Page 128 of Nine Months to Bear
“You’re not.” Her free hand touches my jaw, thumb grazing another spot where Devon’s blood splattered. “Talk to me.”
I close my eyes. I see those hands again. I see Haley Manizer standing between her husband and death.
“You want to help?” I say with a nasty edge. “Take off the shirt.”
She blinks. “What?”
“You heard me. You want to make me feel better? Strip.”
“That’s not what I?—”
“No?” I release her wrist, step back. “Then what exactly are you offering, Dr. Aster? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re pimping yourself out for attention.”
The slap comes fast. My cheek stings after she hits me, but not as much as the look in her eyes.
“How dare you?” she spits.
“How dare I what? Call this what it is?” I gesture between us, filling every word I say with disdain. “You’re a glorified oven, Olivia. A convenient womb with good genetics. Don’t mistake proximity for intimacy.”
She goes perfectly still. Will she try to slap me again, I wonder? Will I let her if she does?
She doesn’t, though. All the emotion gets washed clean from her face as she says in a tight whisper, “You’re right. I forgot. That was my mistake.”
She gathers her journals and taps them into a neat stack.
The regret that surges through me is overwhelming. “Olivia, goddammit?—”
“No.” She doesn’t look at me. “You’ve made yourself clear, Mr. Safonov. I’m an oven. A vessel. Nothing more. And as such, I should sleep in the guest room. Wouldn’t want to confuse proximity with intimacy.” She pauses at the door, journals clutched to her chest. “That’s what you want, right?”
Say no, motherfucker. Tell her to stay. Drag her to bed and worship her to show her you’re sorry.
Out loud, I say, “Yes.”
“Then we understand each other perfectly.”
The room still smells like her long after she’s gone. The scent has embedded itself in my sheets, my clothes, my fucking soul.
I strip off the bloodied shirt, but Devon’s blood isn’t what I’m trying to wash away.
“She’s making you soft.”
No. She’s making me something worse.
She’s making mefeel.
The shower runs too hot, scalding my skin, but it doesn’t burn away the memory of her thumb on my jaw. The concern in her eyes.Let me help you?—
I punch the tile. Pain shoots up my arm as my knuckles split against the marble. Blood swirls down the drain, and I watch it disappear.
This is what I am. Violence and blood and broken things. Olivia deserves better.
Which is why I had to push her away. Had to remind us both what this really is.
A transaction.
A contract.
Nothing more.
