Page 81 of Family Like This


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I follow him and watch as he collapses on the bed, rubbing his hands over his face. I climb on and lie next to him, gently running my hand down his chest. He drops his hands from his face and turns to look at me.

He brushes his thumb over my cheek as tears fill his eyes.

“There was so much blood. Aaron was scared he could’ve lost her.” He runs his hand down my side, resting it half on my waist and half on my little bump. “And I get that fear now because the thought of losing you—either of you. It would tear me to shreds.”

Tears flow from his eyes, and I move closer, wrapping my body around his and holding him close.

“I know,” I whisper, playing with his soft hair. “I’m terrified of losing you too.” Looking into his eyes, I say the words I’ve been holding on to. “Because I love you, Miles. And even though it’s new and we’re still figuring it all out, you and this baby have become my everything, and that scares the shit out of me since I already lost theeverythingI had once. I don’t ever want you to wonder how I feel. I love you.”

He pulls me to his lips and kisses me hard. “I love you so fucking much. I would do anything for you and our baby. Anything to protect you and keep you safe. You two have become the center of my goddamn world, and it would feel like I was spinning off my axis without you. I love you.” He kisses me again. “I love you.”

He slides his hand between us and rests it on my stomach as I hold him close, playing with his hair and looking into those bright green eyes. The eyes of the man I love. I swore I’d never fall in love again, not because some douchey seventeen-year-old boy hurt me, but because of all the loss I’ve endured. I didn’t want to set myself up to lose again. But life had other plans for me. Dani told me more than a year ago that it doesn’t matter what promises you make yourself. At some point, it stops being a choice. The love I feel for Miles and our baby—the family we’re creating—it’s not a choice, and it never has been.

Now I’m praying it doesn’t get ripped away from me like all the other love I’ve experienced in my life has.

Chapter twelve

Just Like You

Miles

“Doyouwanttodo any kind of gender reveal? My mom was asking earlier. I don’t think she cares, but she was curious how we plan on telling people.”

Amelia glances at me from across the kitchen and shrugs. “Text message? In person? A phone call? I don’t need anything fancy. Plus, that would be way too much to pull off on such short notice.”

I tilt my head, trying to figure out what emotion I’m getting from what she just said. There’s something in the subtext, but I’m not sure what it is. I get up from my stool and cross the room to her. “If you wanted to do something for it, even just pictures, we have a family—well, friend group—friend, who is a photographer. I’m sure he’d help us out.”

She shakes her head a little and focuses on putting a bowl in the dishwasher. “I’m fine.”

She steps away from me, but I grab her arm. “Ames…”

She pushes me away, holding her hands up. “I don’t want a gender reveal.” There’s a bite to her voice I don’t fully understand.

“Okay,” I say softly, walking over to her. “Come with me.”

“Miles…”

“Now, baby mama.” At my commanding tone, she meets my gaze and finally relents, letting me lead her over to the couch. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t want to have a gender reveal. It’s a silly thing to celebrate. It’s not like it’s something we control or an achievement. Sure, it means we made it this far in the pregnancy, but as we’ve learned, there’s a lot about that we don’t control.”

“Do you not want to do this because of what happened with Rae and Aaron?”

I’d completely understand that. Hell, I’d understand any reason. I don’t care one way or another. The only traditional thing I want to do is maternity photos.

“No. Not—whatever, if you want to do it, we’ll do it.”

“Ames, look at me please.”

She’s staring past me at the white walls of the apartment. Technically, they’re light cream or some such nonsense but bland is bland, and one day, I hope to have a home filled with warmth. I like the modern style, but dislike the coldness that often comes with it.

Reluctantly, Amelia shifts her gaze to me. Her eyes are glassy, and it makes me move closer to her without a second thought. “Baby, please tell me the truth.”

“I’m tired of crying,” she mutters.

That’s a common theme with her. She often tells me she never cried like this and it must be the pregnancy hormones and emotional changes, but really I think it’s because she spent years burying her most complicated feelings.

“I know, but preventing yourself from crying and pretending everything is okay doesn’t solve the problem. Letting out the hard stuff isn’t easy for either of us, but it’s important. You reminded me of that. Now I’m reminding you. Talk to me.”

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