“Gottaget the plates,” he told me, before hurrying towardthe kitchen cabinet.
Istood there,stupefiedand confused. Brendan and Iweren’t the best or most affectionate couple, but he hadneverbeforerefused my kisses. Now, standing back and twiddling my thumbsover my growing belly, I turned toward him and asked what was wrong.
“Nothing,”he grumbled and carried the plates to the table.
“You’reclearly annoyed.”
“Notannoyed.”
“Oh,well, now I’m convinced.”
Herolled his eyes, sighed, and dropped the plates unceremoniously on the table.They made impact with a cringe-worthy clatter and I gritted my teeth at thesound.
“Kendo,”he muttered on a sigh, and I was at least grateful for he used the nickname Inever liked. “Wegottatalk.”
Thosethree daunting, little words landed one by one in my stomach like drops of acidrain. How many times had I written them myself, to lead my characters into thatinevitable black moment, where the reader questionswhetheror notthey will make it? Except in my books, you always know that theywill and that the discomfort and sadness is fleeting. But real life doesn’talways work out like a romance novel, and I couldn’t be sure that this momentof sickening trepidation was temporary.
“Okay,”I replied in a whispered voice.
“Sitdown.”
Idid as I was told, keeping my hands over mybellyandsilently promising my baby boy that, no matter what, we would be okay. Even ifBrendan and I weren’t.
Brendantook a seat beside me and dropped another bomb.
“Lastnight really bothered me.”
“What?”
“Idon’t like him.”
“Who?”
Heshook his head, rolled his eyes to the ceiling, and filled the air with acondescending little chuckle. “God, I knew you were going to do this …”
“Dowhat?”
“Defendhim.”
Thediscomfort and sadness I had begun to feel was replaced by a hot rush ofdefensive anger. “What are you even talking about?”
“JesusChrist, Kendall. Your buddy!”
Furrowingmy brow, I asked, “Goose?”
“Yes!Did we go out with someone else I wasn’t aware of? Holy shit …” He shook hishead again.
“Whyare you shaking your head?”
“Becauseyou’re not stupid! You knew exactly who I was talking about. Don’t play fuckin’dumb with me.”
Ihad played dumb, it was true. I just couldn’t accept that he’d be talking aboutGoose in such a horrible way, or in such a horrible tone.
“Whatdon’t you like about him?”
Brendanflattened his hands against the table and leaned back in his chair, keeping hiseyes away from mine. “I don’t like the way helooksat you. I don’t likethe way hetalksto you. I don’t like the way he,” his lipstwistedand his nose wrinkled, like he had just gotten ataste of the most sour lemon in the world, “treatsyou.”
Icouldn’t help but bark a condescending laugh. “Treatsme? And how doeshe treat me?”
