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“Fuck,” he hisses, kissing me again.
“If you’re turning me down, kissing me like that isn’t the way to go about it,” I mutter when he stops kissing me once more. My body feels as if it’s on fire for him and after the way he made love to me last night, that shouldn’t be possible.
“Quit being c-cute, Lyla,” he responds, but the look on his face says he’s not really complaining.
I smile at him. It feels like we’re making a new beginning. I’m not foolish. I know he doesn’t love me. Last night he said we weren’t looking back. That’s a long way from someone pledging love and forever. I’m not sure where that leaves us. It feels like he wants a future together and while that’s what I want to, it stings knowing that he’s basing that future on the fact that we’re having a child together when I want so much more from him. I shouldn’t be selfish, I know. We like and respect one another. Obviously, the sexual chemistry between us is off the charts amazing. I mean, I don’t have anything to compare it to, but Thomas seems very happy.
His hand moves along the side of my face, surprising me and pulling me from my thoughts.
“I want to stay here with you all d-d-day.”
“I wouldn’t complain,” I whisper and I wouldn’t. I bring my hand up against his.
“D-d-don’t need your d-d-dad looking for more reasons to end me.”
I nod. It’s probably just as well we don’t take this further. I need some time to figure out all of the emotions and confusion running through my brain. “Okay.”
“Tonight,” he promises, and from the wicked glint in his eyes, I can guarantee that I’m going to like whatever he has planned.
He leans in and my eyes flutter shut. He kisses my eyelids and then places a soft kiss on my forehead. When he does things like this, I feel cherished and butterflies flutter around in my stomach.
“Your doctor a-p-p-p-point-m-m-ment is Thursday, right?”
“Yeah,” I answer, my hand going to my stomach, which is definitely starting to show. Then again, I’m in my second trimester. It’s hard for me to believe that.
“I’m taking the day off. We’ll g-g-go together and spend the day in town.”
“Is it safe?” I ask. Dad or Thomas, neither one has said very much about the shooting, but they’re both kind of tense when they get back in the evenings, so I know they still don’t have a clue as to who is behind it all.
“I won’t let anything happen to you, S-s-sunflower.”
I should tell him to stop using that name again, but I can’t. I love it when he calls me that. He gives me one last kiss and then leaves. I’m left lying in the bed, staring at the door and wondering what in the world I’m going to do about Thomas…
Chapter 23
Lyla
“Thomas, you’re starting to freak me out, here,” I mumble, looking over at Thomas.
He’s sitting in a chair across from the exam table at my doctor’s office while I’m sitting on the exam table, anxiously waiting for my doctor to show. It feels as if we’ve been in this room for an hour, but as I look up at the clock, I can tell it has only been like thirty minutes. That still seems like too long. Thomas’s head jerks as he looks over at me and my gaze drops down to see how he is wringing his hands together—betraying his nervousness.
He seems to catch himself because he tightens his hands into fists and mutters under his breath. “Shit.”
“S-s-sorry.”
My brow creases as I look at him. “What’s going on with you? You’re the one that wanted to be here. Are you having second thoughts about being part of mine and the baby’s lives?”
He stands up and comes over to me, putting a hand on each side of my face.
“F-fuck no.”
I know he can see the relief flash across my face, because he smiles. I’m not adept enough at keeping my emotions hidden and I don’t really want to right now. Thomas has been telling me for the last two days that he wasn’t looking back and that he didn’t want me to. He says that I’m his future, but I’m still having trouble believing it.
“Then what is it?” I ask.
“Will they b-b-be able t-t-t-to t-t-t-tell if the b-b-b-baby is l-l-like me?”
“I don’t understand. What do you mean? They should be able to tell us if it is a girl or a boy. Would you rather not know? I mean I kind of did, but I can wait if you would rather.”
“N-n-no. I m-m-m-mean if he or sh-she will have my sp-sp-sp-speech p-p-p-problems.”
My heart breaks when I look at Thomas’s face as he sits back down in his chair. He’s been so quiet today and I’ve been worried it’s because he’s regretting trying to be closer to me. I had no idea that he was concerned that our child might suffer from stuttering. I’ve read on it and stuttering does seem to be passed genetically, but that’s not always conclusive. I mean, no one in Thomas’s family seems to have it—at least that’s what Thomas tells me. I’m not an expert on the subject. I’ve been reading and researching it. I’ve noticed what makes Thomas’s worse and it seems to be linked to nervousness and feelings of unease. I smile, because when he’s making love to me, there’s not a huge issue at all. It also doesn’t happen as often when he’s talking to his mother on the phone. I know that the ADA views stuttering as a disability, but I’m not sure how I feel about that. There’s nothing wrong with Thomas. The fact that some entity, or anyone for that matter, could view him as not being perfectly healthy and amazing doesn’t sit right with me.
