I also know he’s hugging her imagining that she’s his own flesh and blood. Wishing she shared his DNA because he is desperate for a child of his own.
He has never voiced those words to me.
I expect he has never voiced those words to the others either.
I don’t know for sure because we skate around the issues, which is not usual for us. Open communication has been the cornerstone of our relationship from the very start, but this is different. We’re in uncharted territory, and I don’t think any of us know how to navigate. I don’t want to upset Saint. He doesn’t want to upset me. And the others don’t want to upset either one of us.
I’m terrified it’s going to destroy what we’ve built here. I already feel cracks forming, and I don’t know how to fix it. If only I would get pregnant, but we’ve been trying for eight months with no success.
“Miss me?” Saint asks Luna, and she nods, snuggling into his chest.
“We made cookies,” Rora says, ambling into the kitchen followed by Bishop.
“Chocolate chip?” Caz asks, scooping his wild daughter into his arms.
“Poppa Bear!” Rora giggles as Caz tickles her. “That tickles!”
“That’s because I’m the Tickle Monster,” Caz says, chuckling as he continues tormenting her. Rora squeals, her loud laughter bouncing off the walls, helping to loosen the edge off my stress.
Saint releases Luna, standing. “How long until dinner?” he asks Galen.
“Twenty minutes.”
Saint grabs my hand. “That’s time enough.”
“We can wait till later,” I say, really not in the mood.
“Queenie.” He pulls me in close, pressing his warm mouth to my ear. “You’re ovulating, and we don’t have a minute to waste. Some experts say you only have twelve hours to fertilize the egg. Every second we wait is a wasted opportunity.”
Saint is like an encyclopedia on fertilization and reproduction. At first, I thought it was cute. Now, I wish he’d drop it. The more he pushes the agenda, the more stressed I feel. It’s even gotten to the stage where I’ve begun to dread sex with him.
And I love sex. That hasn’t changed.
Nor has the fact I love Saint with my entire being.
I want to make him happy. I want to give him a biological child. But I feel like I’m failing him because it just isn’t happening, and he’s getting angrier while I’m growing more miserable.
“Start without us if we’re not back,” Saint says, hell-bent on fucking me.
“Surely, it can wait until after,” Theo interjects, his troubled gaze flitting to mine.
“Butt out, man.” Saint clings to my hand as he warns Theo to mind his own business. He is wound up so tight, and I hate I’m the cause of it.
“It’s fine,” I say, wanting to defuse the rapidly growing tension. “Let’s go.” I tug on Saint’s hand, just wanting to get this over and done with now.
_______________
“The timing feels right,” Saint says a few minutes later as he thrusts inside me. “It’s going to happen this month.” He hovers over me on my bed, staring at me as he fucks me, but it’s like he’s looking through me.
He’s not really here with me in this moment.
He’s on a mission—the goal to knock me up, and that is all he can see these days. He’s obsessed with impregnating me, and it’s like he’s lost sight of everything else that is important.
I offer him a weak smile because I’m afraid if I try to speak the tears I’m holding at bay will erupt like a volcano.
He slams into me violently, pounding as deep as he can go, a look of fierce concentration on his face. He holds my hips in place with his firm hands, keeping me steady, as he rams his cock inside me, thrusting over and over again until he roars out his release, collapsing on top of me. A sneaky tear leaks out of the corner of one eye, but I swipe it away before he notices.
He rolls onto his side, his chest heaving. His fingers glide down my body, pressing against my clit. I jerk, pulling away from him, swinging my legs over the other side of the bed. “We need to get up,” I say with my back to him. “Dinner is getting cold.”
“You didn’t come,” he says, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.
I’m surprised he noticed. Sex with him has become robotic, and I hate it. He barely even kisses me anymore because I can’t get pregnant from kisses.
It’s like all he cares about is putting a baby in my belly, and he doesn’t see how much he’s hurting me. How distant we have become, even though he fucks me way more than the others.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this.
Now, I don’t even want him to touch me.
“I came earlier with Theo and Galen. I’m fine,” I reply, in an equally monotone voice.
“Good,” he says, sounding like he doesn’t mean it. “But you should go again. Pregnancy is more likely if the woman orgasms during sex.”
“News flash,” I grit out, glaring at him over my shoulder. “We already had sex, and I didn’t come during the act, so just drop it.”
“Fine,” he snaps, grabbing one of the pillows. “At least lie back so I can put this under your hips.”
“What?” I splutter because this is new.
“I read an article today that said if you stay still after sex, with your hips propped up, that my sperm has a better chance of reaching your egg.”
His comment would be funny if the situation wasn’t so heartbreaking. Anger prickles under the surface of my skin, and I’m close to telling him to fuck off.
Until I see the look on his face, and I stuff the words back down.
Underneath the anger and frustration on his handsome face lies vulnerability and devastation. He’s in too much pain to shield it from me, and I can’t deny him, even if it sounds like an old wives’ tale and it seems like it won’t make a bit of difference.
