Page 66 of Restored Dreams

As if reading my thoughts, his head pops up. “Are you okay? Everything’s okay, right? I mean she’s—”

“You mean I’m not young?” I tease.

“You aren’t old,” he says exasperated. “But being over forty, I know there can be risks.”

“So far so good. I’m having an ultrasound for the baby’s heartbeat next week.” A perk of being an older pregnant woman is the doctor requests this test immediately after calculating I’m roughly six to seven weeks along.

“A heartbeat,” he murmurs, his hand covering my belly, laying his warm palm on my skin. He hesitates, and there’s a question I’m hoping he won’t ask. There will be no discussion. This baby will be born, and I will raise lima bean alone. Unless…

Brut stands instantly, startling me. “Let me get the bathroom in my room set up for you. You must want a shower.”

I’m startled by the suggestion especially since I haven’t finished eating, and Brut hasn’t even touched his food. However, I can’t deny that I need a shower and maybe a few minutes of space. Brut looks like he’s thinking and maybe this excuse is a means to give himself some time alone.

He excuses himself, and I wait a short time before climbing the stairs to his room. Compared to the lower half of the house, the portion being redone, the upstairs needs some attention. I don’t know why I’m thinking these things other than my brain speeds forward. I haven’t lived in a house in a long time. I wonder if a nursery could be set up here. Brut offered for me to stay, but is it only temporary?

I step into Brut’s room and find him standing in the middle. He grabs the back of his neck again, and I don’t know what to say. Suddenly, I feel awkward around the man of my dreams. Maybe because I don’t want to lose him. Maybe because I’ve just dropped something huge on him. Maybe because I want to help him process, but I also want to give him space. I don’t know what to do.

“I know it’s not your stuff, but everything you might need is in there.”

I nod because I don’t trust the tears in my eyes and the scratch in my throat. I step forward for the bathroom after he waves toward the door. I enter, closing the door behind me, and take a moment to look at myself in the mirror. I’m a mess. My hair is wild. My eyes too large and sad. My tan skin fading. My hands rest on the counter, and I look down to find Scrabble tiles on the towel.

Stay with me, they spell. I gasp, shaky fingers coming to my lips. My other hand scoops up the pieces, and then I turn for the door.

Brut sits on the edge of his bed, his hands folded between his thighs.

“Brut,” I whisper, and he looks up at me. There’s another plea in his eyes.

“I mean it, Lily. Stay here, okay? We’ll work everything out.” This is his line. I’ve heard it before. Something in my stomach sinks, but more noticeable is the racing of my heart.

I step toward the nightstand and set the tiles on the surface, picking up only a few. Brut’s eyes press into me as I work and then I turn to him. Reaching for his hand, I open it palm upward and lay three tiles against his warm skin.

Yes.

Instantly, I’m tackled to bed. I let out a squeal while Brut climbs partially over me.

“Did I hurt the baby?” Worry fills his tone, but he’s already lowering his head and lifting the shirt I wear. He leans down to press kisses to my stomach. Soft suction caresses over my entire belly, warming me, baptizing me. Brut seems rather excited while still shocked. His hand follows the kisses, gently caressing my belly as if he can feel lima bean inside me.

“How are your legs?” The question startles me, and I chuckle.

“Better, thank you.” The numbing cream they initially swabbed on my skin wore off, and I have other medication to take for pain. My shins are still covered in bandages, but I didn’t need any stitches. The large swatches of gauze up my legs add to my disheveled appearance.

Brut scoots lower on my body, traveling over my underwear, and my breath hitches as most of his body rests between my spread-eagle legs. I’m instantly where I was this morning, and my fingers dig into the covering on his bed.

“Explain to me what was with this morning?”

I’m embarrassed to recall how I dry-humped him and was preparing to beg him for sex. His rejection put things in perspective. I needed to get this huge secret off my chest. Now that I have, I decide it wouldn’t hurt to add more truth to the morning.

“Pregnant women can be horny. I’m off the chart. I think I’m craving sex more than ice cream or pickles.”

Brut’s head pops up, a look of shock on his face at my honesty. Okay, maybe I’m being too truthful this morning.

“Did I just say that out loud?” I guffaw to cover my humiliation, but my tongue winds up to ramble more. “That’s another thing. I’m losing my mind a little, like misplacing my keys and not remembering I took out the trash to find I did it.”

“What you’re telling me is you need a little 739?” I stare at him a moment, uncertain what he means. “Like a booty call.”

I gasp, and then I remember the code we established at the beach house. If he was going to have sex with someone, he could text me to let me know.

“Oh. My. God.”