by Jewel E. Ann
I crawl to the side of Harry’s bed, reaching for more stuff he has shoved beneath it. “I’m not cleaning it. I know he doesn’t like anyone messing with his stuff, but he has too many dirty clothes everywhere. I thought he might like to have some clean laundry. He’s always complaining about missing socks.”
“Leave it. I have less than an hour before I have to go back to work. Is your dad at Martin’s?”
“Golfing.” I’m still in awe. He says his shot is not perfect, but the fact that my dad is golfing less than six months after his stroke just blows my mind.
“Tick tock, baby.”
“Just a second.” I wrinkle my nose, tossing several washcloths into the laundry basket. “Why does he have so many washcloths under his bed? They’re not really wet, they’re just a little crusty in areas. I’d say he’s using them to blow his nose, but they kind of smell.”
Flint chuckles. “He’s definitely blowing something in them, just not snot.”
I use the side of the bed to climb to my feet, rubbing my lower back a bit. “What are you talking about?”
“Same reason he takes long showers. Now wash your hands and get your ass in the bedroom.”
“Long showers … wash my—ew!” I cringe, holding my hands out from my body, fingers stiff. “Semen? That’s semen on those washcloths?”
“Hence the smell.” He grins as I hurry past him to the bathroom, surgically scrubbing my hands with hot water and lots of soap.
“Boys are gross. That is just gross!”
“Forty-seven minutes, Elle. Let’s go,” he scolds me, while loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt.
We didn’t have sex at night until the addition at the back of the house for my dad was complete. Apparently, I’m too loud during sex, which didn’t work with an open stairwell between our bedroom and Flint’s office where my dad slept. So Flint hired someone to take my dad to his appointments so we could have sex over Flint’s lunch break. And when my dad no longer required long days of therapy, Flint introduced my dad to Martin, and now they are buddies who just so happen to hang out during the middle of the day.
Coincidence? I don’t think so.
“I thought the nooners would stop when my dad’s new room was finished.” I follow Flint into the bedroom.
He’s already naked from the waist up.
“Yeah, well …” He pulls my tee over my head and unhooks my bra. “That’s before I discovered you have such a dirty mouth during sex. It’s so fucking hot. And the only time I get you completely uncensored is over the noon hour when we’re all alone.”
“I don’t have a dirty mouth.”
He ducks down, sucking in my nipple until I feel it between my legs. Every part of my body is hypersensitive and so responsive at this point in my pregnancy. I feel good. And horny. So horny. “Fuck me …” I close my eyes, threading my fingers through his hair.
He chuckles, lapping his tongue over the bite marks. “So dirty.”
I love this part. Mr. Tick Tock Hurry Up drops to his knees before me. I think he’d forego his own orgasm if he had to choose between it and this moment. It’s my favorite moment too.
“Hey, baby,” he whispers over my belly just before pressing his lips to my little bump, hands on my hips.
Tears fill my eyes today, the way they did yesterday, and the day before that—the way they have since the first time he did this so many months ago.
“It’s me, your dad.” Another kiss to my belly. “You’re loved.” Another kiss. “You’re wanted.” Another kiss. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in twelve years.” Another kiss before his voice lowers even more.
Here it comes …
“Be nice to your mommy. She’s the second best thing that’s happened to me in twelve years.” Dark eyes meet mine as his lips stay pressed to my belly.
I feel loved. I feel wanted. I feel like someone moved Heaven and Earth for me.
He slides down my leggings and panties. I suck in a breath as a shiver jolts up the entire length of my body from his fingertips ghosting along the back of my bare legs.
His touch has had this effect on me since the first time his hand touched mine. At the time I thought it was this craving for any touch after feeling starved of that kind of affection for so long. I was wrong.
It’s Flint.
It’s his touch.
It’s me.
It’s how he reacts to my touch.
It’s us.
