by R. C. Martin
“Don’t,” she whispers. “Just wait, okay? I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
“Okay,” I mutter, now sure that I wasn’t imagining her crying. It sounds like it’s started up again.
“I miss you,” she whimpers.
“I miss you, too.”
“I’m sorry,” she sniffles. “I’m sorry for running away. It was impulsive and I was feeling emotional and overly sensitive and I overreacted and—I’m sorry.”
“Do me a favor? Next time you feel like running, don’t go so far.”
“I promise.” She barely gets the words out and then all I hear is her muffled cry.
“Baby, what’s wrong? Tell me,” I plead, my heart speeding up with my rising anxiety.
“It’s nothing. I just really miss you. I should probably go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I blow out a deep breath, knowing that she’s keeping something from me. She’s denied it twice and I’m certain she’s way too stubborn for me to get it out of her over the phone tonight. “When does your flight get in? I’ll come get you.”
“No—I—Logan is going to pick me up.”
“Daphne—”
“Please, I don’t want to fight about it.”
“Fine,” I mutter.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I nod, even though she can’t see it. This call seems to be ending too fast and I don’t know how to stop it. Claiming defeat, I say the only thing I feel I have room to say. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
She disconnects the call and I fall back on my pillows, feeling more beaten down than I anticipated. I thought talking to her would make me feel better, but something is wrong. Knowing that I have to wait until tomorrow to speak to her again, I grow restless. There’s no way I’m going to be able to sleep, now. Instead, I get out of bed and head to my drawing table.
I wave wildly when I pull up to the curb to pick up my skinny-ass-skank. She smiles and shakes her head before she climbs into the car, tossing her bags into the backseat. I lean over and wrap her in a quick hug, knowing I don’t have long before the traffic police shoo me away, and then we’re off.
“I have so much to tell you,” I gush.
“Really? Me, too. You go first.”
“Okay,” I concede, so excited I can barely sit still. “So, last night was crazy. Long story short, Judah kissed me, Roman punched him—and left this beautiful bruise on that flawless face—and then I told him I loved him and he told me he loved me too, and the party was so much fun.”
“Whoa—what?” she cries, turning to face me in her seat. “How about you make the short story long? Starting with, Roman told you he loves you? Wait, no—Judah kissed you? What an asshole! I mean, honestly, take a hint!”
Her reaction makes me laugh. As soon as I’ve collected myself, I do as she asks and start from the beginning. I notice that the entire time I’m speaking, even though she’s listening, she’s distracted; I can tell by the way she fidgets with her fingers. Curious as to what she has to tell me, I try and gloss over some of the details in my own story. She won’t have it. She asks questions until I’ve left out nothing.
“Okay, that’s everything. Now fess up, what’s going on with you?”
“Um…”
When she offers me nothing else, I take my eyes off the road for two seconds to look at her. I’m surprised to find her on the verge of crying. “Daphne?”
“I think you should pull over.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I don’t want to tell you what I’m about to tell you while you’re driving eighty miles-per-hour.”
Oh, shit. This is big.
I pull off the interstate onto the shoulder and put on my hazard lights before I turn in my seat to give her all of my attention. I know that whatever she’s about to say has to do with Trevor, but I can’t imagine what it is. Maybe she found out why he didn’t come home Thursday night. Maybe it’s bad. Maybe they’re going to break up! Oh, no—maybe—
“I’m pregnant.”
My jaw drops, leaving my mouth wide open as I gawk at her. That’s definitely not what I thought she would say. I don’t know how long we sit in silence, her shedding quiet tears, me staring at her in complete and utter shock. I shake my head, twice, trying to make words come out of my mouth.
“Are—are you sure?”
“I think so,” she murmurs. “I spent a week’s worth of wages on pregnancy tests.”
“Uh, how? I mean—obviously I know how, but how? Aren’t you on the pill?”
She nods, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “I am, but you know how bad I was about remembering to take it everyday. Before Trevor and I—well, I can’t remember how many days I had missed before our first time.”
