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I nod as I take in all the information she's giving me. Knowing we'll be meeting our son soon is a level of excitement that both thrills me as much as it worries me. But nothing makes me happier than when she hands me the pictures she printed out.
Especially the one of his little face.
And as Easton and I leave the office, it feels like there's something lighter about him, but I refuse to get my hopes up.
THAT NIGHT, I'M SITTING on the couch across from Tye. She looks over the pictures from the appointment today and when she's done cooing about how adorable he is, her brows furrow. She pulls the picture away from her eyes and then back again.
“Oh, God,” she says as it hits her. “You're having Easton's clone.”
Laughter bubbles out of me. “That's what I said! He looks just like him.”
“That's actually a horrifying thought.”
I reach over and swipe the pictures back from her, wanting to look at our baby again. “Well, I love him.”
“Oh, I do, too,” she assures me. “But that doesn't mean he won't be a tiny terror.”
“Well, that's a given. He's his father's son.”
I stare down at the picture, rubbing my finger over it in an adoring way. It's hard to believe this little guy is the one kicking up a storm in my belly all the time, flipping around like a damn gymnast.
“How's everything going, by the way? With Easton, I mean.”
How's it going? Isn'tthat the big question? It's the same question I've been asked at least three times a week. Even Amelia doesn't know how to connect with her own brother anymore. But today, seeing him at the doctor's appointment, it was the first time I've felt close to him in weeks.
“It's...complicated,” I admit. “But I'm still hopeful.”
“And in love with him,” she adds.
I cough as I choke on air. “W-what?”
She rolls her eyes playfully. “Playing dumb is not your forte, Kennybabe.”
I throw my head back against the couch cushion, because she might be right. If it was really Easton at that lake instead of Alec, we might even be back together by now. But with everything that happened, nothing is the same. And if I'm being honest, it only made me even more hesitant, because as Danielle calls it, I'm traumatized.
As I go to answer her, admit to feelings that might even be unrequited at this point for all I know, the door flies open and scares the shit out of me. Easton storms over like a man on a mission and stands in front of me.
“Pack your shit,” he demands. “You're coming to stay with me.”
My eyes widen. “I am?”
“You are.” The confidence in his voice is sexy as hell. “I'm sick of not being able to sleep at night because I'm busy wondering if you're okay, so let's go. Get your shit. You're coming with me.”
The range of different emotions I feel is confusing. On one hand, every word that just came out of his mouth pulled at my heartstrings and gave me the urge to do anything he tells me to. But on the other hand, he's got a lot of nerve demanding this after the way he's been acting lately.
I decide to let my brain win this one, even though I know he's going to get his way. “You can't just storm in here and declare that I’m coming to live with you!”
“The fuck I can't,” he argues. “That's my baby in there, which means part of that body is mine. My baby, my house. Let's go.”
Fuck. Why is that so hot?
Looking over at Tye, she bounces her eyebrows as if she can practically read my mind. And yeah, I'm aware I'm totally fucked. I mean, I guess I always knew I would end up staying at Easton's. After all, the nursery is over there, and there has to be a reason I've been refusing Tye's offers to create one here all this time.
Without another word, I get up and go to my room to pack up some of my things, leaving a smug Easton in the living room, feeling like he won.
THE RIDE TO EASTON'Sis quiet. He's not as distant as he has been—getting his way with this seeming to have helped a bit—but he still gets lost in thought. Sometimes, I let myself wonder what's going through that mind of his. But then again, I don't know that I would be able to handle seeing the things he's been through. For a twenty-two-year-old guy, his life has been rather traumatic.
Neither Amelia nor Zayn are home as we go inside. They're probably at the venue for the meal tasting. She asked me to go with her, but I figured they needed to do at least one thing together. Don't get me wrong, planning this wedding has been the perfect distraction from everything. But it's them getting married, not Amelia and me—no matter how much she jokes that it should be.
