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It’s about one a.m. when the cab drops Lena off first. I help carry her suitcase up the porch steps, then I stand there for a moment, waiting for her to go inside.
She glances at the cab, then back to me. “I won’t pretend to know how you feel, but I know that you can still fight this and you can still come out on top. Hey, don’t make me touch your butt to get your attention,” she says, reaching toward me.
I shake my head. “I fucked up,” I reply. “It’s as simple as that. But that’s not what I’m worried about. Whatever kind of disciplinary action the committee hands down to me, I can deal with. What I can’t deal with…”
I pause as I consider telling her how Lindsay wants me to retire after this year. I should tell her, since her job depends on me not retiring. But I can’t. If I say it aloud, that will make it real. And I’ve already made my mind up. I’m not quitting.
Lena’s eyes search mine for the words I’m holding back. “You can’t deal with what?”
I shake my head again. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I’ll hit you up later. Get some rest.” Before I can stop myself, I plant a kiss on her forehead. “Shit. Sorry. I don’t know… Forget it. I gotta go. Good night.”
She laughs as she opens her front door. I jog back to the cab, eager to get away from that awkwardness. But the instant I’m in the backseat, I’m dreading the awkwardness that’s sure to come when I tell Lindsay I’m not retiring.
Fuck. In less than two days, my life has become a giant clusterfuck of bad decisions.
The moment I step inside the dark house, I smell something I’ve never smelled before in this house: baby powder. The soft, powdery scent pulls at my insides and I realize I can’t lay this news on Lindsay tonight. Not after she’s spent the past ten days taking care of two children while she’s almost eight months pregnant with twins. God, what the fuck is wrong with me? It’s like I’ve completely lost my ability to make sound decisions. I’m so fucking confused.
I turn on the light in the kitchen and head for the cupboard to grab a tumbler. Lindsay walks in as I’m pouring myself a glass of water from the pitcher. She squints at the lights as she makes her way toward me. Her golden-blonde hair is sticking out on one side, and just the sight of her makes me feel better than I did before I walked into this house.
I set my glass down on the counter as I reach for her, placing one hand on each side of her belly. “Hey, baby. Sorry if I woke you.”
“You didn’t wake me. I was just lying down waiting for you. Are you okay?”
I stare into her blue eyes. “You’re carrying a litter of humans inside your stomach and you’re asking if I’m okay?”
She flashes me a lopsided grin. “I’m serious. You don’t look good.”
“Thanks,” I reply with a laugh as I step around her so I can brush her hair aside and lay a soft kiss on the back of her neck. “You, on the other hand, look good enough to eat.”
She lets out a puff of laughter. “I don’t think so. I’m ready to pop. I don’t think I’m going to make it the full thirty-seven weeks.”
Thirty-seven weeks is considered full-term in most twin pregnancies. I was a little unnerved when Dr. Billings revealed this fact to us, but I figure he’s done this a few times. He must know what he’s doing.
I slide my hands forward, one of them cupping her breast while the other rubs her belly. “Billings said the babies should be perfectly healthy if they’re born up to six weeks early. You’re in the clear.”
She sucks in a sharp breath as my hand slides down the front of her panties. “There’s something I have to show you upstairs,” she murmurs.
“Can it wait?” I whisper in her ear as I find her hot button.
She reaches forward, grabbing the edge of the kitchen counter for support. “The nursery is finished,” she pants.
I swirl my finger around her clit as my other hand pulls her panties down and unzips my jeans. “Did you get the ultrasound while I was gone?” I ask as my pants fall down around my ankles.
She gasps as I rub the tip of my cock along her swollen folds, using it to massage her clit. “I did, but I told them I didn’t want to know the sex.”
Once she’s good and wet, I drag my cock up her slit and glide into her. “Oh, fuck,” I grunt as I slowly bury myself deep inside her. “You’re so fucking tight right now.”
She whimpers as I slide my hand back between her legs. “I can’t,” she begs, moving my hand away. “I can’t orgasm standing up like this. I’m afraid I’ll collapse. Just fuck me. Fuck me hard.”