A laugh bubbles out of me and I cover my mouth immediately, guilt silencing my outburst. “I’m sorry,” I mumble from behind my fingers. “It’s just—” I drop my hands into my lap. “It’s just, I can’t believe the first time you had sex with Mack, you got pregnant. Then four years later, the second time you have sex, and your first time with Trevor, you get pregnant. You’re like the most fertile woman ever.”
She starts to laugh, which makes me laugh, too. Only, it’s not long before her laughter dissolves into a full on sob. I reach over and take her hands in mine, squeezing her fingers tight to remind her that she’s not alone. “Hey, it’s going to be okay!”
“This is my fault! I told him I was on the pill, I told him we were protected, that I didn’t want to wait and—”
“Shh, Daph, don’t talk like that. People get pregnant while they are on the pill all the time!” I assure her. “It’s not one-hundred-percent preventative. The only way you can guarantee that you don’t get pregnant is if you don’t have sex. This could have happened to anyone. Stop beating yourself up!”
“I can’t give up another baby, Logan. I can’t!”
“I know, I know,” I murmur, reaching up to dry her cheeks. It’s useless, as her big alligator tears are relentless, but I don’t mind.
“We haven’t even talked about having kids. Not ever. Not really. It was like talking about getting married. We didn’t discuss it because it felt like we were planning our lives with other people. Now…” She hiccups as she reaches up to wipe her nose. “We’ve only been dating for three weeks! What if this totally freaks him out?”
Her question is like a smack across the face. I realize, right now, she doesn’t need me to comfort her. She needs me to talk some sense into her. No more Mr. Nice Guy.
“Daphne, I love you, but you need to get a grip! Let’s be real, here. You’ve been dating a lot longer than three weeks. More like three years.” I hold up a hand to silence the protest I can see written all over her face. “Yes, you have. You labeled it three weeks ago; you sealed the deal three weeks ago, but it’s been you and him for years now. This won’t freak him out.”
I hesitate, not entirely sure that that’s true. Like she said, they’ve never even talked about wanting kids before. He might be a little bit crazy not to experience a moment of panic at the news that he’s helped to create a human being, which is now growing inside of our beloved’s womb.
“Well—maybe a little,” I concede. “But he’ll stand by you, no matter what. You’re his family now, Daph.”
“Oh, shit!” she cries, clapping her hands around her face. “My mother! There goes any hope of her ever speaking to me ever again.”
At first, I’m inclined to agree. Their relationship has been almost non-existent since her first pregnancy. I know that her dad and Roman have tried reuniting the two over the years. The most they can boast of is the ability to be cordial when they’re in the same room as one another, which doesn’t happen very often. Part of me is surprised she even thought about the woman at all.
Then I realize, of course she did. This pregnancy is different. This baby is hers. She’s going to be a mother—for real this time. Seeing as how Trevor doesn’t have a mother or a father, Daphne might ac
tually need her parents. However, if her and her mom can’t find a way to forgive each other, who will she have to turn to? None of our friends have babies yet. I know if it was me, I’d pretty much expect my mother to move in with me for at least a month.
Then again, I’m not as strong as Daphne. I don’t know anyone who is. But that doesn’t mean that she won’t need help.
I suddenly remember last night. I think of Roman and his epic speech about forgiveness and I realize something. “Roman forgave me,” I blurt out. She looks at me like I’ve got two heads and I giggle before I clarify. “I know it’s not the same, but hear me out.
“I’m not Addie. I didn’t grow up in church and I swear and I party and I used to pick up guys like you pick up books. I’m nothing like the girl I’m sure he thought he’d end up with. I mean, come on, Addie was practically the Virgin Mary, for crying out loud. I’m sure Kathryn was an angel, too. Me? I’m the sexy badass—not to mention a badass who was rude to your brother for, like, four years straight. Yet, despite all the reasons why we don’t make sense, he loves me. He has forgiven me for how I treated him, how I treated his friends, how I treated myself. I used to think that he was just raised right. You both were. But it’s more than that. He didn’t learn to forgive from your mom. God taught him that.
