JENNIE

"Just use the shower here—you look like hell, girl," Kimberly says in a kind voice despite the unflattering words.

Lisa is still sitting at the table, a cup of coffee between her large hands. She has barely looked at me since I walked into the kitchen to find her talking to Smith. The idea of the two of them spending time together as siblings warms my heart.

"All of my clothes are in the rental car at that bar," I tell her. I want nothing more than a shower, but I don't have any clothes to wear.

"You can wear something of mine," she suggests, even though we both know I could never fit into her clothes. "Or Christian's. He has some shorts and a shirt you—"

"No, hell no," Lisa interrupts, throwing Kimberly a hard glare as she stands. "I'll go get your shit. You aren't wearing his clothes."

Kimberly opens her mouth to argue, but closes it before the words can come. I look at her with thankful eyes, grateful that a war won't be started in the kitchen of her hotel suite.

"How far is Gabriel's from here?" I ask, hoping one of them knows the answer.

"Ten minutes." Lisa holds her hand out for the keys to the car.

"Can you drive?" I made the drive back from Allhallows because the alcohol was still in her system, and her eyes are still glassy.

"Yes," she says tersely.

Wonderful. Kimberly's suggestion that I borrow Christian's clothing has turned Lisa from sullen to pissed-off in under a minute.

"Do you want me to come? I could drive the rental back since you are driving Christian's car—" I begin, but I'm quickly cut off.

"No. I'll be fine."

I don't like her impatient tone, but I bite my tongue, literally, to keep from telling her off. I don't know what has gotten into me lately, but I find it harder and harder to keep my mouth shut. This can only be a good thing for me—maybe not for Lisa, but certainly for me.

She leaves the suite without another word or so much as a glance back to me. I stare at the wall for long, silent minutes before Kimberly's voice breaks my trance.

"How is she handling it?" She leads me over to the table.

"Not well." We both grab a seat.

"I can see that. Burning a house down probably isn't the healthiest way to deal with anger," she says without a single hint of judgment in her words.

I stare at the dark wood on the table, not willing to meet the eyes of my friend. "It's not her anger that I'm afraid of. I can feel her withdrawing with every breath she takes. I know it's childish and selfish of me to even mention this to you, because you are going through all of this and Christian is in trouble . . ."

It's probably best that I keep my selfish thoughts to myself.

Kimberly places her hand on mine. "Jennie. There's no rule that says only one person can feel pain at a time. You're going through this just as much as I am."

"I know, but I don't want to bother you with my prob—"

"You aren't bothering me. Spill."

I look up at her with the intent to stay quiet, to keep my complaints to myself, but she shakes her head as if she can read my mind.

"She wants to stay here in Thailand, and I know if I let her, we will be finished."

She smiles. "You two seem to have a different definition of finished than the rest of us." I want to throw my arms around her neck for giving me such a warm smile in the middle of hell.

"I know it's hard to believe me when I say that given our . . . history, but this whole thing with Christian and Chit will either be the nail in our coffin, or our saving grace. I don't see any other outcome, and now I guess I'm afraid of which it'll be."

"Jennie, you have too much weighing on you. Vent to me. Vent and vent some more. Nothing you say will make me think any less of you or anything. Like the selfish bitch I am, I need someone else's problems to distract me from my own issues right now."

I don't wait for Kimberly to change her mind. Instead, the floodgates open and the words pour from my mouth like uncontrollable, rushing waters. "Lisa wants to stay in Thailand. She wants to stay here and send me back to Seattle like some burden that she can't wait to unload. She's withdrawing from me, like she always does every single time she's hurt, and now she's gone off the deep end and burned that house down and has absolutely no remorse. I know she's angry, and I would never say this to her, but she's only making things worse for herself.

"If she would just deal with her anger and admit that she can feel pain—

admit that someone other than herself or me is important in this world—she could get through this. She infuriates me, because she tells me that she can't live without me and would rather die than lose me, but as soon as the going gets tough, what does she do? She pushes me away. I'm not going to give up on her—I'm in far too deep for that now. But sometimes I just feel so tired of battling that I start to think about what my life would have been without her." I pull my eyes up to Kimberly's. "But when I start to picture it, I nearly collapse from the pain."

I grab the half-empty cup of coffee from the table and down it. My voice is better than it was a few hours ago, but my ranting has taken its toll on my sore throat.

