Page 75 of Gambler's Conceit
“We went with green because it’s more gender neutral,” Madeline explains. “But my mother-in-law started complaining that it’s not a good color for a nursery.” There’s an expectation in her voice.
She wants me to say something, and I don’t know what the right answer is.
My neck prickles and my mouth goes dry. I glance at Vortex, trying to figure it out, but his expression doesn’t give me any ideas. Fuck.
“It’s very gender neutral,” I say. “It’s pretty.”
She wants validation, right? She wants to know that it’s a good color, a happy color, for her child to grow up with.
Except it’s not.
Not for me.
“Do you know the sex of the baby yet?” Vortex asks her, smoothly interjecting himself into the conversation.
My panic must be written all across my face.
“No,” Madeline says, shaking her head. She looks concerned, and she reaches out like she’s going to touch my hand.
I snatch it away so fast that her expression turns even more worried. “Sorry,” I say, but I know I don’t sound sorry. I force myself to smile. “Caught me off guard.” My voice trembles, and despite how my body is screaming at me, I force my hand back within reach.
Madeline sits back and doesn’t reach for me again. “We’ve been tossing names around. Her mother wants something traditional, like Maria or Jose, but we’d prefer something gender neutral. Taylor, or Bailey. Maybe Ro?—”
I get up and flee from them.
No baby names. No nurseries.
No green.
I rush through the lounge, jabbing the elevator button. When the elevator doesn’t immediately show up, I go for the stairwell and start running up.
I run and run, until I’m out of breath and collapse on the stairwell landing. I have no idea how many flights of stairs I climbed. My body is shaking from the exertion, and I wonder if I have enough energy to fling myselfdownthe stairs too.
It’s tempting, so fucking tempting, and I’ve almost convinced myself to do just that when I hear footsteps—heavy footsteps that I recognize, footsteps that have no place in the stairwell.
I close my eyes and wait for Vortex to reach me.
“Hey,” he says, his voice quiet. He pulls me into his arms, and for some fucking reason I don’t understand, I let him. He rubs my back, and I bury my face against his chest even as I clench my hands into fists and resist the urge to shove him away. “Shh,” he murmurs. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”
I wonder if he ever gets the urge to do things like throw himself off of balconies or down stairs. I doubt it.
Just fucked-up people like me do.
When I don’t say anything, he says, “Let’s go upstairs. I’ll run you a bath?—”
“No!” I say sharply, pulling back. “No. No baths. I don’t want…” I run a hand through my hair. “No. All right?”
“All right,” he agrees. He doesn’t even sound perturbed. “Then I can tuck you in and let you sleep.”
I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to have nightmares.
I shake my head again.
“No?” he asks. “Okay.” He holds out his arms again, but this time, I stay strong and don’t launch myself into them. “Then we can watch TV, or we can get something to eat. But we don’t need to do it here, do we?”
I hesitate. Here, I can hurt myself. Under his watch, somehow I doubt I could manage that. He wouldn’t even hurt me like Havoc does.
He takes my hand with surprising gentleness and tugs at it, pulling me toward the closest door. “You must be exhausted,” he says. He’s not even breathing heavily, something I resent.