Make Me a Mommy: A Mother's Day Secret Baby Romance

by Liz K. Lorde

“I could stay?” James leans forward and whispers into my ear.

  His breath on my cheek feels odd and I need to put distance between him and me.

  “It’s fine,” I say and take a tiny step back. “I need to get Tanner to bed and then catch up on some things I haven’t had a chance to do during the day.”

  It sounds lame, but he seems to be accepting my decision.

  “Good night then, babe,” he murmurs and goes to kiss me on my mouth.

  I’m not ready for it. As he leans toward me, I turn my face and his lips touch my cheek.

  For a few seconds, I stay by the door and watch his tall figure disappear into the dark.

  When he’s out of sight, I shut the door and lean against it—breathing in and out. A tear rolls down my cheek.

  Life just isn’t fair—and it sucks.

  “Mom,” Tanner yells, and I’m snapped out of my wallowing in self-pity.

  With a deep sigh, I force a smile to my face, wipe any remaining tear from my cheeks with the back of my arm, and find my son.

  “Will you read me a story?”

  To my surprise, Tanner is in his pajamas and sitting on his bed. His short legs move back and forth. On his lap, I see he’s holding Dog.

  Out of all his toys—and Tanner has lots of toys—Dog is his most favorite. Dog is a big brown plush dog. By now his left ear is a bit tattered, the collar he once had is gone, and one of his legs has had several repairs to it. Dog is well loved.

  I still remember the day Shawn and I went to a fair and he won Dog. It was early in the relationship.

  “Dog needs his right leg repaired,” Tanner’s voice brings me back to the here and now.

  “Again?” I walk into the room and sit next to him.

  I take the animal out of his hand and examine the damage. It’s not bad.

  “Remind me in the morning. He’ll survive the night.”

  “Can he have a Band-Aid?”

  “Of course darling. I’ll go and get one.”

  When I return, Tanner is in bed and holding Dog out to me. The Band-Aid is applied and the dog goes under the cover.

  “Shall I read ‘Romper goes on a journey’?”

  Tanner nods.

  By the time I’ve read the first page, his eye lids are drooping. Before I continue reading, I lean forward and give him a kiss on the cheek. Then I ruffle his hair—it’s the only time I can do it without him complaining.

  “I’m not…” he doesn’t finish his sentence.

  For a while I stay by his bedside and watch him sleep. His face is snuggled into Dog.

  For the umpteenth time I think how much Shawn would love to see his little boy like this. But he never will.

  Just like Tanner will never get to know his father. Sure I can tell him about Shawn, what a brave and amazing person he was. But it’s not the same, is it?

  Before I leave the bedroom, I lean over my little boy one last time and give him another kiss.

  As I walk out, I turn off the light and head back downstairs.

  There’s a knock on the front door.

  I furrow my brow. Who could this be? Was James back because he’d forgotten something, or had he come back to try and convince me to let him stay the night?

  The last thing I need now is an argument with him.

  There’s stuff I need to do. If I now have to fob off James, it will take away from the precious me time I get.

  As I walk down the stairs, I rehearse what I’m going to say, and so far my excuse has always worked.

  We can’t, not with Tanner. He’s not ready. And so on.

  Of course once we’re married I know these excuses won’t wash anymore. Fingers crossed the wedding won’t be for at least another twelve months.

  Now I’m replaying the proposal. It was so public, so unexpected, so—it’s too hard to put into words. All I know is, I felt put in the spotlight, which I kind of was, and had to say yes.

  With a sigh, I realize I’ve made a mess of things.

  How can I marry another when my heart and soul belongs to someone already?

  I stop at the bottom of the stairs and close my eyes briefly. I need to be strong. It’s not the time yet—it doesn’t feel right. Whenever James touches me, there’s no spark, only a reminder of how much I miss Shawn.

  Perhaps I better resume my counseling. Expert help might help me get over Shawn and move on with my life.

