“But you’re not perfect and”—I take a breath—“neither am I. With our pasts, we knew we were liable to fuck up at some point. So I’m thinking…maybe we should go to therapy? Together or apart or both of those. I want to be the best person I can be by the time the baby comes, and that means being open-minded and listening…and also not freaking out so much when you need to walk things off that I end up in the hospital.” I take his hand. “And maybe, for you, it means that you’re not scared to talk to me. I saw the explosion that your parents brought, handsome. It was intense and that was only dealing with their shit for a few hours. A lifetime of having to navigate that?” I shake my head. “I can understand why you were trying to smooth things over or avoid a blowup. Really, I can. But…we need to be better than our pasts.”
His eyes, warm and soft, lock onto mine. “You’re right, of course.”
Relief pouring through me, I allow my mouth to hitch up. “My favorite phrase of all time.”
He touches my cheek, tucks my hair behind my ear. “I love you.”
“I know,” I whisper.
His lips twitch. “Because I told you as I fell asleep?”
“That”—I cover his hand with my own—“and because you’ve shown me.” A beat. “Over and over again.”
“Harp,” he rasps, his eyes going glassy.
“And you don’t even have the pregnancy hormones to blame,” I tease.
He laughs and even though it’s watery, it’s still the best sound ever. Especially when I cup his cheeks for a change and say, “I love you too.”
Because that’s when a tear escapes, sliding down his cheek.
“I love you, Leo Richardson. You.”
“Fuck.” He shudders, drags me close. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Aside from the doctor saying that we’re having a boy?”
He pulls back and shrugs, those warm brown eyes holding mine. “This just means we get to try for a girl.”
“Excuse me?” I mock-glare at him. “I’m not even finished growing this one yet.”
“I’m planning ahead.” He presses his lips to my temple. “Because I’m keeping you forever.”
I open my mouth to tell him how much I like that…or maybe that I plan on keeping him right back, but there’s a knock and then the doctor from labor and delivery is striding into the room.
They examine me, do another ultrasound, and assure us that everything is okay—albeit with a side of stern warning for me to not skip meals.
I don’t argue.
I don’t want a repeat of today.
Leo just says, “I’ll make sure she eats regularly.”
And I know more fries and shakes are in my future.
I’m more than okay with that.
“Ready to go home?” he asks when the doctor leaves and I’ve received my discharge paperwork.
I shake my head. “No.”
He frowns. “Is something?—”
“No, handsome.” I take his hand. “It’s just that we have a baby shower to get to.”
Forty-Six
Leo