“God taught you, too. I know you don’t talk to Him anymore, but maybe now’s a good time to rekindle that connection. Maybe then you’ll find the courage you need to confront your mother. I’m not saying that one conversation will erase the past. It won’t. But you’re going to be a mom—Shit! You’re going to be a mom!—and maybe if you forgave her, if you reminded her how the God she worships desires for her to forgive, maybe you don’t have to be afraid that she’ll never speak to you again. Maybe she’ll help you when you need her.
“You know what else?” I continue, lifting a finger to signal that I’m almost done. “Even if she doesn’t come around, at least you’ll know you did your part. You’ll be able to let go of all the hurt and disappointment and resentment and move on and be the best damn mama that kid could ever wish for.”
I sigh contentedly when I’m finished, pleased with my little speech. Daphne, on the other hand, sits dumbstruck for at least a minute, staring at me with a contemplative look on her face. “Damn,” she says, finally breaking the silence. “I can’t believe I’m getting spiritual advice from you, of all people.”
“I know, right? Roman would be so proud.”
“Yeah,” she says with a halfhearted chuckle.
“You’ll think about it, though, right? Like—really think about it?” I ask hopefully.
She nods and wipes away the last of her tears. “I will.”
“Good. Now, let’s go find your guy, okay? Oh, and tell me about the rest of your trip!”
It’s just after two when we exit off the interstate into Fort Collins. I automatically assume that Trevor will be at Harvey and Grace’s place, so I have Logan drive straight there. I notice right away that his truck isn’t in the driveway, but we head inside anyway. I don’t knock or ring the bell, since there’s an open door policy every Sunday, and we find everyone on the back deck.
“Hey, guys,” I say as Logan and I step out and join them.
“Oh, my god, she’s back!” cries Willow, throwing her arms up in delight. Pete and Coder cheer and Logan and I exchange a look before Grace offers up an explanation.
“I’m sure you’ve noticed, the Highway Robber isn’t here.” I stifle a moan, already worried about where this is headed. “He was, because he knows better than to skip out on family dinners, but we made him go home. He was in serious need of a nap. Granted, he’s probably not sleeping, as he obviously can’t sleep without his Trevor Whisperer, but he was bringing down the mood so we had to kick him out.”
“The next time you go out of town,” Harvey cuts in, “take him with you. Please.”
“And don’t ever break up,” adds Willow. “Ever. I might have to take a leave of absence if you do that.”
In spite of everything, I laugh.
“I made ice cream,” says Grace as she stands. “Do you want a scoop or two before you go?”
My stomach turns as I look at all of their empty bowls and I press both hands against my stomach as I decline. “I better just head home.”
“Okay.” She wraps me in an embrace as she whispers, “Go make up. Call if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Gracie,” I murmur, returning her hug.
Twenty minutes later, Logan drops me off at home. I don’t blame her when she doesn’t even get out of the car, claiming that the only person who’s allowed safe passage into the Highway Robber’s lair is me. Instead, I thank her—for everything—and take a deep breath before I walk through the front door.
The second I close myself inside, the weight of the last few days seems to grow heavier. We spoke last night, but our conversation was so inconsequential, it doesn’t really count. I drop my things in the entryway, unable to carry them a step further. My heart beats faster as my stomach knots up with nerves and it’s all I can do to keep from hyperventilating. Then he steps out of his drawing room and, all at once, it’s easier to breathe.
As his eyes rake over me, mine devour him. He’s in a pair of cutoff sweatpants and a white beater. Comfy Trevor makes my insides tingle with a desperate longing to be in his arms. His hair is a mess, as if he’s been running his fingers through it constantly; his eyes are a picture of his exhaustion, and—
That’s new…
My feet start carrying me toward him, my focus glued to his right forearm. As I move, he moves. We meet in the middle and he lifts his hands to reach for me, but I stop him, grabbing hold of his arm so that I might admire his latest ink. I’m annoyed with myself when I start to tear up, but I can’t help it.