I can do this for him.
I lie back on the bed and let him place the pillow under my hips. He lies down beside me, both of us flat on our backs, staring silently at the ceiling. I close my eyes, hating this. Hating that I can’t talk to him. That I’m afraid of saying the wrong thing. Fearful I will take the conversation to a place he might not have gone yet.
I’ve gotten pregnant easily all the other times, with little effort, so I have wondered if the reason I’m not getting pregnant this time is down to an issue with Saint. I hate myself for even thinking it, but if we don’t get pregnant soon, the next logical step will be to investigate why. What if he has a low sperm count or some other issue? That will destroy him. Which is why I can’t even broach the topic.
“Time’s up,” he says, and the bed moves as he climbs off it.
I blink my eyes open and sit up, leaning back against the headboard. A tight pain slices across my chest, and my thoughts are heavy as I watch him get dressed.
“I’ll meet you downstairs.” He walks off without another word, and I give myself a silent pep talk, willing myself to get moving instead of giving in to the need to curl into a ball and cry myself to sleep.
Somehow, I get up, get dressed, and make my way downstairs.
Dinner is already in mid-flow, the kids ba
ntering with their dads, when I walk into the room. Galen hops up, walking to the stove to retrieve my dinner. “I’ve got it,” I say, appearing beside him. “Don’t let your dinner go cold.” He takes one look at me and frowns. Glancing quickly over his shoulder, he puts the plate down on the counter, sliding his arm around my waist. “Are you okay?” he asks, lowering his tone.
“I’m fine.” I flash him a fake smile, and his frown deepens.
“Do you want me to talk to him?”
Tears stab the backs of my eyes. He knows. Maybe they all do. I shake my head, forcing my tears to subside. “Don’t get involved. This is between us.”
He looks like he wants to argue but thinks better of it. “Come on. Let’s get some food into you.”
I let Galen lead me to the table, pull out my chair, and set my dinner on the table in front of me. Lifting my silverware, as if on autopilot, I force food down my tight throat, listening to the chatter and laughter around the table as if I’m a bystander.
After, I lie, telling them I have a migraine, letting them fuss over me before I’m sent to bed, pretending I don’t see the anger on Saint’s face or feel the flood of relief as I curl up in bed alone, crying myself to sleep.
Chapter 4
Harlow
“I COME BEARING gifts,” Jazz says the following day, stepping into my office uninvited. She waves a paper bag at me. “Lunch from the deli.”
“I thought you were teaching a class?” I ask, looking up from my laptop. While we run the business and leave most of the classes to the trainers we hire, we both make a point of teaching a couple of classes a week, for no other reason than we enjoy it.
“I got Monica to cover for me. You looked like you could use food and a talk.” She closes the door and walks to my desk.
“I’m that obvious?” I ask, putting my pen down.
“I’m your bestie.” She places a bag down in front of me before taking a seat. “It’s my job to notice when you’re upset. What’s wrong?” She opens her own bag, extracting a wrap, an apple, and a bottle of water.
I hired Jazz four years ago, just after I bought the building. At first, we were just coworkers, but over time we’ve become the best of friends.
I don’t trust easily, and I’ve never been the kind of woman who has tons of friends. I had girls I hung out with in college, but I never called any of them friends, and I don’t see any of them or keep in contact with them anymore. They were mere acquaintances. That’s all.
I find it hard to relate to other women sometimes. In part, because my lifestyle is different than most and there is a lot of prejudice, judgment, and jealousy from other women when they discover I’m in a polyamorous relationship. Also, I was married and not interested in attending parties or hooking up with frat boys so that set me apart from other college students.
Diesel’s Denise was the first woman since Sariah that I could call a good friend. Until Jazz. But even though I’m close with both Denise and Jazz, I haven’t confided in either of them about this, and I’m not sure what that says about me. Maybe no one will ever replace Sariah in my life, because if she were still alive, there is no doubt I would’ve confided in her immediately.
“Lo.” Jazz reaches across the desk to grab my hand. Her eyes are full of compassion. “You can tell me anything. You know that. I will never judge you or betray your confidence.”
“I know that.” The words feel choked over the lump in my throat.
“Is it Bishop?” she asks, squeezing my hand. “Is he sick again?”
I shake my head. “No, thank God. He’s doing much better since the operation, and Galen and I took him to the cardiologist for a checkup last week. Everything looks good.”
Last year, Bishop collapsed at kindergarten and had to be rushed to the emergency room. We discovered he had a congenital heart defect, one that had gone undiagnosed since birth.
He had an operation to repair the small hole in his heart, and his doctor has told us he should live a long, healthy, and happy life. He will have to be monitored frequently, but as long as he is taking care of himself and getting regular checkups, there shouldn’t be any reason to worry.
God knows we all did enough of that last year. We were terrified.
“Is it Galen then? Does he still feel guilty?”
I squeeze her hand before withdrawing mine, opening my bag, and removing my lunch as I speak. “Even though he’s processed everything that happened with Bishop and come out the other side, I think Galen will always feel guilty.”