We’re that moment of light and whisper of hope that sprouts from the barren ground after the end of the world. It’s not him. It’s not me. It’s us. We defy the laws of existence. We are forgiveness and redemption. What we have is not a victory against all odds, it’s the inevitable.
Just as his mouth moves toward my legs, I shake my hand and give him the same crooked finger he likes to give me. He gives me a questioning look but obeys, standing to his full height. I back him up to the bed, working on removing his pants and briefs.
He steps out of them and sits on the bed.
“I hate how we got here.” I crawl up onto his lap, standing tall on my knees, looking down on him.
His brow draws tight as he palms my backside. We don’t pretend my life with Alex didn’t happen. We don’t pretend Flint didn’t kill Heidi. The pain of our pasts keeps us grounded, focused, and living in gratitude.
“But I’m glad we made it.” I kiss him, and he guides me onto him, both of us letting go of a moan.
Sometimes I like our quick and dirty-talking nooners. And sometimes I like this position where we stare into each other’s eyes and spend our lunch time falling in love all over again.
We kiss. His hand kneads my breast before sliding between us, his thumb making circles on my clit. I can’t see past the little bump between us, but I love, love watching his face as he watches his hand. His tongue makes a lazy swipe along his lower lip, eyelids heavy with lust like he doesn’t know what he wants more—to touch me there or taste me there.
I lean forward and suck in that bottom lip of his, and then I slide my tongue into his mouth. He moans, moving both of his hands back to my hips.
“Flint …” I curl my fingers into his back as this builds into something stronger and erratic. Our breaths quicken.
“Elle …” His grip on my hips tightens, and he slams me onto him as his hips rock up into me. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Our mouths crash together again seconds before we fall apart. I love being in Flint’s world. It’s tragic. It’s complicated. It’s filled with obstacles. But …
It’s passionate.
It’s addictive.
It’s the deepest kind of love.
It’s everything.
His forehead falls to my shoulder and my body collapses into his. “I love you.”
When the tick tock of responsibility approaches, we make our way to the bathroom and piece ourselves back together. Like every day, I button his shirt, tie his tie, and help him into his suit jacket.
“Well, I have to wash some spank rags.” I give his tie one final adjustment.
He chuckles. “Diapers, spank rags, underwear when they have a million accidents during potty training … spit up …” He shrugs. “Cleaning up bodily fluids is ninety percent of parenting.”
“And the other ten percent?”
“Finding ten minutes of alone time to have sex with your husband.” He grins. In a flash it fades, just like the color from his face.
My eyebrows ease up my forehead as I bite my lower lip and nod. It’s funny how we’ve not breached this topic. I never feel like it’s my place to bring it up. Even my dad has managed to not ask Flint if he plans on making an honest woman out of me.
“I see. Well…” I tug on his lapels “…I hope my baby daddy doesn’t get too jealous when I sneak off for ten minutes to have sex with my husband.” I can’t resist tightening his tie just a little more, like a noose. “First I need to find this husband. Maybe Amanda can find a good match for me. I have
a thing for guys with wavy red hair. Blue-collar workers. Pet lovers. Pickup drivers. Soccer players instead of American football.”
We have a silent stare off. I wish I could read his mind, but he’s not giving me a single clue. Not one single tell.
Finally, his lips twist and he nods once. “I’ll give Amanda your wish list.”
I smooth my hand down his tie. “You do that.”
His hands claim my head just before he plants a no-question-who-owns-me kiss on my mouth. “Use the sanitary cycle on those washcloths,” he whispers over my lips before disappearing out the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Flint
THIRTY-FIVE WEEKS
ELLE’S MISERABLE IN the dead of summer. Harrison’s showing anxiety as we turn the spare bedroom into a nursery. It’s as if he thought we were joking about the baby until I assembled the crib. Even after seeing the 3D ultrasound, which he thought was extremely cool, he hasn’t shown signs of reality setting in, but the crib—the physical change in his surroundings—has caused a flare up in his attitude and anxiety.