I grab her hips and dig deep into her. “Oh, fuck. Is that… Is that your cervix or something else?”
“No,” she replies, shaking her head adamantly. “Don’t stop. Fuck me harder.”
I swallow hard as I thrust into her. The sensation is a mixture of pleasure and confusion.
“Are you sure I’m not hitting the babies?”
“No, you’re not,” she replies, reaching back and pushing my chest to shove me away. “If you don’t want to have sex, that’s fine. I’m going to bed.”
I watch her, unable to form a sentence, as she pulls her panties up and storms out of the kitchen, leaving me with my pants around my ankles and my dick in my hand. What the fuck just happened? It must be the pregnancy hormones. Either that, or this is turning into the weirdest week of my life.
I pull up my pants and finish my glass of water before I grab my suitcase and head upstairs. But when I get to the master bedroom, I find it’s already been converted to Kaia’s room, and she’s sleeping peacefully in her canopy bed. I close the door softly and stop by her old bedroom. As Lindsay mentioned, Kaia’s room has been turned into a nursery.
I flip the light switch and I get a pang of remorse in my gut when I see the neutral butter-yellow color palette Lindsay chose for the room. I know she did it for me, so I wouldn’t feel disappointed in case I found out I was having twin girls instead of twin boys. And now, the mere thought of this makes me feel like a supreme asshole. I should be so lucky as to have two more girls as amazing as the ones I already have.
I leave my suitcase in the hallway, then I head downstairs to the master bedroom addition. When I enter the room, I’m surprised to see all our bedroom furniture in a new configuration. It looks sort of lifeless, with a large empty space in the corner because the new master is too big for the amount of furniture we had upstairs, and none of my surf awards or trophies are displayed on the walls. To be fair, there’s nothing on the walls yet, and Lindsay and I agreed that the awards would be moved into the workshop in the backyard where I keep my boards.
Lindsay is lying down in bed, facing away from the door. I close the door behind me and turn off the light. Taking off my clothes before I get in bed, I slide in close to her and snuggle my face into her neck as I gently lay my hand on her belly.
“The nursery looks good. You did a beautiful job.”
She lays her hand on top of mine. “You mean it? You’re not disappointed that it’s not blue?”
“Fuck, no,” I insist. “I’d be happy if we had ten pink bedrooms.”
She laughs. “Yeah, I’m not doing this anymore. This is the last time. I’m closing up shop after this.”
I kiss the back of her neck, savoring the clean flavor of her skin. “I bet I’ll be able to convince you to have another one.”
“No. No way. This has been hell on my body and my hormones. Besides, why would you want another one? Four is enough.”
I kiss the back of her ear and she sighs. “Is it? I was kind of thinking five kids sounds like a nice number. I like the number five.”
Her fingertips brush over my knuckles. “Your hand is scraped. You should clean it up and wrap it so it doesn’t get infected.” She tosses the covers off and turns on the lamp on the bedside table. “Come on.”
I roll my eyes as I follow her into the unfinished master bathroom. She reaches into the box of stuff from our old master bathroom and digs around a little, coming up with a roll of adhesive gauze, some
gauze squares, iodine, and cotton balls. It’s not uncommon to get banged up when I’m surfing, so we always have a full stock of first-aid supplies on hand. Sometimes I get scraped up from running into other surfers and sometimes it’s from being thrown against the rocks. Sometimes it’s my own board that bangs me up. I once got a broken nose when my board popped out from underneath me, flew into the air, and came down on my face.
She sits on the toilet, which is still covered in construction dust, as she cleans my hand and wraps it with gauze. “You’re still getting in fistfights and you want to have five kids?” She looks up at me with disappointment in her eyes. “Maybe we should worry about taking care of the ones we already have first. Have you talked to Andy about retiring yet?”
I pull my hand back, squeezing my fist tightly to stretch the gauze out. “Not yet.”
