Genesis Lost - Books 1 - 6, page 73
I kneeled down and placed my head onto the blanket.
Yes. That was it.
Sweet like honey and with a hint of baby-powder to it, the scent of Rose made tears well up at the back of my eyes once more. A well-known sensation climbed into my breasts, like a million needles poking the area around my nipples and areola. A few weeks ago, the smell of Rose would have caused my milk to flow. I gazed down at my shirt, hoping for small, wet stains. Nothing. That I had dried up added ten pounds to whatever pushed my shoulders down.
I stood back up and walked along the hallway. The door to our old room stood ajar, the small gap so thin and sharp, I worried I might cut myself if I came too close. The sounds of my breathing and the far-away creaks of the wooden boards faded into sub-conscience. And sure enough, I allowed myself a peek, a knife-edged pain stabbing me right in the guts.
Tied to his bed stood her crib.
“How the fuck did you open the door?”
His low baritone made me swing around with such force, I lost balance and stumbled back against the doorframe. There on his hip sat Rose, creasing his shirt inside her fist and burying her face against Rowan’s strong chest.
My knees buckled underneath each of my steps as if someone might pull the floor out from beneath me at any moment now. Dark green and adorned with a single white shell, her headband framed those light-brown wisps of hair.
I wanted to reach out for her. Wanted to pull her from him. She was so close now. Just inches away.
Damn it, I can’t breathe.
The urge to rip my child from him was strong, but something else was stronger. I hesitated.
He and Rose painted a picture of the only thing I ever wished for. A dream come true! My husband, tall and strong, carrying our child around with pride and love. Except, this wasn’t his child. And he was barely my husband. A perfect picture of a fucking nightmare.
“I asked you a question.” Rowan took a step back, taking Rose out of my reach again. It was less than a foot, but it felt like miles, making anger sweep over me like hot, burning waves.
“I took the spare key you idiot,” I snarled. “It’s not like you gave me another choice. Give me my baby back!”
With no hesitation, I slung one arm around Rose and supported her bottom with the other. Then I pulled. And pulled. And pulled some more. The more I pulled, the harder she screamed, driving shards through my heart.
I looked up at Rowan, the edges of my vision a dazzled, wet mess. “She won’t let go.”
“Tell me about it,” he scoffed.
“Maybe if you gave her to me…” the plea was palpable in my voice, tasting pitiful and desperate.
“Listen, this won’t work,” he said, bouncing her on his hip. “She’s been very clingy lately and getting her off me has been nothing but drama. Besides… she doesn’t know you, Darya. She hasn’t seen you in over two months, and now you expect her to be okay with you?”
The room cooled by several degrees. He was right. Rose didn’t recognize me at all. Weeks of separation had turned us into strangers.
I leaned against the wall and let my body sink to the floor. “You should have left me behind.”
He shoved Rose around on his hip in an attempt to reposition her. Little grunts came from her wrinkled face, threatening a meltdown if anybody, including him, as much as tried to take her from his arms.
“I didn’t make that call. Autumn and Max insisted on getting you out.”
His words stung worse than a paper-cut on the nail-bed. He wasn’t the one who came for me. Why should he have? Everything he had I took. And now I went for the rest.
“Why did you do it?” I asked after a while.
“Do what?”
“Cut your hair.”
He took a deep breath and sat down against the opposite wall, letting Rose kick her little feet against his thighs.
“You know I hated wearing my long hair open. Cutting it off seemed like a good idea. There was nobody around to braid it for me after…”
“After I left,” I finished his sentence.
We both sat in the hallway in silence, watching how Rose drifted off to sleep. After a while, he carefully got up and nodded toward the bedroom door. He slowly placed her into her crib where she startled for a second, but quickly fell back to sleep.
I stood there for a few minutes, feeling the warmth of Rowan’s presence right behind me. Each of us observed the gentle rise and fall of Rose’s chest and the way she held her clenched fists to each side of her head.
“I’m sorry you lost men because of me,” I mumbled into the room, too distraught to look at him. “Didn’t think you would keep the search up for such a long time.”
“It wasn’t that long. Few weeks perhaps.”
I glanced over my shoulder but avoided his gaze. “Your sister said you were still searching when she came to the Districts.”
“She said that, huh?” He scratched his hand through his beard and forced out a sad chuckle. “Nah. I called it off after a month. Could’ve been two. Definitely no more than three.”
His body inched away from me, not wanting to stay but not leaving either. The warmth emanating from him wrapped me in a blanket of safety and protection. The same safety and protection he had given to Rose, no matter how heartbreaking it must have been for him.
I turned around. “Rowan, there’s —”
I sucked in a breath, pulling whatever I wanted to say right back down. There in front of me stood the man I loved. The man I never thought I’d see again. His eyes deepened with agony. Because he had to look at the woman who broke his heart. Twice. No, wait. Three times.
Once when she left.
The second time when he found out what she had done.
The third time when others made him rescue her.
“You were saying?” His body leaned toward me, chipping away on the inches between us. He reluctantly picked up his hand and reached out for my cheek, making my heart pound against the back of my throat.
