29
Gage
To say the ride back to Avery’s parents’ house in my truck was chilly would be the understatement of the year, despite the heat blasting from my truck’s vents. My statement about not being able to have kids had the same effect as a bucket of icy water being dumped over our heads during a wicked winter blizzard.
Avery was leaning against the truck’s passenger door as if she couldn’t get far enough away from me––a stark contrast to her usual warmth and nearness to me.
When she finally broke the silence, her voice was strained with emotion. “Did you mean you can’t have children or that you won’t? Because we could explore adoption or other options.”
“I can’t because I won’t,” I answered, knowing that my words would obliterate the ray of hope that had tinged her words when she offe
