Page 223 of Seizing Control: Part One

For a confrontation I am not looking forward to.

Still, I’d rather the argument than the bone-crushing disappointment I am anticipating when he doesn’t return. It’s only an intuition, no one has said anything to lead me to think this, yet I’m almost positive that he’s not coming home. In the same way my heart initially refused to accept Zeke’s death, I am equally sure that my husband is going to run.

From my burgeoning pregnancy.

From his mistake with Bebe.

From his innocent son.

From me.

Throw in Zeke’s shock resurrection, and it’s no wonder I’m on the cusp of total breakdown. I’m a pregnant, almost twenty-four-year-old who’s been gifted the responsibility of a newborn whilst mourning a not-so-dead man and dealing with a husband who refuses to address the trauma he feels over killing his son’s murderous mother. They definitely don’t make Hallmark cards for my particular situation. And that’s without even touching on my damage—from Alex’s attack, over Sander’s addiction, with Everett’s escalating struggles. It has been a long-time coming, half a decade of half-measures, kid gloves, and tiptoeing around everyone’s issues, but it’s finally here.

My nervous breakdown.

Shaking from head to toe, I start the shower. My movements are jerky as I shuck my robe. The material pools on the floor around my feet. Surveying my body, I force myself to really take in every inch I can see in the mirror. My expression of misery. The throat that misses Slash’s hand. Collarbones Zeke used to run his tongue along. My tender breasts. The rounded stomach. Skin that bears scars from my own hand and others. Tattoos from better and worst times. The release of my first love dried on my belly. A tender pussy that was reunited with its first lover tonight. Legs that can barely hold me upright.

As I return my focus to my face, I can’t meet my own eyes.

I feel shame.

Worry.

Hope.

Anger.

Lust.

Hatred.

Love.

Innately, I know that it’s unlikely I will be strong enough to stop my life from splintering underneath the weight of my competing desires and expanding responsibilities. The guilt of loving two men—the temporary relief I was awarded when I believed my choice had been made for me by fate. My anxiety that my husband will never accept his son. The growing conviction I feel that the baby I carry is Zeke’s. My rage at the two men I love and their inability to co-exist peacefully outside of my heart. A forbidden craving to have them both inside my body at once. The loathing I have for their deceptions. My devotion, on an elemental level, to Slash and Zeke is a blessing and a curse.

Months ago, I wished I could meld them into one perfect man.

Now, I am grief-stricken by the realisation that the solution isn’t as simple.

They’re not two halves of one whole.

They’re not yin and yang.

They are my matching pieces.

Plural.

I have one heart and two soul mates.

They have two egos and no compromise.

With Zeke still alive, Slash’s ultimatum turns into a ticking timebomb...

Sinking to the floor, the spray from the shower head pelting down on me, I drag my thighs as close to my chest as I can manage. I need a hug. Somewhere safe to break. Yet, refuge eludes me. Security will remain a foreign concept for as long as I love two stubborn men who lack mercy. My arms strain as I hug my knees tight. The baby I carry is safe inside of me. Garrett is protected by his grand-mumma and his ferocious honorary aunt.

I’m the prey.

The hunted.

---