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Twenty
I stared at my paint-splattered hands, still under water in the sink. I’d been washing my brushes, completely in my own world, focused on the Halestorm blaring in my ears. I wasn’t full of rage right now, but I was all about female empowerment anthems at the moment.
Until I’d caught a glimpse of a ghost out of the corner of my eye and that stupidly sexy voice had said my name.
For a second, I’d forgotten I was pregnant.
Forgotten that I wasn’t supposed to feel this wild hope in my chest when I knew Rory was near. The instant that mix of leather and woodsmoke hit me, I was helpless not to smile. To turn to him as if I’d been doing exactly that all my life.
But I wasn’t just thinking of me now. Even if I wanted to run to him and embrace him despite being pissed and hurt he hadn’t called me back, I couldn’t. I had someone else to think about now.
The someone else he was examining via my stomach as if he couldn’t tear his gaze away.
“The truck,” he said hoarsely, still not looking from my belly. It was rather eye-catching since none of my clothes fit right. “You did it.”
“I did.” Every part of me was trembling, but I still threw back my shoulders. “I’m damn proud of it.”
I wasn’t only talking about the truck. I was talking about our—my—baby too. No, I hadn’t planned on it. Certainly not in this circumstance. I definitely hadn’t worked my mind around all the changes my body and my life would go through. But I was still happy. Still glad my baby was here.
If I had to be happy alone, I would be. I’d be happy enough for two people.
Hell, a whole army.
Almost daring him to speak, I cupped my belly. Although the gesture was still foreign, it was becoming more natural every day.
He watched my fingers spread over that growing life inside me and his mouth drew into a tight line. “Is it mine?”
I couldn’t have heard him correctly. It was not possible that this jackass I’d slept with enough times to make a baby—to make half a dozen babies truthfully—was asking if I’d slept with another man.
To my credit, I attempted to answer like a rational person. A simple “yes” would’ve sufficed.
Instead, I picked up the beautiful bouquet of flowers my brother had bought me to celebrate the truck and tossed them at Rory’s head, vase and all.
He ducked. Just barely. And when I let out a sob at what I’d done to my gorgeous flowers, he moved forward to collect them off the ground for me. His pants were wet. Petals clung to his shoes, his shirt. But he still bent to collect them all, holding up a hand when I stepped forward to help.
So, I buried my face in my hands and wept like an idiot.
I was still crying when I heard the clink of the vase being set aside and the thud of his footsteps. I didn’t fight him when he enveloped me in his arms, because that was where I most wanted to be.
Always.
At night in bed, when I was alone and terrified, in the morning when I woke and wasn’t sure how I’d ever be enough for not only myself but a baby who would depend on me for everything. Every time I looked at the door of the diner and hoped he would walk in so I wouldn’t feel so hollow inside.
These crazy, confusing emotions were my daily reality now. Wanting him with me. Missing him. Wishing I wasn’t so foolish to fall for a guy who couldn’t—wouldn’t—fall back.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he murmured, brushing kisses over my hair.
Even that made me react. My body was traitorous and not to be trusted. It was as if I’d become hardwired to respond to his voice. His touch. Those shockingly gentle blue eyes trained on mine as I finally lifted my head.
I moved back because I had to. Keeping my distance was the only way I’d get through this.
“I can’t believe you.”
He scraped a hand through his longer-than-usual hair, the gold and red highlights shimmering from the sun coming through the windows. “I can’t believe me right now either. First time up at bat in how long and I made a baby?”
I narrowed my eyes. “We made a baby. If my eggs weren’t fresh like a prize hen’s, your swimmers would’ve died a fiery death.”
His mouth curved and I thought he might laugh. If he had, I probably would have clocked him with the vase alone this time, sparing the innocent flowers.