An unexpected surprise to this new life of ours has been Jon. He’s almost made a complete recovery, and he loves working in the garden with me. “Ellen wants me to stay, but I’m better. I don’t need her to take care of me. She’s going to have her hands full. You guys need to settle into your own routine.” He tugs at the weeds that popped up overnight.
“Who would help me in the yard?” I glance over at him with a grin.
“I’m sure you’d manage. I’m itching to get out on my boat, but I won’t leave until the baby gets here.”
I shake my head. “She’s not going to like it.”
“What if you hinted that it might be best if I weren’t here all the time?”
Ten weeks ago I fucked up and said the word husband and we haven’t mentioned it since then, but I see the looks she gives me. “She’s hormonal. Hot. And sometimes I think she wants to rip my nuts off. I’d rather not be the one to suggest you leave. Five more weeks. Just ride it out. She might feel differently after the baby’s here demanding so much of her time.”
Jon tosses a handful of weeds into the bucket and wipes his brow with his sleeve. “I shouldn’t have made you those suits.”
“Those are the best-fitting suits I have ever owned. Why would you say that?”
“She thinks we bonded over that.”
I laugh, but it’s true. I fell in love with Jonathan after he hand made me three suits.
“Now she’ll never believe you want me to leave. She’ll think I need to stay for you just as much as her.”
“I do love those suits.”
“Which one does Ellen like best?”
I don’t even have to think about it. “Classic black with a vest. She has a thing for three-piece suits.”
Jon nods. “She has good taste. Now, that’s the one you need to wear when you marry her.”
I still, planted on my hands and knees, sweat dripping down my face and arms.
“Don’t act surprised. Did you really think I was going to let you bring a child into this world with my only child and not make her your wife first?”
I sit back on my heels and grab my water bottle, taking a long drink before screwing the cap back on and tossing it aside.
“What color shirt and tie?”
Jon smiles.
*
ELLE HAS A late appointment. Right after I hired someone to take Jon to his therapy appointments, she started seeing clients again at their homes, just like her father suggested. She still gives me the hairy eyeball when she visits me at work and sees the sign for my new tenant, a tutoring service. I can’t lie. I prefer her making noise on top of me in bed than above me at work.
This is the perfect time to talk with Harrison alone. I glance in his room, but he’s not there.
“What the hell, Harrison? Get those rats out of the crib!”
He shrugs. “They like it in here.”
“I will kill every single one if you don’t get them out of here now.”
“Elle will kill you if you kill her babies.” Harrison huffs as he sets them on the floor and says, “Cage.” They all scurry back to his room and get in their cage.
I don’t want to admit that I’m counting down the days in their three-year life expectancy, but I most certainly am.
“I’m going to ask Ellen to marry me. Are you good with that?” There’s no beating around the bush with him. I’ve discovered the direct approach is best.
Harrison locks the door to the cage. “Why? What’s the point? Does that make her my mom?”
“No. It makes her my wife. And your stepmom, I suppose, but you don’t have to think of her any differently than you do now.”
“Then why marry her?”
“I love her and it’s the right thing to do.”
“Why is it the right thing to do? If you were going to get married, shouldn’t you have done it before she got pregnant? Before she moved in here?”
“Yes. I should have married her before she got pregnant. Yes, I should have done it before asking her to move in with us. But to be honest, after your mom died, I didn’t think I’d ever get married again. I didn’t think I’d have any more children. Ellen and this baby have taken me by surprise, and I’m still struggling to do the right thing.”
“Grandma was pissed off when she found out about the baby. She’s not going to like you getting married.”
“Sandy is upset because your mom died. I’m not sure she’ll ever completely stop grieving her loss. But if she needs to be pissed off at me to deal with her grief, then I’ll take it.”
“It’s stupid for her to be pissed off at you. It’s not your fault Mom died.”