Galen was in bad shape during that time. He was worried for Bishop, and the situation brought buried memories to the surface. For him, it was a lot like watching helplessly as his sister suffered. Even after Bishop recovered, and we knew he was going to be fine, Galen frequently woke from nightmares. I spent a lot of nights comforting him in the early hours, and we spent hours upon hours talking about it until he worked through his feelings.
“While his sister Mya had a different heart condition,” I continue, “there is nothing any of us can say to make him agree it’s not his fault. He will always carry that, but at least he has found a way to live again. He was depressed and scared for so long.”
I pause for a moment, remembering how worried about him we all were. But Galen is tough, and he has made his peace with it now. “The doctors can’t even say for sure if it’s genetic. It could be coincidental that Bishop had a heart condition and so did his aunt. The most important thing is, he is healthy and well. It hasn’t scared him or altered him in any of the ways that count.”
“So, what is troubling you?”
I decide to fess up—if I don’t talk to someone about it, I’m likely to fall apart. More than that, I need her advice on what to do. I take a sip of my water, and she takes a bite out of her wrap as she waits patiently for me to explain. “When I first got pregnant, we made a joint decision not to find out who the biological father was. It was the same when Luna and Aurora came along. It doesn’t matter whose DNA flows in their veins because they are all of our children. Every one of my husbands is an amazing father, and everything was fine until Bishop got sick, and it forced us to relook at things.” My heart is heavy as I recall one of the more difficult times of my life. I take a bite of my wrap as I grapple with my emotions.
“In what way? Did you need to know for blood transfusion or something?”
“It was more that we realized we needed to know in case there were other genetic issues we should be aware of.”
“Like Caz’s mom having Parkinson’s.”
I nod. “Exactly.” We found out about Mrs. Evans just after Bishop was diagnosed and it was a no-brainer by then. We won’t take risks with our kids’ lives, and it’s better to know the full familial history so we are prepared for any future situations.
“I still don’t understand what the issue is,” Jazz says, biting into her apple.
I take another sip of water, before slouching in my chair. I flip the bottle cap between my fingers as I get to the heart of the matter. “The paternity tests revealed Galen is Bishop’s bio dad, Theo is Luna’s bio dad, and Caz is Rora’s.”
Awareness sparks to life in her eyes. “Saint is upset none of them are his.”
I bob my head. “Out of all my husbands, Saint has always been the most possessive, the most alpha. The instant we got the results, I knew he’d feel left out. That he’d want to rectify the situation.”
“Don’t you want more kids?”
I straighten up, leaning my elbows on the table. “Honestly, I’d have a football field full of kids. I love babies. I adore my children. That’s not it.” I gulp over the pained lump in my throat. “We’ve been trying for eight months, and I’m still not pregnant.”
Her features soften. “That’s not too long. Especially when you’ve given birth to three kids within four years. Your body probably needs some time to recover before it’s ready to go again.”
“That could be true, but Saint is a man on a mission, and it’s taking over
everything.” Pain slices across my chest. “He’s obsessed, Jazz. He knows my cycle better than I know it myself. He’s read every book he can get his hands on. He practically forces vitamins and health smoothies down my throat. I’m afraid to indulge in snacks because I see the look he gives me if I dare put anything unhealthy into my body. He makes the others use condoms so I don’t accidentally get pregnant by them, and he actually suggested last week that I should abstain from sex with my other husbands so my body is less tired and more ready for him. He’s starting to sound legit crazy. He’s unpredictable and erratic, and sometimes, when he’s fucking me, he seems angry, as if he hates me.” A sob rips from my chest, and I hang my head, my body shaking as deep-seated anguish races through me.
“Oh, Harlow.” She reaches out, taking my hand again. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”
I lift my head, looking her in the face. “Saint is a proud guy, and he didn’t want anyone to know. He asked me not to mention it to you or Denise, and I didn’t want to go against his wishes.”
“I understand, and I’m not mad. I’m just upset you’ve been dealing with this alone. I should’ve been there for you.”
“I don’t know what to do, and it’s getting worse.” Tears are dripping down my face, and I’m powerless to stop them. “I have loved sex from the minute I became sexually active, but I’m starting to dread sex with Saint because it’s not enjoyable anymore. He’s all cold and clinical.”
My sobs pick up in earnest, and she rounds the desk, wrapping her arms around me. “He came home last night, and he didn’t even say hello to me. It was all “you’re ovulating, we need to fuck,” and I actually flinched when he tried to touch me after the deed was done.”
My lower lip wobbles as I peer into her face. “I’m terrified this is taking over our lives and ruining what I have with him. And if that happens, it will ruin the whole family dynamic. Worse, what if I can’t get pregnant? What if I can’t give him the child he so desperately desires? I’ll feel like a failure, and I don’t know if he’ll ever be able to forgive me.”
The Sainthood : A Dark High School Romance (The Complete Series) Page 95