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Fucking infuriating, complicated, intoxicating mess of a man. I remind myself not to get distracted by his pretty words.
“We’re okay.”
A muscle twitches in his tight jaw. He looks away and runs his fingers through his unruly hair. Nodding once at my empty kitchen, he turns back and finds his way to the empty cushion, dropping heavily onto it. Elbows solid on his thighs, his head falls into his hands.
“What happened?” he rasps, his voice the creak of a failing bridge.
I want to make demands. Part of me curdles with rage. Misunderstandings reach a boiling point to know why he wasn’t there this morning. But something knows this isn’t about me as much as it’s about Nathan. Life hasn’t been kind to him the past couple of years. Proof that shitty things can happen to the best of us. The least deserving. Losing his wife settled a darkness over this once carefree man that he’s just recently started breaking through. His breakthrough over the last year rekindled the light.
Until I came along.
My weak imagination can’t comprehend what’s been going through his mind since finding out about the pregnancy, and I’m working hard to give him time to figure it out.
Even though it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
Not a single one of my family or friends would describe me as patient, but for Nathan, I want to be.
I steady my nerves and will my racing heart to slow. “The doctor noticed during my appointment that I was having contractions. I had to stay for monitoring, but everything is fine.”
Nathan’s skeptical look sears right through me.
“It’s mostly fine,” I amend.
“Any woman having contractions at six months pregnant is not what I’d call fine. Are you on bed rest?”
“No bed rest. We moved my next appointment up two weeks so she can check me again.”
“Text me the date and time. I’ll be there.”
My hand extends, craving a connection with him. I deny us both and return it to my lap.
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I want to be there.”
“No.” Why is being vulnerable so damn hard? I force myself to look him in the eye and worry my trembling lip. A touch of grit inflects my tone. “I don’t want you to make promises you won’t keep. Don’t say you’ll be there if you won’t be.”
“I’m sorry about this morning. I know it looks fucking terrible.” He runs his hand through his hair again. “I had a-a schedule conflict that I couldn’t cancel. It ran longer than I thought, and I had to rush back to work.”
“What sort of conflict?” The curiosity overrides the part
of me that wants to leave him alone.
“I had an appointment.” Shame colors his cheeks crimson and gives away everything and nothing at the same time.
It’s my turn for a skeptical look. “Couldn’t swing by my station to say hi?”
He returns a look of his own. “You tell me since you’re the one taking the calls.”
“So it was crazy today,” I huff. “You can get off on that technicality, but it doesn’t excuse not even sending a text to check in.”
His teeth sink into his lower lip, and he nods. Remorseful eyes stare into mine, the look in them sinking deep into my bones.
“I tried to call.” His eyes drop to his palms dangling between his knees. He studies them, turning them, as if the appendages are new and haven’t existed since birth.
“Yeah, well. By then, I didn’t want to talk to you."
“Cami already handed my ass to me after she heard from Law that you couldn’t get ahold of anyone to be with you.” His eyes flash to mine. The glint reveals his displeasure with my chat with Law. “I’ve been a wreck all day, thinking of you being alone. Waiting until I could get here. That’s the absolute truth.” Even without his sweet words, the distress etched on his face betrays his inward thoughts. He takes his actions hard, and I don’t need to pile more on him.
