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I hear the key in the front door and I jump, my eyes turning to see Dean stood still, watching me.
“Jesus, babe,” he purrs. His voice is raspy, but I can’t tell if I’m turning him on or if he’s repulsed.
Pulling the pickle from my mouth it makes a light popping noise. I quickly lick my lips like I’ve been caught cheating.
Dean closes the door behind him, then slowly walks towards me. He drops his keys and helmet on the coffee table.
“You’re back early,” I say sucking the tips of my fingers, still a little flustered. It’s four in the afternoon, he doesn’t usually get home until gone five after seeing his therapist.
“I realised something whilst sat with Doc.” He holds out his hand for me to take.
I scrunch my eyes placing my hand in his, letting him pull me to my feet. My free hand naturally curls around my bump as I straighten in front of him. “What’s that?” I ask smiling, happy to see him.
He cups my face in his hands and takes me in. Our eyes are dancing, silently reading each other. “That I’m the luckiest fucking man to walk this planet.”
I smile bashfully but place my hands on his arms holding me. We’re still looking directly into each other’s eyes as he continues, “You, Madison Reed, are my reason for living. My purpose in amongst all the chaos.”
I smile but grip his arms tighter. He’s worried about something, I can tell. The signature line dons his forehead, and his eyes start moving between mine a little erratically. “Dean?” I ask, forcing his eyes to slow. “What is it?”
The corner of his lip stretches as he closes his eyes. Gently placing his lips on my lips, he then dips his forehead to touchmine. We share a still moment before he bends at the waist, leaning down to kiss my swollen belly in his hands. “VP,” I whisper, watching him through my now misty eyes.
His lips are still touching my small bump. I run my hand through the back of his hair. He’s worried about bringing our baby into this world. He doesn’t have to say it. I can feel it. I feel it in the way he’s looking at my body. He’s scared he won’t be able to protect us. Scared he’ll somehow lose us.
Things have been quiet with the club. Yes, he’s been busier, setting up a new deal with the Saviours, but nobody’s been hurt. There’s been no death. No threats. No drama. Just us, learning to live together. Learning to live in the not so normal world we live in. “I’m right here,” I say softly.
He kisses my belly again then turns and sits on the sofa.
I stay standing in front of him, my bump now in line with his face.
He looks up at me through his lashes, then shutting his eyes, he kisses my bump one more time, keeping his lips close to me, his hands on either side of my tummy.
This man. My VP. So riddled with self-doubt. He’s the strongest, bravest man I know, yet his demons never fully allow him peace.
I suggested a few months ago he seek seeing a professional. He hated the idea and told me I was the only therapy he needed. Then he threatened to leave when I made Jess fast-track a referral for him. I knew he was joking, of course, but the idea of sharing his trauma with an outsider had him in a spin.
Eventually, I convinced him that it might help. But I’m not stupid. I have no doubts that when he goes to a session, he never fully opens up. The man I love doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to.
He likes complete and utter control.
Today’s different though. Something’s changed. “I’m notsure what I’ve done to deserve you,” he says to my bump. His voice is full of love and worry as he speaks. It’s the kind of worry any father would have before his first child comes into this world. It’s also the kind of worry that comes from living in a dangerous world and at the same time, preparing yourself to bring something so pure and innocent into it.
“Dean.” I wait for him to look up. When he doesn’t, I lift my hand, ever so gently cupping the side of his face with my palm. “Please look at me.”
His eyes slowly lift and when they find mine, I see it. My home. My love.
“You’re afraid something’s going to go wrong?”
He lets loose a small huff but he smiles. “Told you I didn’t need to see a therapist.”
The corner of my lip raises. “I know you well enough now to know what you’re thinking.”
He settles into the sofa, watching me as he runs his hand through his hair. We stare at one another, and I feel my heart pick up pace. He lifts his hand, lightly stroking my bump. “Tell me what I’m thinking,” he says.
Looking at his hand on my bump, I lift my hands and place them on my hips, slightly cocking my head to one side a little playfully as I look back to him. “You’re thinking you’re going to cook your pregnant girlfriend her favourite dinner, join her in the shower then massage her feet until she falls asleep.”
He laughs, the sound melting me. “I’ll do all those things, babe. But still, humour me.”
My smile drops and I look at him. “Seriously?”
