Problematic Love (Rogue Series Book 8)

by Lara Ward Cosio

  Though she eyes the ale in my hand, she doesn’t address it.

  “I’m sorry, Daniel,” she says instead, as I take a seat on the chair opposite her.

  “Yeah? What for?”

  “For how I said that. For the circumstances under which I said it.”

  “I’d have to agree that telling me you want to have a baby while my cock is inside you isn’t what I’d call ideal timing.”

  She goes scarlet. “You’re right.”

  “So? What do we do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  In four large gulps, I finish the Smithwick’s. I haven’t had any alcohol in weeks, which I’d hoped would have turned me into a lightweight and earned me a good buzz. No such luck. I feel way too fucking sober.

  With a sigh, I ask, “Is this what you were going to talk to me about before we started fucking?”

  She winces at this characterization but nods. “We never discussed this in therapy. And we haven’t talked about it as a couple. But seeing you so eager to be responsible when you thought you were the father of Jules’ baby made me think you’d be open to us getting pregnant. I was hoping so, anyway.”

  “You saw it your own way, didn’t you?”

  “How so?”

  “She had it right. I was eager to throw money at her. To make it all go away. I don’t want kids. Not with her. Not with you. Not with anyone.” My words are blunt. Maybe too much so. But I’m not going to fuck about with this and give her any false hope.

  It doesn’t deter her the way I had hoped, though.

  “But you’re so good with kids,” she says. “With Daisy and Hale. And even with Max.”

  “Other. People’s. Kids.” I put the full-stop between the words so that she cannot mistake me. “I am not fit to be a father. I do not want to be a father. Kids are not in my future except for the ones that belong to others.”

  “I see.” She sits back against the sofa cushions, defeated.

  In response, I lean forward, resting my forearms on my thighs. “None of that changes what I told you before, though. I love you, Amelia. I do. And I’m so glad we have each other.” This is sweet. And true. But because I can be a dick, I add, “How does that make you feel?” as a throwback to our therapy sessions.

  She had been looking down at her knees through watery eyes but that last bit gets her attention.

  “I feel,” she says evenly, not rising to my bait, “like I need some time.”

  Now I sit back and nod. “Time to figure out if you still want to be with me now that you know I don’t want kids?”

  “Yes.”

  I shoot to my feet. “Take all the time you need. I’ve been invited to spend Christmas and New Year’s with the lads in Rio de Janeiro. They’re playing this massive festival on the beach there. Should be spectacular. I was going to bring you along, but this is probably good timing to be apart, yeah?”

  I can see in her face that I’m not doing myself any favors. Her hurt is quickly turning to anger. Maybe I just want to help make the inevitable fucking easy for her because I’ve known since she said she wanted to get pregnant that we were done.

  37

  Amelia

  * * *

  Though Daniel hadn’t kissed me goodbye or even given me a hug after saying he’d be gone for the holidays, I still thought I might hear from him. Or thought he’d show up unexpectedly. If not climbing the walls of my apartment building, then doing something equally as outlandish. Because with or without alcohol, that’s who he is—wild and uncensored. And that’s what I’ve always loved about him.

  But the silence from him is profound.

  Still, I believe our time apart will be useful. He and I have been in a whirlwind of emotions—and sex—since we got together in San Francisco. And just when we were finding some steadiness, I threw the idea of babies at him.

  I cringe inside each time I think of how I handled that. In some ways, I feel like I’ve become far too like him: impulsive, thoughtless, too given over to passion.

  I vow to use these two weeks apart and the silence from him, to focus on making some hard decisions about what I want and which direction I’ll go. It’s not just to do with him. Or babies. It’s also to do with my career. I’ve procrastinated enough in regard to that. The timing means I’ll truly be starting the new year anew. It’s both exciting and nerve-wracking. But I’m determined to forge ahead.