"It doesn't make sense to me still, after all these months, all this turmoil, that I would rather do all of this"—I wave my hand around the room in a dramatic gesture—"than be without her. The worst of times with her have been nothing, compared to the best. I don't know if I'm delusional or insane. Maybe both. But I love her more than myself, more than I ever thought possible, and I just want her to be happy. Not for me, but for her.

"I want her to look in the mirror and smile, not scowl. I need her to not think of herself as a monster. I need her to see the real her, because if she doesn't pull herself out of the villain role, it will destroy her, and I'll

just be left with ashes. Please don't tell her or even Christian any of this. I just needed to get it all out because I feel like I'm drowning, and it's hard to keep myself above water, especially when I'm fighting against the current to save her rather than myself."

My voice cracks at that last bit, and I become a coughing mess.

Smiling, Kimberly opens her mouth to speak, but I hold up a finger.

I clear my throat. "There's more. On top of all of this, I went to the doctor to get . . . to get birth control," I say, nearly whispering the last words.

Kimberly tries her best not to laugh but fails utterly. "No need to whisper—spit it out, girl!"

"Fine." I flush. "I got on birth control, and my doctor did a quick scan of my cervix. He said that it's short, shorter than average, and he wants me to come in for more testing, but he mentioned infertility."

I look over to see sympathy in her blue eyes. "My sister has the same thing; they like to call it cervical incompetence, I think. What a horrible term: incompetence makes it sounds like her vagina got an F in math or was a shitty lawyer or something."

Kimberly's attempt at humor, and that she knows someone with the same problem I may have, makes me feel better, a little.

"And does she have children?" I ask, but instantly regret it as her face falls.

"I don't know if you want to hear about her right now. I could tell you another time."

"Tell me." I shouldn't want to hear it, but I can't help it. "Please," I beg.

Kimberly takes a deep breath. "She struggled to get pregnant for years; it was terrible for her. They tried fertility treatments. Anything you can find on Google, she and her husband tried."

"And?" I press her to hurry along, reminding myself of Lisa right now, rudely interrupting her. I hope she's on her way back. In this state, Lisa can't be left to her own devices.

"Well, she finally was able to get pregnant, and it was the happiest day of her life." Kimberly looks away from me, and I know she's either lying or leaving something out for my sake.

"What happened? How old is the baby now?"

Kimberly clasps her hands together and looks me square in the eyes.

"She was four months along when she miscarried. But that is only what happened to her—don't get yourself distraught over her story. You may not even have the same thing. And if you do, things may be different for you."

With a hollow ringing in my ears I say, "I have this feeling, just this gut feeling, that I won't be able to get pregnant. The moment the doctor mentioned infertility, it was like it just clicked."

Kimberly grabs my hand on the table. "You don't know that for sure.

And not to be a downer, but Lisa doesn't want kids anyway, right?"

Even with the small knife twisting into my chest from her words, I feel better now that I have told someone about my worries. "No. She doesn't. She doesn't want children or marriage with me."

"Were you hoping she would change her mind?" She gives me a little squeeze.

"Yes, sadly I was. I was almost sure she would. Not right now of course but years from now. I thought maybe if she was older and we both were finished with college, she would eventually change her mind. But now that seems even more delusional than before." I feel my cheeks flush in embarrassment. I can't believe I'm actually saying these things aloud. "I know I sound ridiculous worrying over children at my age, but being a mother was always something I wanted since I can remember. I don't know if it's because my mother and father weren't the best parents, but I have always felt this urge, this need, to be a mother. Not just a mother, but a really good one—a mother that would love her children unconditionally. I would never judge them or belittle them. I would never pressure them or humiliate them. I wouldn't try to mold them into a better version of myself."

At first, talking about this, I felt insane. But Kimberly is nodding along to everything I'm saying, making me feel like maybe I'm not the only one who feels this way. "I think I would be a good mother, if I was ever given the chance, and the idea of a little brown-haired, gray-eyed little girl running into Lisa's arms brings my heart to my throat. I imagine it sometimes. I know it's stupid, but sometimes I picture them sitting there, both of them with unruly wavy hair." I laugh at the ludicrous vision, one that I have imagined far more times than could possibly be considered normal. "She would read to her and carry her on her shoulders, and she would have her wrapped around her finger."

I force a smile, trying to erase the sweet image from my head. "But she doesn't want that, and now that she has learned about Christian being her father, I know she never, ever will."

Tucking my hair behind my ears, I'm surprised, and more than a little proud of myself, that I made it through all that without a single tear.