It’s a wolf. Black, like the one on his bicep. She’s bigger, as if she’s closer, and she takes up a little more than half of his arm. She’s beautifully detailed; her fur nice and thick; her stance regal and strong. She’s walking toward him—the wolf who sits staring at the moon. I know that it’s a she because she’s looking back at me—only, instead of wolf’s eyes, they’re mine. It sounds creepy when I think it, but seeing it?
She’s lovely.
Sometimes, Trevor and I don’t need words. This is one of those times. He doesn’t have to explain what I’m looking at. I know. I know that his lone wolf isn’t alone anymore, just like he doesn’t live in this house by himself, anymore. I know that he’s going to tell me about Crystal and we’re going to make up and move on. I know that I’m going to tell him about our baby and he’s going to be okay—we’re going to be okay. I know that no matter how many bad days we have or how many fights we have or how much we hurt each other, we’ll always get over it. We’ll always have each other.
When I look up at him, I find him watching me. Once our eyes meet, he reaches up to sweep my bangs away from my face. There are so many things we need to say to each other, things we need to figure out, but just being with him—here, now—is already starting to heal what was broken. When he leans down to kiss me, I don’t stop him. I’ll burst into tears if I try to speak and I’ve already cried enough this weekend. Instead, I wrap my arms around his neck and press myself up on my tiptoes as I deepen our kiss. He pulls me closer, holding me so tight I feel like I might break, and it feels amazing.
Before I know it, my shirt is on the floor—then his. We frantically step out of our shorts and I start to wonder if we’ll even make it to the bed.
We don’t.
Somewhere between my bra being tossed aside, and his briefs being kicked from around his ankle, we tumble onto the couch. I gasp when he pushes himself inside of me, gripping his shoulders for something to hold onto as I allow myself to get lost in this moment. Three days—I went three days without this. My memory of him doesn’t hold a candle to the real thing. He’s neither slow, nor gentle, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. This feels urgent, necessary, passionate—and it’s mind
blowing.
My first orgasm comes fast, the pleasure so unrelenting I feel completely out of control of my body. I claw my fingers down Trevor’s back as I cry out his name. He silences me with a kiss that’s so raw and demanding that I’m afraid my heart might beat right out of my chest if we don’t stop soon. He pulls his mouth from mine just as my second orgasm starts to build.
“More. More, Trevor—more!” I chant, needing everything he has to give.
I lift my hips, coordinating my thrusts with his, showcasing my need for more. He frees the sexiest growl as he reaches for my legs and guides them around his waist. His fingers dig into my hips as he rises to his knees. I reach behind me and grip the arm of the couch, needing to brace myself as he takes me at this new angle—this gloriously blissful angle, which causes him to go deeper. I can barely breathe, let alone speak, but senseless words pour from my mouth anyway. His fingers dig into my skin as he holds me up and I close my eyes, wishing to commit his possessive grip to my memory.
“Look at me,” he insists.
I obey.
“No more running, you understand?” he pants as he buries himself inside me, holding back nothing. “This is where you belong. Here. With me.”
“Yes. Yes—Trev—more—please! Yes!”
He increases his pace, which I didn’t even know was possible, and we fill the room with the sounds of our shared ecstasy. I can tell by the way he calls out my name that he’s not far behind me. I burst from the inside out, the sensation so powerful it curls my toes, and he follows shortly after, moaning throughout the duration of his release before collapsing on top of me.
For a few minutes, we work to catch our breath.
Three days. I went three days without this. Without him. What the hell was I thinking?
After a short while, he props himself up on his elbows and looks down at me. I trace my fingers along his face, savoring the sight of him.
“Hi,” he murmurs.
“Hi,” I whisper.
He kisses me and then gets up. I lay still as I watch him disappear into the bedroom, only to return shortly with a warm washcloth and a blanket. He cleans up our mess and then stretches out beside me, covering the both of us with the blanket. I turn on my side so that we’re facing each other and sigh contentedly when he drapes his arm around my waist.