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He shakes his head. “I was coming here last night to plead for another chance and ask if you’d consider adoption, but it seems fate has other plans. We used protection and still managed to conceive. That’s practically miraculous.”
Hope starts to flutter through my system as he says this.
His voice trembles. “I hurt you, and I know how hard it is to trust me after the things I said. But believe me when I tell you that I want this child too. Yes, I’m scared it might inherit the gene—but what terrifies me more is living without you from now on. The days without you were like torture and made me realize that you’re my home, my biggest dream—the love of my life. And last night, when I heard our baby’s heartbeat”—tears fill his eyes and he looks away for a second before turning back to face me and continuing his sentence—“I understood I could never turn my back on it.” His voice becomes fainter, just above a whisper. “Please give us one more chance.”
Tears drop down my face as I dash toward him, and two strong arms encircle me.Oh God, how much I missed his warmth.Lifting my eyes up to look at him, I lean in and offer a soft kiss on his lips. “I love you,” I murmur against them.
He curves an arm around my waist while intertwining his fingers through my hair, meeting my mouth with a fervent kiss that sets fire to every molecule in my body and pauses time only for us two.
“I love you, so fucking much,” he says between kisses. He squeezes my hand and leads me to the bed, inviting me to lie with him. I obey, like a moon orbiting a star.
As he pulls me into an embrace, he whispers, “This is what I missed most. You in my arms.” His voice is more than mere sound, it’s a deep rumble that resonates in my bones and brings tears of joy to my eyes.
I curl up against him and whisper, “Me too.”
Time passes as we just bathe in each other’s presence.
Then I ask, “How have you been dealing with the loss?”
“The first week was hell,” he says.
My heart cracks hearing the anguish in his voice.
“I felt punished by life, so angry and sad that she was gone. I had so much I wanted to tell her and ask her.” His fingers trail over my back like waves across sand, slow but steady.
He takes a shuddering breath as if preparing himself for a storm.
“After our doctor’s appointment and me walking away from you, I wanted to talk to my mom about it—she always could help me make better sense of myself, point out things I couldn’t see or was scared to look at. But that conversation never happened.”
Tears blur my vision and as I let my fingers trace patterns over his chest, I take a shaky breath and whisper against his skin, “I’m sorry you didn’t get the chance.”
Grief fills his voice, raw emotion lurking beneath the surface as he replies gruffly, “Me too.” Taking a moment to compose himself, he adds, “But I have to accept that there are things I can’t change.” His strength is remarkable; despite the cracks in his own heart, he still stands tall.
“How was Italy?” he asks.
I glance up at him with surprise. “Who told you?”
His eyes grow warmer. “Cole. He came by my place every day and told me what was going on with you and the others.”
I chuckle. “He did the same for me when I was abroad, reassuring me by telling me how you were doing. You know he considers you one of his brothers.”
Pain flashes across his face, like a lightning strike in the dead of night as he runs a hand through his hair and mumbles, “We were all thick as thieves—Cole, Nick, and me—always standing together no matter the situation, until now. I messed it all up.”
“Nick only sided with me because you hurt me,” I say. “He still misses his best friend.”
Brian heaves a sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “God, I hate how it all changed,” he mutters to himself.
Wrapped up in each other’s arms, we let time pass by, until Brian groans. “Shit, I need to go to Six-Pack. I’ve got a meeting tomorrow, and I have to get some papers from my office.”
I push myself up onto my elbows and smile. “Want me to come? I can drive you. It will be faster and cheaper than a cab.”
His large hand grazes against my cheek, and his expression softens. “You’re sure you’re not tired or feeling queasy?”
Moved by his concern for my well-being, I reach up and press a light kiss against his rough jawline. “I’m all right. Actually kinda craving one of Darius’s alcohol-free cocktails.”
He entwines our fingers together, then smiles. “Well then,” he says as he guides us off the bed, “let’s go, love.”
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