Page 12 of Savage Love

I just wish I knew what I was going to need to protect her from, this time.

I realize after a moment that she’s crying. I can feel her tears seeping through my shirt, and I hold her for a moment before gently steering her toward the couch and sitting down with her.

“What’s wrong?” I ask her, my hand reaching to wrap around hers, and Elena looks up at me, bright-eyed with tears, as her mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

“You can tell me.” I’m very aware of Isabella and Niall somewhere near the back of the room, but I don’t look to see where they are. Something tells me that Elena needs all of my focus to be on her right now, whatever it is that’s happening.

“I–” She swallows hard, and her hand tightens around mine, her nails biting into the back of it. “I’m—”

I know what she’s going to say before she finishes the sentence. I don’t hear it entirely at first, the blood roaring in my ears as my heartbeat speeds up past what’s probably healthy, and then she repeats it, in the same small, watery voice, as if she can’t quite believe it either.

“I’m pregnant.”

“What do you need from me?” The words come out automatically, before it can fully sink in. I don’t know how long something like thistakesto sink in. I don’t feel as if it’s real, but from the look on Elena’s face, it very much is. “Whatever you need from me, I’ll do. What doyouwant to do?” This feels a little like the times I’ve been in shock from an injury—I’m technically aware of what’s happening, but none of it really feels like it’s sinking in. My mind immediately clicks into gear, trying to figure out what’s needed, how to solve it, shutting emotion out of the equation.

It’s what I’ve been trained to do, but I don’t think they had this sort of circumstance in mind when I was taught these lessons.

“Did you hear me?” Elena looks at me curiously. “I’m pregnant, Levin.”

I let out a sharp breath. “I heard you. That doesn’t change what I said—what do you need? Whatever kind of support you need from me—”

“You’re not angry?” She bites her lower lip, and it’s my turn to stare at her.

“Elena, why would I be angry? It’s my fault. I—”

“It’s not your fault.” Her voice is sharp, vehement. “I wanted you. I came on to you, over and over. You remember that night—”

Someone clears their throat somewhere in the back of the room, and Elena breaks off, her cheeks flushing. “I wanted you,” she whispers again. “I convinced you. It’s not your fault–”

I can hear thehmphnoise that Isabella makes from where she’s standing.

“Be that as it may,” I tell her gently, “I was responsible for you. For your well-being. Even if I didn’t turn you down—and we can argue later about whether I should have or not—I should have been more careful. That was my responsibility to you, Elena, and I failed you.”

The guilt I feel as I tell her that is immense. I’ve thought it many times before—that I was irresponsible, that I could have protected us both from these potential consequences and didn’t—but saying it out loud sends it crashing over me anew. It strikes me fully just how irresponsible I was. How I’ve potentially taken the future that I fought so hard for her to have away from her, out of my own selfishness and lust.

It’s unconscionable.

“You’re not happy about this, though, are you?” Her teeth worry at her lower lip. “I remember what Vasquez said to you. About your baby—”

I don’t hear if there’s a reaction to that or not from our own personal peanut gallery of Niall and Isabella. The blood rushes in my ears again, both from the unpleasant memory of speaking with Vasquez and the thought of Lidiya and our child. My chest aches, the pain as sharp and fresh as if it just happened, and I feel a fresh torrent of guilt for the one moment when Elena said she was pregnant, and Ididfeel happy. Before it started to sink in, there was no guilt or worry or shock, just happiness.

It’s not that I’ve always been against the idea of a wife, or children, or a family. But long before Lidiya, I knew I lived a life that wasn’t conducive to it. Letting myself believe otherwise led to tragedy. And now—

Now I know I don’t deserve it.

“What matters is what you want,” I tell her as delicately as I can, and I see her face fall a little. I know she was hoping for a different response, but I’m not going to lie to her. There’s no picket fence in our future, no picture-perfect family. “Whatever you choose, Elena, that’s what we’ll do. This is up to you.”

“I don’t know if Elena has had enough time to think about it,” Isabella interjects, and I feel Elena flinch.

“I do know what I want to do.” Her voice is quiet but firm, and her hand tightens around mine. “I want to keep the baby.”

I can’t begin to untangle the emotions that flood me at that. I don’t know where to start—what part I can play in all of this that could possibly make her happy and be the best thing for our child. Right now, I feel as if the best thing for both of them would be if I disappeared and were never seen again. But I know Elena won’t want that—and if I’m being honest, neither do I.

The thought of another man with her was hard enough to stomach, but I’d forced myself to live with it, knowing she deserved better. The idea of another man raising my child–our child–feels unbearable.

So I settle on the one thing I know Icando—be there for her. I don’t have to understand how I feel, or even decide what I’m going to do yet, in order to do that.

“Alright then,” I tell her calmly. “Then that’s what you’ll do. And I’ll do whatever you ask of me.”

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