Page 89 of Lost and Found

He gives me a wide-eyed scowl but waits for me to forge on.

I take my hands and half a step back, clearing my throat. “I’ve been taking things from my place between renters and bringing them here. Not the other way around.” I continue fidgeting with my palms so I don’t grab at him again, prematurely. “See?” I point to the artwork I’ve added to his walls, the plush ottoman over in the living room that Calcifur has claimed as her own. There’s a lit candle on the island and a cute breadbox on the back counter. A new frame around our old prom picture and new kitchen towels slung over the stove handle. “I wanted to add to the place. Make it homier. I was . . . trying to do something nice.” I was trying to be symbolic and make it look like it’s my home, too, but maybe I underestimated this man’s aloofness over his décor.

“And I’ve been working on something else,” I tell him, determined not to lose my nerve. I go and grab the manila folder on the counter and clutch it in both fists. “This summer and doing that list. Challenging myself to grieve and feel, to stay close to Merritt and quit being numb. From that nasty sour candy to the wacky science experiment that is baking sourdough bread, to sticking a needle in my ass a million times. I thought it all would feel a lot more like suffering. Or even like a challenge. Like—like I would have to fight to prove I could conquer the lastring of grief . . . just to be worthy of this.” One hand drifts to my stomach, and he tracks it, his throat bobbing heavily. “With you, it never felt like suffering, Silas. Because ofyou. From the second you convinced me to stay on the dance floor back in April. And if it was a challenge, then I know I can meet anything life throws at us again if I’ve got you in my corner. I’d look forward to it, frankly.”

And no matter how many times I’ve practiced this in my head, this is where my composure starts to unravel. “I thought I lost my Always person when I lost Merritt. I did lose her, but you taught me how much room there is for more, if I was open to finding it. And, Silas, I would chooseyoualways, too.” I turn a quarter circle, put the folder back down, and open it, clumsy and shivering with adrenaline. “You don’t need to decide this immediately, but I’ve done all the research and gathered all the paperwork required for you to be the baby’s father, legally. I’ve filled out everything I am able to on my end. It’s calledsecondary adoption, and I asked if there was any way for it to be official while I’m still pregnant, but even though we could submit everything now, apparently, it’s effective the day they’re born. Still. The baby would—if you agree to it, I mean—the baby would be a Byrd.

“And we don’t need to be married or anything, and I promise this is not predicated on that for me whatsoever. I would agree to this even if we weren’t together anymore.” When I look up at him, he’s too blurry for me to gauge, and when a tear springs loose, I look back down at the papers. “Obviously, I hope that’s not something you want, because that is not what I want at all, but I want you to know that no matter what,youwould be my choice.”

He steps closer.

“Also, I—I got in touch with a real estate agent, one of Martha’s nieces, and I would be open to selling my house andmoving in here with you permanently, if you want. It’s a good rental property, and we could keep it, too, but I thought we could decide that together.”

“Later,” he croaks. “We can decide about the house later.”

My lungs start to work in quick, hitching breaths. He comes even closer to my side.

“I want to make sure I’m understanding this correctly,” he says, voice so low I wouldn’t know it was him if he weren’t six inches away. “You’re asking me to be your baby’s father.”

“Yes,” I say, nodding down at the paperwork. “If you want that. Us. If—if you still want me.”

His scarred hand splays flat atop the papers. He takes my chin in with the other, turning me until I’m facing his chest.

“Do you really not know?” he says, quiet and dangerous. I’m afraid to meet his eyes and stare at his throat instead, focusing on the tip of a scar. “Take one look at me and tell me you don’t know how I want you. I mean it, Bea. Look at me.”

I tear my gaze up to him with my teeth sawing into my lip. A prominent vein cuts over his forehead like he’s incensed, but his eyes are round and bright with unshed tears. “The things I imagine with you, Bea—the way I want you with such stunning, extreme specificity.”

“Si,” leaves me on a breath, my whole body flooding with knee-buckling relief.

“Let me tell you everything,” he says. “I want you to know it.” His chest expands like a billowing sail. “Your face, your body, your hair, your laugh. The things you say and the way you look when you get a little pissed. There’s this.” His fingertips trail up to the hollow under my cheekbone. “The way this looked, stretched out with me inside. Having that memory now, knowing your mouth is even sweeter than it looks . . .” He merely shakes his head.

“But you want to know what I think about at my most depraved? I don’t know what kind of man it makes me, but god help me, Bea, I fuck my fist to the thought of alifewith you.”

His lashes tremble closed. “It always starts with something small. I think of standing behind you in the kitchen and that sweet trail of peach fuzz down the back of your neck. It’s so pale you’d miss it if you weren’t very, very close. . . . Sometimes just thinking about that is enough to get me there. How fucking lucky I am to be that close to you.” His eyes open again and bore into mine, fingers cupping my throat, featherlight. “I fantasize about everything up close with you forever. You’ve got one smile line that’s a little deeper than the other, and I want to be the reason it stays. Me and our life together. I want you to have to sleep on your side so I can fit myself around you with the cat behind my knees, and I want that smile line to turn into a permanent wrinkle from how well and often you rest that way.

“I imagine you getting bigger,” he grits, tipping his head toward the region of my belly. “And I don’t care one bit that it’s not reality, I let myself imagine that I did it to you. That you’re walking around with evidence of just howwantedyou are by me.”

He presses his mouth to mine like he can’t bear it any longer, but he’s too quick and I’m too stunned to react and kiss him back. “So, yes, Bea. My answer is yes. It’d be everything I want in life to raise a kid with you. I just hope you’re ready to understand exactly how bad I want you. Every fucking day. Always.”

He brings both hands around my throat, and I hook my fingers over his wrists. I gasp when he doesn’t kiss me but licks a tear off the line of my jaw instead. The tip of his tongue flicks over my other cheek, now, just below my eye. I can feel my own pulse echoing through his.

“Are you feeling good? Can I have you however I want?” he asks my lips.

“Yes.”

He kisses me dizzy, right there in his kitchen with the clouds finally breaking and rain pouring free outside. He licks away my gasps and rubs his parted mouth over mine like he’s savoring the feel. He kisses me until my knees are weak and my too-sensitive chest is arching into him, desperate for him to press on me like a bruise.

“Take me—” His lips smother the words before I can sayto bed, but he picks me up, loops my legs around his hips, and starts carrying me in that direction, anyway.

“You’ll be taking me,” he says, a demand and a promise. “In every way I’ve ever wanted you to take me.”

He’s not gentle about undressing me. He pulls my shirt over my head and tosses it, unhooks my bra with one hand while the other undoes my jeans. Fingers curl into the hair at the base of my skull while more fingers slide into the front of my underwear. He does one swipe through my cunt, and I list in his arms with a jagged cry, my back bowing, legs wobbling. He works off the rest of my clothes while his mouth and teeth work over my collarbones.

He’s not too gentle with me at all, and I’m so fucking grateful for it, my throat seizes. Silas has always known what I could take even before I did.

“Please,” I rasp, my naked back settling against the mattress. He’s still fully clothed above me. “My—chest.” I squeeze my unbearably heavy breasts, pleading with him.

He sucks at my nipples and guides my hands to squeeze harder, and fuck, I think this might be it for me. I’m so sensitive, raw, swollen, I think I could come from this alone.