  I keep my own counsel on all of this until I have an outing with Moira to go Christmas shopping. We meet at Powerscourt, a converted 18th-century Georgian mansion with a peaked, glass ceiling more than three stories high. Charming antique shops and trendy cafés, along with the gorgeous holiday decorations are the draw.

  Moira is on the hunt for an old timepiece for Nolan and is so intent on finding just the right one that she doesn’t notice that I’m not searching for anything in particular.

  “What will you get your Daniel?” she asks, once we’ve stopped for a glass of wine and cheese board in a café in the main hall.

  The enormous garlands and white lights, combined with the Christmas music and general good cheer all around us make me inexplicably sad. Or not so inexplicable, I suppose. I miss Daniel. Not hearing from him has been harder than I imagined. I’ve resorted to following Rogue’s official Instagram account in an effort to catch a glimpse of his adventure in Brazil, but so far all I’ve seen is the warmth of the sun shining on the iconic crescent Rio coastline and the backs of the band members as they stand at the peak of the Christ the Redeemer statue.

  “I don’t think we’re exchanging gifts,” I say.

  Moira looks at me with surprise. “Why wouldn’t you? It’s your first Christmas together.”

  “Oh, Mo.” I sigh and cover my eyes briefly. “We’re not really together at the moment.”

  “Ah, explains why you’ve nearly drained that glass of wine,” she says lightly. “You’re back to the drink now you’re without him. Let’s get you another glass.”

  “No, I’m fine as is. And it seems he and I are both back to drinking.”

  I’d, obviously, been keenly aware of the fact that Daniel had gone straight for a drink after my inopportune confession about wanting a baby with him. The more I’ve thought about what happened that day, the more I understand our motives. His aggressive way with me sexually, doing and suggesting things he’s never done before, were his way of assuming some kind of control after telling me he loved me. That declaration wasn’t easy. I know that much from how betrayed he had felt after telling Jules the same thing. And I told him I wanted to get pregnant out of my own twisted attempt to wrest some kind control back from him after I’d felt exposed and vulnerable during sex. I wanted to turn what I’d done with him into something more meaningful than the ragged act of lust that it was.

  Turns out it’s my actions that were more damaging to us.

  “Is that why you’re not together?” Moira asks gently. “He’s drinking too much?”

  “Eh, no. At least, I don’t think he is.”

  “Then what is it?”

  When I hesitate, she goads me. “Was it the Prince Albert in his pecker? Too much, after all?”

  Despite myself, I laugh. “He has no piercings. Just a bunch of really bad tattoos and scars.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s still about what I’d expected. Tell me more, Ame. What’s going on?”

  “I scared him away, is what.”

  “You scared him away? How so?”

  I take a fortifying sip of my Shiraz before answering. “I might have told him I want to get pregnant.”

  Moira nods. “Okay. Is that really so bad?”

  “Well, I said it just after we’d had sex. While he was still, you know, on top of me.”

  Her eyebrows shoot up. “Still . . . .”

  “And it was the first time we’d been together without any protection.”

  It takes a moment for her to digest all that. And then her eyes light up. “Wait, so there’s a chance you could be pregnant now?”<
br />
  I shake my head. “No, not as of this morning.” I’ve been debating with myself over whether I should send him a text to let him know he doesn’t have to worry. I’ve held off so far.

  “Oh.” Moira sags in disappointment for me and I’m grateful for her support.

  “It gets worse. He made it absolutely clear that he has no desire to have a child. That he’ll never want one.”

  “He could change his mind. There’s always time.”

  “There’s not a lot of time for me, though. You know I’m getting past the best fertile years.”

  She pops a grape into her mouth and chews thoughtfully. “Has he broken things off with you?”

  “Not exactly. He’s away through the New Year. Off to Brazil with the band for some big show they’re doing. I think we’re meant to talk once he’s back.”

  “He’s keen to be with you? Just without allowing you any hope for children?”

  I nod and finish off my wine.

  “What will you do?”

