Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

WORDS TO LIVE BY

TARA

"You'll have my kids, won't you?" Jonathan whispered, his voice thick with exhaustion as he held me loosely around the waist. His face was nestled against my chest, his breath warm and steady against my skin.

How do you explain to your boyfriend that you'll never be able to have kids—his kids? That you won't be able to give him the family he craves, and that the only son you had is gone? That the boy who should have been your firstborn is dead, and the father of that child is the same man who threatened to bury him in the sand and break his bones just a couple of days ago?

I swallowed hard, fighting back the lump in my throat, and nodded. "Yeah," I murmured, forcing the word out. My fingers instinctively threaded through his hair, gently combing through the soft strands. "You wanted seven, didn't you?"

"Our own team of rugby 7s," he hummed contentedly. "With your brains and my talent for rugby, they'll be unstoppable, baby."

I let out a small laugh. "No son of mine will play rugby, Jonathan," I said, my voice light, trying to mask the ache in my heart.

He lifted his head slightly, his blue eyes half-lidded, struggling to stay awake. He gave me a lazy smile, his dimples deepening as he gazed at me. "I still have time to convince you, don't I?" His smile grew wider. "You'll marry me, won't you? In a couple of years? Promise me you'll at least consider saying yes when I pop the big question."

"I don't know if I'll live past twenty," I wanted to say, the unspoken words burning at the back of my throat. But instead, I forced a smile and murmured, "How big will the diamond be?"

"Any size you want. Though, you don't seem like the kind of girl who fancies flashy rings."

"Don't be fooled, Jonathan," I mused, my voice light with a teasing edge. "Diamonds and chocolate are a girl's best friend."

"But you prefer pearls and toffee," Jonathan shot back playfully. "You're not like the other girls, baby."

"You say that 'cause I don't just fling myself into your arms, piss myself out of sheer fucking excitement, or scream and cry the second you glance my way?"

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, vibrating against my chest. His fingers continued their absent-minded dance over my skin. "Will you ever tell me what's going on in that head of yours?" he asked, his tone curious but gentle.

"What do you mean?"

"I know you're hiding something from me. You and Shannon are both hiding something," he said carefully, his voice measured, as if he was tiptoeing around something fragile. "I'm not thick, Tara—my da's a barrister."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" I asked, trying to keep my tone calm, but a hint of defensiveness crept in.

"He handles abuse cases."

"And?"

He looked at me with those piercing blue eyes, worry etched into his features. "I'm just trying to—"

"Don't," I begged weakly, cutting him off before he could finish. My voice wavered, betraying the fear I felt. "Don't fucking try anything, Jonathan."

"Someone's hurting my baby. Someone's making you sad, and I don't like it. You're supposed to be happy, not sad. Never sad."

His words, so simple yet so sincere, tugged at something deep inside me. I stared up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly, fighting the tears that threatened to spill over. "You make me happy," I said, though the words felt hollow, echoing in the space between us.