  Deep down I know, if Shawn were dead, he’d want me to be happy.

  But here’s the problem.

  Actually, here are two problems.

  First, if Shawn is dead, he’d want me to be happy.

  What if he’s not dead?

  Sure, people are telling me I’m clutching onto a straw if I tell myself he’s not dead. I mean it’s been seven years now.

  Second, I want to be happy with Shawn. I don’t fucking want to be happy without Shawn. I want to have my happily ever after and be happy with…

  I rouse myself into action. Time to face James and fight whatever battle I need to tonight, to make sure he doesn’t stay.

  As I take the final steps to my front door, I straighten up and pull my shoulders back. A ballet teacher in my youth told me to always pull my shoulders back to appear confident. Her motto was if you dance with confidence no one will know if you’re making a mistake.

  I need to dance this dance with James with confidence. I need to lead.

  The words of rejection are already on my lips as I open the door.

  As my eyes move over the man standing in the doorway, my instincts scream at me to slam the door shut in his face.

  It can’t be, it simply cannot be.

  Either my eyes are deceiving me, or I’m suffering a severe mental breakdown.

  “Can I come in?”

  When he speaks, I nearly scream out loud.

  Chapter 5

  Shawn

  The second I see her eyes, I know I’ve found the woman of my dreams.

  And judging by her reaction, she knows me.

  She’s even more beautiful than how I picture her every day in my mind. Intense green eyes seize me up before they widen in disbelief. Wave after wave of emotion washes over her face.

  When I first knocked and there was no response, I thought she must be out or I had the wrong address.

  It had been a long shot, calling the person handling my file in the military. But persistence paid off.

  As far as I’m concerned, it’s persistence, hard work, and a positive attitude that sets extraordinary apart from ordinary. At least, I think that’s part of my beliefs. It may be that I acquired this over the last few years, but I think deep down, I have held this belief for a long time.

  I’d like to think my core values are still there. It would be fucking awful to find that, once I get my full memory back—if I ever do—that I’m some selfish, narcissistic prick. It seems highly unlikely.

  I mean, whilst I can’t say I’ve worked hard all my life and been persistent at the same time, I can confidently say I’ve worked hard over the last few years and been persistent in getting to the bottom of who I am.

  If I hadn’t been persistent, I would not be standing here right now.

  “Can I come in?” I ask again, since the beautiful woman is just staring at me.

  For a second or two, I thought she was going to slam the door shut. It was as if she’d seen a ghost.

  I hope she’ll be able to help me shed light on some of my dark past.

  By now, part of me has come to terms with not remembering. In fact, on some days, I think it’s almost a blessing. Let’s face it: apart from being haunted by this exquisite face, I’ve got no baggage to carry around.

  Some people have so much, I pity them.

  “Okay.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

  She takes a step back, and I walk straight into the hallway of her house.

  It looked massive from the outside, and now that I’m standing inside, I see it’s huge.

  “This way,” she u
ses her right arm to point straight ahead.

  “Lead on, and I shall follow,” I say and try to smile a little.

  Truth is, I don’t much feel like smiling—at least, not until I know who she is and why I remember her.

  Now that I’ve laid eyes on her, I fear she may be an ex-girlfriend.

  I mean, if she were current, she would have…

  I stop the thought.

  It’s fucking hard not to jump to conclusions.

  She leads me through the hallway and turns left. There are no photographs on the wall, nor are there paintings or any other type of decoration. Right at the door where I came in stood a small wooden shelf with shoes at the bottom and keys and a torch on top.

  Out of the corner of one eye, I can see the kitchen. It looks more lived in, with papers piled up on the bench, a mug on the table, and an open book next to it. The room gives off warmth.

  We’re now standing in a massive lounge room.

  Actually, I’m not sure if it’s a lounge or a dining room.

  There’s a white leather couch, some armchairs, and a dining room table able to fit more than ten people. I wonder why she needs such a large table.