  Shaking my head, I fixate on the enormous Christmas tree on display. It has white lights and gold ribbons. It’s elegant and lovely and should offer me the comfort and warmth of the holiday season. Instead, I feel pitiful and lonely.

  I feel Moira’s hand on mine and look down to watch as she gives me a squeeze. I don’t need to explain to her how hurtful this situation is. Daniel means more to me than any other man I’ve dated. I’ve never even introduced anyone else to her. She knows how complicated it’s all been with Daniel from the beginning, how hard it was for me to decide to take the risk of being with him outside of our therapy relationship. She doesn’t need to patronizingly remind me that I’ve not even known Daniel long, and that there are, well, plenty of other fish in the sea. There’s no wishy-washy, “maybe it’s just not meant to be for you two” talk, not when she knows how deep my feelings are for him, whether it’s all too soon or not. And she, more anyone else, knows how much I want to be a mother, how I’ve only half-jokingly done research on sperm banks, and how much it would crush me to give up any chance of having a child. There’s no need for her to say a word. I can see in her eyes that she understands everything I’m struggling with.

  “I suppose this is a pretty shit time,” she says, “to tell you I took a test today and it was positive.”

  A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.

  “Yes, it is,” I say. We both know I don’t mean it.

  “I take it back then.”

  Now I put my other hand on top of hers where she’s still holding me. Tears blur my vision. Still, I can see my beautiful baby sister. See the joy on her face as she confirms to me that she will be a mother all over again. That Max will have a brother or sister and their family will feel even more complete.

  “I’m thrilled, Mo. Honestly, I am,” I tell her. We share a smile and then a wondrous laugh. Glancing down, I see that she hasn’t had a drop of her wine.

  “I never planned on drinking it,” she says.

  “Why did you get it?” I ask with another laugh.

  “For you, dear sister. Because I could tell straight away that something was off and that you’d need this. So, drink up.”

  She gives my hand another squeeze and I do the same to her in return. At least I know that I am not alone. Pitiful, maybe. But not alone.

  38

  Rio de Janeiro

  * * *

  Danny Boy

  * * *

  I’ve been surrounded by good friends, spectacular sights, and delicious food in the glorious city of Rio de Janeiro for the past couple of days. It’s been just enough to keep me from going stir-crazy by missing Amelia.

  But then my brother went and got all romantic on Christmas Eve by asking Jessica to marry him. And I’ve lost all willpower.

  Once we’re back at the penthouse and each couple has sorted themselves into their rooms—me being the only single one here—I take a large glass of whiskey and go out onto the patio deck overlooking the coastline. The water is glowing under the aid of a full moon. It’s just past one in the morning, but the city isn’t close to sleeping. The businesses and hotels down there are all lit up. I can see people walking casually, enjoying the still, warm night.

  I’d love for Amelia to be here. For us to be down there on the path, walking among those still looking for a good time.

  The thing is, I don’t know where she and I go from here. There’s no way to bridge the gap between us. She wants children. I do not. You can’t find a compromise in that kind of thing.

  Wandering over to the table where we all shared a fine meal earlier, I plop down into one of the padded chairs, throwing my legs up on another one. As I sip on my drink, I wonder what Amelia is doing for the holiday. I know she has her sister and parents. She had mentioned some Boxing Day party her friends were having, and it had seemed like a given that I’d go with her before this trip came up. Now she’ll have to explain our separation to everyone. Thankfully, no one has questioned me too hard about her. Shay backed off pretty easy when he asked at dinner but reverted to his patient ways rather than truly pushing. That’s usually his style, but now I know he also had other things on his mind.

  I am really happy to see the kid get everything he wants. Marrying Jessica and starting a family with her is the best thing he’s ever done. He’ll be great at it. Lord knows he deserves that kind of happiness. And I’ll do what I’ve done for quite a while now: live vicariously off that kind of contentment. Because it’s the most I’m capable of right now.

