Page 29 of The Logic of Loyalty

“No. Let me finish, Trevor.”

My husband jerks his head in a nod, but he avoids meeting my eyes. His strong hands clutch our bedspread tightly, his knuckles turning white with the pressure.

“First of all, I misspoke. You left me yesterday.” He flinches at my tone, but I truck through it. “Everyone was coupled up except the couple hosting the damn party. Instead—” I scoff, an ugly sound. “Instead, my partner was gone. Left early with somebody else.” I close my eyes and block out the dejected slump of his form. “I just—it was humiliating,” I whisper those last few words, the emotion flowing through me starting to overwhelm my ability to speak. “The fireworks were going off, and I—I—” I choke back a sob, my body remembering my frantic search and my heart remembering the crippling disappointment. I was so excited. I wipe my tears with a vicious swipe of my arm. “I was looking everywhere for you. I looked like such an idiot.” Movement on the bed pulls my attention to Trevor, where something like devastation moves across his face. But he remains on the bed—a few steps away. Only, it feels like he is so much further.

“Baby, please. I—it—” His words fall flat, his thoughts remaining unspoken but not misunderstood. My husband’s body telegraphs everything. His hands twitch and move like he’s going to reach for me, but then he threads his fingers and leans against his knees, fingers tapping. His shoulders are slumped, and he still remains away from me when he should have remained here.

Here. With me.

A ragged laugh leaves me. “I’ve always been able to rely on you, my husband. I’ve always been able to—to—” I blink, and another tear breaks away without permission and falls to drip silently onto my hand. Stupid tears. I smear it while I finish my thought. Clearing the sadness clogging my throat, I push to get the rest out. “To count on you. But not tonight—last night.”

I stand in our room, in the silence after I finish speaking, and Trevor doesn’t move. A wave of exhaustion, so profound in all it encompasses, pushes me to finally tell him. I take a deep breath and push down all of my disappointment, worries, and suspicions. I push them down until I’m numb, and then I share the most beautiful news.

“I’m pregnant.”

The weight of those words falls heavily in the silence that follows. The shape of my husband jolts on the bed, and I feel rather than see his eyes bore into me.

“Wha—what did you just say?”

I can’t read the emotion in his voice, and my heart twists in my chest with my uncertainty. This is not the moment I’ve imagined for the last five years of trying. I envisioned him lifting me into the air, spinning me around, laughing with me, crying with me, celebrating, dancing, screaming, cheering—anything. Instead, it’s this. Silence, disconnect, hurt, confusion, anger, disappointment.

How is it that I feel so alone?

“I’m pregnant, Trevor. We—I went to the doctor to get it confirmed. Our last round worked. Jacob is going to be an older brother.” I force a smile but feel it crack along the edges. He’s still in bed. I’m still across the room.

I blink, and he’s reaching for me in two strides. Hands grip my sides, and a face is buried into my lower stomach.

He’s talking, but it’s a quiet whisper. I have to strain my ears to hear him.

“I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of your momma. I’ve got you. I’ve got this. Everything is going to be fine this time. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll make sure of it.”

He keeps up this litany of promises, his lips moving against me with his words, and I feel … unmoved.

The Trevor I thought I knew wouldn’t have to make these promises—he lived them. I don’t know this man kneeling in front of me. My hands, normally running through his hair, scratching along his scalp or his sharp, unshaven jaw, remain clutched at my sides. I remain still and allow my child’s father his moment.

Just a moment.

But then I push him away. I push him away from me, and I go to bed and shut off the light, leaving him kneeling in the middle of the floor, alone and in the dark.

Chapter Ten

PAIGE

After a late and emotionally exhausting night, I assumed I would be able to sleep like the dead until the middle of today—or maybe sleep forty-eight hours from the moment my eyes finally closed and weren’t staring at the wall in front of me.

Trevor remains asleep in the bed next to me, and I can’t decide if it’s just the echo or if my husband still has a hint of Krista’s cloying perfume on him.

At first, I was worried he’d try to push his presence on me while sharing a bed. However, he didn’t gravitate toward me in his sleep. I’m not sure how I feel. Did I want him to? No. Not really. But part of me wanted him to want to. Why didn’t he try?

I suppress a sigh, roll onto my back, and feel a wave of nausea hit. Motivated to move, I bolt out of bed and rush to the en suite, where I release the demons from my already empty stomach.

Kneeling on the floor, I groan when Trevor walks through the door. My body recognizes his presence before I see him—a silent sentinel to my morning sickness. Instead of acknowledging him, I slowly ease myself to my feet and continue my morning routine as if I’m alone. The tell-tale sounds of my child in the kitchen are a natural and necessary defense for his father.

Teeth brushed and hair in a bun, I slip out of the bathroom and past the silent statue that is my husband. The door shuts softly behind me, and my bruised heart is soothed at the sight of my little boy going through his morning ritual. He sits in his usual spot with a spoon in hand, his usual bowl, and a cereal box poised in front of him.

This morning, instead of my normal smoothie, I grab a spoon, a bowl, and some milk. Necessities in hand, I plop into the seat next to him. “Pass that box to me, baby.” I gesture to the box in front of him, but he stares at me. “Kid—” I shake my hand in the direction of the box. I could reach it, but I’d rather not.

“What are you doing?”