  Again, I notice the absence of pictures, photos, or works of art. The walls are bare. Cushions are scattered on the lounge, but the wooden coffee table is bare. One shelf, with books and a television, complete the room.

  “Care to sit down?” The way she has her arms folded in front of her chest leaves me to think she’s not overly pleased to see me. If I’m not mistaken, there’s a slight tremor running through her.

  “I prefer to stand, if you don’t mind.”

  Her right eyebrow arches upward a tiny bit.

  And so, I take a seat.

  “Look…” I’m not quite sure how to start this conversation. To say it’s awkward is a fucking understatement.

  Whenever I tell people I’ve lost my memory, there’s instantly this look of pity in their eyes.

  I don’t need anyone’s fucking pity. I need my fucking life back.

  “Why now? Why now?” She’s speaking so quietly I can barely hear her.

  “I need to know if I know you.” I decide it might be best to get straight to the point. If she’s an ex-girlfriend, I don’t want to hang around.

  My words obviously cut her deep because she flinches as if I’ve struck her.

  Had someone hurt her?

  “I…” It’s not like me to be at a loss for words, but those emerald eyes of hers are boring into me with such intensity, I feel as if any second, I’ll go up in flames. “Let me start at the beginning…well, maybe not the beginning beginning, but a bit earlier.”

  It could be the way I’m stumbling over my words or something else, but her lips curl up ever so slightly at the corner.

  “Afghanistan was the pits, from the bits I remember. Sometimes, I think it might be a good thing I don’t recall much. Anyway, since the accident, I do know that we were driving in a jeep.

  “All around us was a fire war. It was relentless. We’d been inserted in the most insane way. It was over a hundred degrees with no fucking shade. I reckon most people would have given up by now, but not SEALS. No fucking way.”

  I pause. I have to. The pounding in my head is starting. Some deep breathing will help me.

  Those few memories I have are fucking painful. Guns firing, shells exploding, and screaming. I think the screaming was the worst.

  “SEALS aren’t swayed by odds. Oh, no. Neither are SEALS worried about the number of enemies or the awful battle conditions. Apparently, SEALS prevail—or die.”

  Her eyes are boring into me. Her mouth is a tiny bit agape, so I can just see the tip of her tongue. I have to suppress the urge to get up and kiss her.

  Right now, she’s vulnerability personified.

  “I was riding in the back of the jeep. I’ve got little memory of what happened before, but apparently, we were shot at. How some of the others made it out is still not clear. Anyway, I was left behind. When I came to, I was in some makeshift hospital.”

  It’s difficult to tell her all this. All I came for is answers.

  Why do I remember her face? Is she important to me?

  But I can’t expect her to answer without a bit of background.

  “I was treated by Doctors Without Borders, and then I worked with them for a while. Eventually, I made my way back to the U.S. I worked as a security guard and suffered another injury. This time, though, some of my memory came back.

  “Not a lot, but a little. And one thing that always stayed with me was an image of this exquisite woman. She was beautiful beyond description. Somehow, I knew she was important, but I don’t know why.”

  It may be the light, but I think I can see a tiny tear roll down her cheek.

  “So, I had no way of working out how to find this woman until the other day. I watched television and saw her. So, now, I’m here to ask you personally: are you important to me? Is there a reason I remember your face?”

  I watch her face for any clues. The air feels thick, and even though I’m not wearing a shirt with a collar, I feel like loosening something around my neck.

  For a while, she just sits and keeps her eyes on me. It’s difficult to work out what exactly is going through her mind.

  Eventually, she drops her gaze and stares at her hands. They’re resting in her lap.

  “Yes,” she whispers, and I find myself leaning forward in my seat.

  A thriller could have me no more on the edge of my seat than this real-life scenario playing out right here, right now.

  “You…I-I mean we’re…no…we’re…” she stops.

  I hang on her every word, waiting, willing her to tell me about her, me, us.