  The time I’ve had with Amelia has been fantastic. It’s allowed me to see what it would be like to be with someone who truly has my best interests at heart, someone who wants to enjoy a life together. I believe she loves me.

  Shay told me the very day Amelia showed up in San Francisco that I’d know what love is when I felt it. He was right, of course. I know I love her.

  But that doesn’t suddenly make me capable of giving her what she wants. Not when that includes kids.

  Bringing a kid into this world is my worst nightmare. I don’t want that responsibility. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’d fuck it all up. I was raised to believe I had nothing to offer. That I was not just invisible but that I should be ignored. How could I not, in some slight way, pass that on? I’m damaged, barely patched together at the seams. Having a relationship with a woman and not fucking that up is me at my very finest. It’s me pushing myself to the limit of what I’m capable of. Having a child and exposing it to my screwed-up psychology would be the worst decision I could ever make.

  Amelia should know all this. She’s right, we never discussed kids when we were in therapy. But she should know all the reasons why I’d never want to be a parent. Jesus, if not for the fact that I already did my time raising Shay and don’t want to revisit that, then for the fact that I am always teetering on the edge. Eyeing my near empty glass of whiskey, I laugh. I’ve taken right back to drinking. It would be so easy to go out on the streets of Rio right now and find some smack, to retreat into that dark, comforting place where nothing hurts.

  “Still up?”

  I turn to see Sophie a few feet away. She’s got Hale on her hip and a sippy cup in one hand. She’s also wearing a thigh-length silky, green robe and looks beautiful under the soft glow of the string lights stretched overhead.

  “Yeah, wasn’t ready to call it a night.”

  “Mind if we sit with you for a minute?”

  “No. Help yourself.” I take my feet off the chair and push it out for her.

  “Take the baby for a sec,” she says, transferring him to me without waiting. “I’ll be right back.”

  She goes inside, I’d guess to hand off the sippy cup to Daisy who must have woken thirsty. Hale is wide awake and looking down at Roscoe.

  “There’s your doggy,” I tell him. Roscoe looks up at the sound of my voice. “Come here boy, let Hale give you a pat.” Roscoe stands and rests his muzzle on my thigh. Guiding Hale’s hand to the top of Roscoe’s head, I get a
squeal of delight out of him. “See, boy, you are an emotional support dog. You’ve saved us all.” I let Hale pet him a few more times before pulling him away and sitting him on the table in front of me, careful to hold him steady. “And just what are you doing up at this hour, kid?”

  He gives me an open-mouthed smile and drool spills down his chin.

  Using my shirt to wipe it, I tell him, “You’re a slobbering drunk like me, aye?”

  Of course, that gets no response.

  “So, my girl wants one of you. What should I tell her?” I laugh as he eyes me silently. I try to win our staring contest, but he’s got me beat. I blink. “You are rather cute, aren’t you?” I stroke his plump cheek. “Shame that if you were mine I’d fuck you up to the point that you’d need your own therapist.”

  “Language,” Sophie says, as she returns.

  “It’s just talk between men, Sophie,” I reply, hoping she didn’t hear that first bit about Amelia wanting a baby.

  She takes the seat next to me and smiles. If she heard that part, she’s kind enough not to let on. I hand Hale over to her and she immediately sets about nursing him. I take my time looking away from her full breasts. There is something very attractive about a woman nurturing her child, I have to admit. Not in a sick, sexual way. In the way that it’s something I’ve never experienced, so I’m drawn to it. Women like Sophie make it seem like the most natural thing in the world. It’s how it should have been for my sorry excuse of a mother. But there was absolutely none of that. I’m surprised I didn’t grow up to be resentful of all women because of it. Maybe I’d have had to have learned how to connect with them earlier than in my late thirties to have gone that route. In any case, I love being around Sophie and her children for the way she models how a family should be. It’s a peaceful feeling.

  “What was this man talk all about, then? Something about messing up my child?” she asks with an arched brow.