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“Which is what?”
“Me never getting to ask you that one question after selfishly not asking you before was,” his eyes flick back and forth between mine, “exactly what I deserve.”
There have been many moments like this with him. Where he breaks my heart while simultaneously healing it, and I still haven’t gotten used to it.
I still have no clue as to how to handle all these emotions at once.
So it pains me to say, “I can’t.”
He blinks.
As though stricken.
But it only lasts momentarily because after that a resigned expression washes over his face. Like me breaking his heart is okay. It’s what he deserves and gosh, that chokes me up so bad that a tear falls down my cheek.
And I vow – even though he’s told me that he wouldn’t make any promises himself – that one day, I’ll make him believe that he’s worth every inch of my love. That he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
For now though, I wipe my tears off and cup his jaw. “Because we’re already married.”
He takes a few seconds to respond. Then, “What?”
“I never signed the divorce papers.”
Again a few seconds of pause before he repeats, “You never signed the divorce papers.”
Slowly a smile blooms on my lips. “I lied.”
“You lied.”
“Again.”
“Again.”
Nodding, I ask, “Still think I can’t handle your ugly parts, Ledger Thorne?”
Slowly, his mouth stretches into his signature arrogant smirk. “You’re a firecracker, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m a Firefly.”
“My Firefly.”
“And you’re my Thorn.”
This time, I go in for a kiss and devour the delicious smirk on his lips. And of course, he devours me back.
And of course, our babies have to create a ruckus because they’re like their mommy, I think. Always dying for Daddy’s attention. Who goes to grip my belly and rub it, trying to soothe them. Trying to tell them that he’s finally here.
That he will be here for the rest of our lives.
Which reminds me…
Breaking the kiss, I whisper against his lips, “By the way, I know what we’re having.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Her Beautiful Thorn
There are silvery lines on the bottom of her rounded belly.
I think they came back when she was fifteen weeks or so. And while back then they were hardly visible, I can see them clearly now. I can see clearly how her body has changed ever since I last saw it.
How it has grown and stretched to make a cozy home for our babies.
And so I kiss it.
I kiss every single one of her silvery stretch marks.
Lying in my shitty bed, all naked, she giggles, her belly shaking. Which makes them shake as well and so I watch, very carefully, as they roll in her body, just underneath her creamy skin, making it flutter and twitch.
Exactly like two little butterflies.
“Does that hurt?” I whisper, still staring at how they’re moving and flitting.
In fact, I’ve set up camp by her belly, my head propped up on my hand as I examine her new moles, new freckles that she’s gotten in the weeks that we’ve been apart.
Yes, her brother – who’s somehow become a friend; still fucking surreal to say that – kept me updated about her health even though I told him not to. I told him it was invasion of her privacy but he wouldn’t listen.
And I can’t deny that I soaked up every single thing he told me.
But it’s nothing compared to actually seeing it with my own eyes. Seeing her, our babies rolling around in her magical, goddess-like body.
She curls my hair in her usual way. “No. Not yet. It tickles sometimes.”
At this, the left side of her belly moves and she chuckles again. And I go in for another kiss, making her moan.
Then she asks, “So? You never said what you thought of the names.”
I look up. “Dove Thorne.”
She nods. “For the girl, yes.”
“And Warden Thorne.”
“Well, War,” she corrects me. “For the boy.”
“Dove and War.”
“Isn’t that perfect? Dove stands for peace, and Warden means protector. So people may call him War but on the inside, he’s going to be the biggest softy and he’s always going to protect his sister with everything he will be. Like his daddy.”
“Like his daddy,” I whisper as something digs into my throat.
“Like his daddy, yes,” she replies with shiny blue-gray eyes.
Swallowing, I rasp, “I love them.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“And I love you.”
The more I say it, the easier it becomes.
The easier it becomes to believe that this may not be a dream after all. That she’s really here. She really is wearing my ring on her finger. That she still is my wife. I know I have a long, long way to go when it comes to dealing with my issues. And again, it’s surreal to say that I’m liking talking to Dr. Mayberry but I’m willing to put in the work.
If soccer has taught me anything, it’s that hard work and focus always pay off.