Rowan was all man. Rough where I was soft. Towering where I was insignificant. Strong where I was weak. Of course, he was through with me. He had to be. So why did something inside of me still hope?
His hand dropped back to his side. It wormed its way into his pocket. But my cheek felt the weight and warmth of his palm as if he had gone through with it.
The moment he turned away from me, my hand darted for his arm. “I want you to know that I am sorry for what I did to you. And that I will be eternally grateful for what you did for Rose. The way you took care of her… the toys… the crib…” My voice broke off, overwhelmed by the many unspoken words between us.
He didn’t look at me but stared at where my palm lay on his arm. My hand shook. Or maybe his arm shook. I couldn’t tell.
I led his arm toward my chest and placed the palm of his hand right atop where my heart pounded against my sternum. Could he feel it? The rushing of blood sounded in my ears.
Fast and determined, he pulled his hand out of his pocket and cupped my cheek. He took a step toward me, pushing his hard chest against my breasts. I rose onto my toes. Stretched myself taller. The ground underneath me gave away, but I didn’t care. He would catch me if I fell. Like he had always done it. He was so close now, his breath caressing my lips.
“Is this a fucking trick?”
I fell back onto my heels. “What?”
“Did you think I would give her up that easily?” He ripped his hand off my cheek and slowly circled around me. “That all it takes is for you to wiggle your ass to get what you want?”
“What? This isn’t a trick, Rowan. I just wanted to tell you —”
“Yeah, that you’re sorry.” He shook his head and raked his hands through his hair. “Too bad you’re a year too late because I have literally zero fucks left to give.” He pointed at Rose, who didn’t seem bothered at all by the emotional swing. “She stays right here. With me. And there’s nothing you can do to change that.”
My entire body tensed up, but I wouldn’t back down. “Oh yeah?”
In the fraction of a second, he towered over me. “Yeah! You can save your dirty tricks because they ain’t gonna work on me, baby. Did you really think I would kiss you?”
His question made a wave of heat sweep over me. Not sure if it was fury or shame because, fuck, yeah I might have hoped. A little.
“If you want to play daddy, get yourself a doll,” I snarled. “You are not her father, but I will always be her mother.”
“She is my daughter by law, remember?” He said it with a smile on his face that reminded me of the butcher’s dog. “You wanted me to bring law to this Clan, and I did. This law kept men from killing their bastard infants. You’re welcome.”
My eyes darted to the crib, a stream of adrenaline flowing through my body. No. I would never make it out of here with Rose. And if I did, we would die within a day or two.
“Well, she is my daughter by law as well, and… and…” My voice trailed off, my brain crumbling away from the worst of my bad ideas. “And I am the wife of the chieftain, or so they told me.”
“What are you talking about, woman?”
“You never divorced me,” I said and flung my hands onto my hips just like he had done it. “That makes me the wife of chieftain Rowan. This is where I live, together with our daughter.”
“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute.” He held both his palms up, his brows almost touching his hairline. “You sure as hell won’t live here in my cabin.”
“Our cabin. Remember? We’re married!”
He paced back and forth between the crib and me, mumbling one curse after another into his beard. Every now and then he stopped and pointed his finger at me as if he was about to say something, but the words never came, and the pacing continued.
“This won’t change anything,” he barked at me.
“Uh-huh.”
“I will call in the entire village and have a vote on it,” he said. “They can decide who should take care of Rose. You, or —”
“Or the guy who isn’t her biological father? Which reminds me… do they know? Because it sure as hell didn’t sound like it on my way here. Apparently, she is your daughter, and I am just a fucking traitor. What happens if they find out, Rowan?”
His pacing stopped for a second, then he stormed toward me.
“I am already fucking exhausted of your games. You can’t just walk in here and make yourself at home again.”
I rose onto my toes once more and stretched myself as close to his ear as I could, whispering: “Watch me!”
Eleven
Darya
I opened the cast-iron door on the oven and grabbed for a bacon-stuffed bun, the sweet and hearty smell of it making my stomach rumble. Two forks split it open, releasing puffs of steam into the early morning. The others I left inside. Another ten minutes, and they’d be just right for my husband.
The door to my old bedroom stood still, Rowan and Rose still fast asleep behind it. He had refused to let me sleep in the same room with him, putting a new sort of wall between my daughter and me.
For the first couple of nights, I held nothing back and stormed inside whenever Rose as much as whimpered. He now locked the door from the inside, and I had no other choice but remain in Autumn’s old room all night, listening to how he took care of my child.
I strolled over to the old table and sat down, the bun all but melting on my tongue. Even surrounded by the familiarity of the wobbling chair underneath me and the crooked picture frames on the walls, loneliness never held me stronger in its clasps.
The seconds ticked away on the clock above the front door, and I waited patiently until a bitter taste filled the room. Twenty seconds before the buns could officially be pronounced burned, I took the rag and pulled them out of the oven. They rested on the counter, their close-to-black top making a devilish smile pushing the corners of my mouth upward.