This is it. Right here. Right now. There may never be a better opportunity to tell Harrison the truth. I know nothing good can come of it for his life, but I’m so tired of carrying this secret around. The guilt that it was my fault is enough to last a lifetime. The guilt of him not knowing is enough to last more than one lifetime.
“I want to talk about your mom’s death.”
Harrison plops down on his window seat. “What about it?”
I grab my vibrating phone out of my pocket. “Just a second, buddy.” I answer it. “Flint Hopkins.”
“Mr. Hopkins, my name is Laurel. I’m a nurse at Methodist Hospital. Your name is listed as Ellen Rodgers’ emergency contact. She’s been in a car accident.”
And. My. Whole. Fucking. World. Ends.
*
Ellen
THERE WAS CHOPIN and heavy evening traffic. The first made the second bearable. I turned off the main road to take a longer but less congested way home. I saw the bend in the road, headlights, and then nothing. Every day really is a miracle. We dodge a million chances at death for one chance to live. The odds are not in our favor.
My name. Lots of people and echoed voices. Lights. Beeping. My name again. Baby … someone said baby. My baby? She’s a girl. I didn’t think I wanted to know, but when we had the 3D ultrasound, I couldn’t resist. Flint was right.
My stomach feels tight and there’s pain in my lower back. And my head hurts. I feel my pulse in my head. It’s angry. Why is my pulse angry with me?
“The father is here. Let’s get her prepped for OR Two.”
Whose father? My father? My baby’s father?
“I’m here.” Something warm touches my forehead.
I open my eyes again. Flint. He’s wearing a blue gown and a cap like a doctor going into surgery. OR Two. He’s not a doctor.
“What are you doing?” I say in a weak voice. Or at least it feels weak. I feel weak … and my back hurts, but not as much as my head.
“You’re going to have a C-section. I’ll be with you the whole time.”
“No.” That’s not the plan. I have a midwife. We’re having a natural birth. We did the 3D ultrasound when they were concerned about the baby’s growth, but everything was fine.
“You were in an accident. You
’re fine. The baby is fine. But your water broke and she needs to come out now. She’ll be fine.”
Who is this guy? My Flint speaks with confidence and authority. This imposter speaks with a shaky voice, like every other word is broken.
I don’t like this. Why are his eyes red?
“I’m scared,” I whisper.
His brows come together in an anguished expression. “Don’t be scared.” He kisses my forehead.
C-section. It’s too early. Her little lungs aren’t ready. Her immune system isn’t mature. I close my eyes and wait because I don’t feel anything. The back pain is gone. I don’t feel her.
Beeping. Voices. Lights. Flint.
“Ellen, say hi to your daughter.”
I open my eyes as a nurse holds my tiny little girl beside my head for two seconds before whisking her off in the other direction. She’s too small. She’s not crying.
“Is she breathing?”
No one answers me. Flint’s head is turned, looking in the direction of our baby.
“Flint?” I say louder, aching with desperation.
He jerks his attention back to me.
“Is she breathing?”
“Mom needs an update,” the doctor calls from just in front of me.
And then there’s this faint squeak, but I hear it and tears spring free.
“She’s five pounds three ounces and breathing on her own,” the nurse says.
Flint kisses me again, and I die a little seeing the unshed tears in his eyes. “She’s fine, Elle.”
“You stay with her.”
“Elle—”
“Don’t take your eyes off her. Promise me.”
I can’t worry about the conflict on his face. She’s my priority, and until I can be there with her, I need him to be her advocate.
He nods.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Flint
ARIA MEANS MELODY in English. It’s also the name of our daughter who I have not taken my eyes off of since they moved her from the OR to the NICU. She’s doing well, and they don’t anticipate her being here long.
Jon and Harrison are with Ellen, and my parents will catch a flight here first thing in the morning. I’ve called a friend of mine to find out everything he can about the accident. In the meantime, it’s just me and Aria, the nurses monitoring her, and the other preemies in the NICU.