Chapter 38
“What’s your opinion on kids?” Brant’s voice was quiet, almost inaudible over the wind, his convertible’s top down. I glanced over at his profile, his eyes ahead, both hands on the wheel.
“What do you mean?” I picked at a piece of lint on my skirt. Rested my head on the headrest and looked out the open window. A minivan passed, a kid’s face pressed against peeling tint, his eyes wide as he stared at Brant’s car. I smiled at him, a wave of sadness sweeping over me.
“Kids. When we started dating, you used to talk about having a family. You haven’t mentioned it in a long time.”
I said nothing. Watching the skyline pass, the setting sun casted a romantic glow over a city with way too many people crammed into its streets. I tried to find the words to say the things that I couldn’t say. An impossible task. I finally swallowed, aware that Brant had infinite patience. “I don’t really think about a family anymore.”
“Why not? You’re born to be a mother.”
I turned away from the view, surprised at the statement. “Why do you say that?”
“You come to life with the kids at HYA. They love you.” He glanced away from the road for a moment, found my eyes long enough to communicate his sincerity.
I looked back at the view. “They’re desperate. My own children might feel differently.”
“Shut the hell up.” The irritation in his voice was so out of character, the explicative causing me to turn back, watch his mouth. “I’ve never seen someone like you. A woman who is perfectly made for every situation. For standing at my side at the company. For rolling around naked in my bed and letting me please you. For raising children who are loved and adored. For challenging me. For growing old with.” He jerked the wheel, the tires growling against asphalt as we whipped off the highway and onto a side lane, the car losing control for a brief moment before it skidded to a halt. He shoved the car into park and leaned forward, grabbing my neck and pulling me onto his mouth, his kiss hard and demanding, my hands pushing against and then pulling at his shirt. We kissed on the side of the highway as if we hadn’t touched in days, our hands groping and pulling, the honk and cheers of passing cars combining with wind and lights and sunset, a backdrop to a moment I didn’t deserve. I crawled across the center console, my skirt bunching up as I settled into the tight space of his lap, our kiss deepening at the new position, his hands pushing my skirt around my waist, palms and fingers kneading my ass, his mouth greedy as it dominated mine. “I love you so much,” he said, leaning his head back to look into my eyes, my hands fisting in his hair, repeating the sentiment back as I lowered my mouth. He stopped the kiss, his eyes arresting as he whispered the question I wanted to avoid. “Is it us, Lana? Is that why you no longer want kids?”
I tried to kiss him, his hands holding me back as his eyes searched mine. I looked into his face and said the only words my heart would permit, the lie slipping harmlessly from my mouth. “No, Brant. No. I promise.”
He let out a rough breath, his hand stealing into my hair and tugging me down, his relief felt in the desperate return to my mouth. And, in that moment, with the wind and the cars and the hum of the city around us, I let myself believe the lie.
It wasn’t him. It wasn’t us. We were perfect.