Faint noises grew from behind Rowan’s door, and I shoved the last bit of bun inside my mouth, almost swallowing it whole.
Rowan pressed himself between door and frame, either unaware or uncaring about the morning wood he sported poking against his briefs. “It smells like the cabin’s on fire.”
He wrinkled his nose, took one step out and let his eyes gaze around the corner, careful not to accidentally cross with mine.
“I made breakfast,” I said, wiping my palm across my mouth to make sure I had erased all traces of guilt.
He stepped out of the room and into the kitchen. With one hand resting on his waist and the other scratching the top of his head, he looked over the buns and shook his head.
“How the hell can you burn simple buns?” he asked and threw me a blameful look.
“Well, it’s been a while.” I shrugged.
“You’re fucking doing this on purpose. One of these days you’ll endanger Rose by starting a god damn fire in the kitchen.”
“The only thing endangering Rose is your foul language,” I said and stood up from my chair.
He walked up to me. “Oh, is that so?”
His naked torso stopped less than an inch away from me, the popped veins on his body, making his tattoos seem almost moving and alive. Rowan’s breath skittered down my cheeks and across my collarbone, pebbling my skin underneath my morning robe. Beautiful gray eyes stared me down, their pupils darting back and forth from my lips. I wouldn’t fall for that trick again.
I looked him straight in the eyes. “Your breath stinks.”
“I didn’t brush my teeth yet, because I thought the damn house was burning down,” he said, breathing each word straight at me. “Now I know it was just my damn wife, who forgot how to cook while at the Districts.”
He turned away and walked back over to the buns on the counter, tossing one of them back and forth between his two hands.
I pressed my back against the wall, pushing myself slowly into the direction of Rowan’s bedroom door. He must have seen me from the corners of his eyes because he darted toward the door and threw himself between me and the knob.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“To get my daughter,” I snarled.
“No, you won’t. I already told you we’ve got in under control without you.” He held the charred bun under my nose. “How ‘bout you sit down and have breakfast?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“No shit,” he said, slowly backing up and disappearing back into his room, the bun still in his hand.
Bam!
The door slammed in my face, the draft so painfully whipping against my cheeks, I feared it left behind a cut.
I wanted to sink to the ground along with my heart, but my limbs were too tired to take commands. For months I had hundreds of miles separating me from Rose, and a wall so high I feared I might never see her again.
Now it was less than fifteen feet, yet I still couldn’t get to her. Rowan had replaced the wall. Almost seven feet tall, muscle-packed and with a heart even more impenetrable than concrete.
Ten minutes later, a dressed Rowan stepped back outside, a diapered and powdered Rose sitting on his hip.
“Aww, look who got up in such a good mood,” I said in my sing-song voice, mirroring the wide and bright grin on her face.
The moment I stretched my hands out for her, Rowan shoved a ball of fabric against my chest which reeked of old sweat. “I need those ready in an hour, so how about you wash’em out for me and hang them by the stove to dry?”
He struggled himself into his jacket with Rose still on his hip, then dressed her up for the cold temperatures and stomped his feet into his boots.
“Where are you going?”
“For our morning walk.” His hand rested on the handle as he turned around and gave me a revenge-is-sweet kind of smile. “Do me a favor and try not to burn them.”
“I’m not your fucking maid.”
“No, you’re my wife. And laundry definitely falls under your domain around the house. And please do me a favor and watch your language in front of Rose.”
He closed the door behind him in slow-motion, as if he knew there wouldn’t have been a point in slamming it. My husband had made his point, and the song from his lips pushing muffled through the door told me he enjoyed its glory.
No matter how fast I drew in air and blew it back out through my puffed cheeks, the anger inside me wouldn’t recede. It burned me up from the inside, stoked by the endless despair inside me. If he thought it would be this easy for him to push me away, he was mistaken.
I’ll show him wife…
I stepped out on the porch, grabbed a handful of kindling sticks and the biggest oak log I could find stacked against the cabin. The kindling sticks went into the stove first, followed by the well-seasoned wood.
From the pantry, I carried the huge aluminum pot Rowan used to dunk in the chickens before plucking and placed it on the stove. I only filled it a quarter full of water. Just enough to cover his laundry and heat up to boiling in less than ten minutes.
I threw the stinky stuff into the water and stirred it with the handle side of a cooking spoon. The cabin soon filled with an uncomfortable amount of steam, making the windows go fogged and the air clingy.
Another log. More kindling sticks.
Gray and yellow oozed out of the fabric, the bubbles from underneath rising and working through the material. The boiling water went blub, blub, blub, tugging on the fabric and pushing and pulling it into its smoldering heat.
Pouring the water into the sink was tough work and left me covered in sweat and steam. I waited for a few minutes, then wrung the fabric over the drain and, like the obedient wife I was, hung them by the fire. Not close enough to burn them, but sure as hell close enough for the strands of thread go pheeeew like a whoopee cushion.
I walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind me, letting the bathrobe slip to the ground along with my long nightgown. A hygiene pod stood in the corner. Proof that just a few months ago, things had been better for my Clan.