  For some reason, I feel my heart racing in my chest. I know whatever she’s going to tell me is going to be of utmost importance and will add another piece to my very own puzzle.

  “I’m your wife. At least, I think I still am your wife.”

  At her words, my stomach turns inside out, and I’m torn between wanting to shout for joy or go and throw up.

  Those words—my wife—hit me like a speeding truck hits a brick wall.

  Chapter 6

  Evelyn

  Any second, I’m going to wake up and find out I’m dreaming—no, I’m going to find out I was having a nightmare. It’s the only explanation.

  I feel like slapping or pinching myself to end this terror, but it’s as if I’m frozen. None of my limbs respond to my commands.

  My brain refuses to accept what my eyes see. As I continue to stare, I don’t think I’m even blinking, and my eyeballs are starting to hurt.

  “Can I have a drink?” Shawn’s voice sounds a long way away.

  Of course, it sounds a long way away, because that’s how people sound in dreams. If I give it just a few more minutes, I’ll wake up. As I approach waking state, his voice will fade until I won’t hear him at all and it’ll be over.

  It’s too simple for an explanation.

  He makes a strange noise, as if clearing his throat.

  “Sorry,” I mumble and slowly get off the couch. Everything feels strange. It’s almost as if I’m having an out-of-body experience.

  “Ehm, I mean, if it’s not too much trouble, could you get me a drink, please?”

  My head turns toward him in slow motion.

  “Tea, coffee, beer, milk, what would you like?” I myself might need something much stronger. Not that I’m a spirit drinker, or a drinker full-stop, but if I had whiskey in the house, I’d have some right now.

  Ever since my pregnancy, I keep alcohol to a minimum.

  “Beer, thanks,” growls Shawn, and I stumble into the kitchen.

  For a few seconds, maybe even minutes, I hang onto the fridge door as I open it, as it if were my life raft.

  It’s real.

  Shawn is real.

  He is real and in my living room.

  Who would have thought?

  Holy shit.

  F
uck.

  My mind’s racing. Millions of thoughts and questions are tumbling over each other. The most important one—is this really happening?

  Maybe I’m just going mad or am developing a brain tumor which manifests with severe delusions. When I walk back into the other room, he won’t be there, not until my next episode.

  Eventually, I open the fridge door and find the beer. James likes to drink beer and keeps a bottle or two in my fridge.

  Slowly, I walk back to the living room and find Shawn exactly where I’d left him. So…I’m not having a delusional episode.

  I take a big breath in and walk toward him.

  My hand only shakes a little as I hold out the cool bottle.

  Our fingers touch for the briefest of seconds as he takes the drink from me.

  Electric shockwaves rip through me, followed by a severe aching. The tips of my fingers, where I felt his warm skin, are burning.

  I drink in his muscles of steel, his broad shoulders, and—almost of their own accord—my eyes move to his crotch. How I loved his cock.

  When he was inside of me…

  I stop myself.

  Feeling my cheeks burn, I look back up.

  He’s put his lips around the bottle and is taking a big swig.

  “So…” I start, trying to make sense of it all. “You were injured in Afghanistan and left for dead.” It’s more a statement than a question.

  I watch him nod as he takes another swig. His Adam’s apple bops in and out as the cool liquid slides down his throat.

  It’s hard not to imagine my fingers caressing that neck of his and running from there, along his shoulder, back, and chest. Despite the injuries he must have sustained, he looks amazing.

  “But why weren’t you shipped back here? I mean, once you were picked up?”

  My voice is a little shrill and out of control, but I’m trying my best here. Not only am I confused, I also have a million of questions buzzing around my head—and yet my body is only interested in one thing.

  “I don’t know. I think it might have to do with me not knowing who I was. Like I said, I lost my memory. Lots of things are still only a blur to me.”

  “How can that be? Don’t you wear those metal things around your neck all the time? And you must have been in uniform. Someone must have known who you were?” By now, I’m nearly shouting, and I’m trying to remind myself not to get too upset.