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He circles the car and reaches for my hand. I cross my arms before he can take one. Shrugging, he chuckles under his breath, which just pisses me off that much more. I hate him for the smirk he’s wearing as he leads me to the elevator that will take us to street level.
We ride up and emerge onto the street. I follow him as he takes me to an unmarked pair of burnished steel doors. Holding one open, he ushers me.
“Where are we? What is this?”
“For the love of God, Sloan, just walk in the goddamn building.” He sounds exasperated, but that subtle grin is still teasing at the corner of his mouth.
Wild thoughts are racing through my head. Stress and baby chemicals combining to knock me off my rocker. I’m thinking stuff like,Did Beck and his dad team up to kidnap me? Have they been in cahoots the whole time? What even is a “cahoot”? Who came up with that word?
It’s only when I see Monroe and Cassie standing just inside the dim foyer that I snap out of it.
“Can somebodypleasetell me what’s going on?” I demand.
Beck smiles and picks up my hand, and this time, I let him. “You need to relax. I thought you might like a girl’s pampering day.”
The guilt hits me and I could fold up like a lawn chair with the agony of knowing I didn’t give him enough credit. Iunderestimate him all the time, and he always, without fail, rises to the occasion.
I suck. Big time.
“This is what you were doing in the doctor’s office.” He nods at me to confirm my theory. “Oh, God. I’m an asshole.”
He grins and bends low to whisper in my ear, “You can make it up to me later.” Then he straightens up. “Sloan, I’m going to do whatever I can to take the stress away. You have a lot going on. A day of relaxation is in order.”
I pull him down for a kiss. “You’re amazing. Thank you.”
He winks and steps away. “My woman deserves no less.”
41
BECK
I check the baby calendar Sloan made and hung up on the kitchen fridge. We’re at twenty-nine weeks and five days until the baby is due.
Time is going fast.
She drew a pomelo to indicate the size of the baby (and labeled it in bold all-caps because my dumb ass thought it was a pear). Every day, she’s also penciled in her blood pressure and what she’s done that day. She has all my games noted, too, with my stats and the final score. We are still way over .500, first in the division, and I’ve never been happier in my life.
If I can find and finish the fucking stalker, life would be perfect.
Until Sloan walks down the stairs and yawns.
She hasn’t been sleeping well and no matter what she says, I know the stalker’s uptick in activity is bothering her. She’s gotten a letter every day for the last three. We’ve installed more cameras on the property in hopes of catching the bastardtaunting her, but so far, he’s a crafty fuck and has managed to elude them all. I’m starting to think he might be invisible.
I frown when she gets close enough for me to see her face. Her face is drawn and her eyes are red. This isn’t exhaustion.
It’s grief.
“Is everything okay?” My mind is racing with the possibilities.
She looks up at me, lashes wet, tears ready to spill down her cheeks. “Yeah. I mean, no. Nothing for you to do. It’s just—I mean—Shit. My dad’s been dead a year. Today.” She sniffs and rubs the tip of her nose. “I didn’t think it would hit me this hard.”
“Oh, Sloan.” I pull her close and hold her, one hand gliding up and down her back, the other cradling her head against my shoulder.
After a few minutes of crying, she raises her head and gives it a small, short shake. “I’m sorry. This is pathetic.”
I cup her face and use my thumbs to swipe away the remnants of her trail of tears. “You don’t ever have to be sorry for what you feel, Sloan. Not to me.”
She sniffs a couple more times then steps back. “Thank you.” She rubs her upper arms to ward off the goosebumps. “It’s just a hard day. I was thinking… I want to take flowers to the cemetery today.”
