by Kim Loraine
“Let’s just say, his mom has always had him by the short and curlies. But now that we’re parents, she’s been guilting him in to attending mass every week. She’s convinced if he goes often enough he’ll remember why Meg needs to be christened and raised Catholic.”
“You don’t have to go?”
“Nope.” She beamed. “Heathen, remember? I’m exempt.”
The high-pitched wail of baby Meg rang out through the monitor sitting between them on the table.
“Shit, she’s awake.” Lena grimaced as she cleaned up the kitchen. “Can you go get her for me?”
“You . . . want me to get her?”
“Please? Just bring her into the living room. I’ve got to use the bathroom before I feed her.”
A wave of fear crashed over her. She’d successfully avoided holding any and all babies since the hospital. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she made her way to the nursery. Meg’s shock of dark hair was sticking up all over the place, framing a red, screaming face.
Valerie’s heart hammered in her chest, blood tingling like it had a current of electricity running through it. The baby continued her sobs as Valerie stood there, frozen to the spot. Until the little girl stopped crying, hiccupped, and resumed her screams. “Oh, baby girl, it’s okay,” Valerie said in a soothing voice. With shaking hands she reached into the crib and picked Meg up. Her cries changed from panicked wails to soft whimpers as she snuggled into Valerie’s neck.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re fine.” Valerie didn’t know who she was talking to—herself or the baby.
“Val?” Lena’s voice floated down the hallway before she popped her head into the room. “Oh, God. I didn’t even think about—”
“It’s fine. I needed to face this.” Handing Meg over to her mom, Valerie stepped back and watched them together.
She followed as Lena took Meg into the living room and settled into feeding her. “Have you talked to Donovan about your options?”
A faint roll of her stomach had Valerie closing her eyes and sighing. “No. Honestly, I’m afraid if I bring it up, it will ruin what we’ve got going on right now.”
“It might. But you can’t sit on it either. It’s a gaping wound between you. Avoiding it won’t help you heal either way.”
“I know.” Valerie fiddled with her wedding ring, focusing on the beautiful diamond as it caught the light. “Do you think he’ll love a baby that isn’t his? You know, if we adopt?”
“If you adopt, that baby will be yours.”
Sighing, she nodded. “Of course. But, you know what I mean. Sometimes people can’t get over the biology of it all.”
“Those people aren’t Donovan.”
“You know, there’s a big part of me that thinks you secretly love my husband.”
Cocking her eyebrow, Lena grimaced. “Love is a strong word. I tolerate him because you two are perfect together.”
“You love him.”
“You love him,” Lena shot back.
God, did she ever.
~ ~ ~
Donovan’s shoulders ached from exhaustion by the time he came home from his shift. He’d been up most of the night as the crew responded to another intentionally set fire. This one so obvious it was almost as though the guy wanted to get caught—or he was taunting them. This asshole had killed Klipper, and more than likely been responsible for John’s death years ago.
The apartment was empty, of course. It was a fucking Wednesday which meant his wife was at work. He was usually fine coming home alone after a long shift. But today, all he wanted was for Valerie to wrap her arms around him and remind him there was goodness in the world. Stripping out of his uniform, he headed for the shower in the master bathroom. He didn’t want to use the guest bath, not again. After the grime of a long day was washed down the drain, he wrapped himself in a towel and sat on his side of their bed. Fuck, he missed sleeping beside her. He wanted her scent on the pillow, the sound of her soft sighs as she slept, and her warmth.
Laying back, he let the familiarity of their marriage bed take him from a light doze to a deep slumber.
A soft tickling sensation on his ribs woke him, making him nearly jump out of his skin.
“Jesus Christ!” he shouted as he scrambled from the bed only to find his wife sitting inches from where he’d been asleep.
Valerie’s laughter filled the room. “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself. You were sprawled out like an offering.”
Glancing at the clock, he frowned at the time. “What are you doing home? It’s not even noon.”
Her playful expression vanished, changing to evasive in an instant. “I had an appointment.”
“What kind of appointment?”
“Doctor.”
Shit, was she sick and he hadn’t noticed? “You okay?”
“It was a consultation with that fertility specialist Lena got me in touch with.”
Frustration gripped him. Realizing he was still clad only in a towel, he opened his dresser and pulled out a loose-fitting pair of jeans. This wasn’t a conversation appropriate for nudity. Not wanting to make her uncomfortable, he stepped into the bathroom to dress. As soon as he was covered, he returned and sat on the bed, facing his wife. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I . . . I didn’t want to spoil anything. You’ve been home less than a week. I didn’t want to fight.”
“Valerie, you don’t have to do shit like this alone. That’s what being married is. We’re partners—always.” It made his jaw tight to think she was afraid to tell him things.
“I just knew it was going to be bad news. I didn’t want you to have to be there for that, too.”
Tears swam in her eyes, sending a pang of sorrow through his heart. She shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells for him. “The bad news is exactly what I should be there for.”
Sniffing, she blinked rapidly and hugged her knees to her chest. “Okay.”
“So, are you going to give me the bad news?”
“I can get pregnant.”
Frowning, he tried to work out how that could possibly be a bad thing. He stared blankly at her, waiting for her to continue.
“For twelve thousand dollars, with no guarantee of success.”
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.
“Yeah, shit.”
Taking her hand, he linked their fingers and squeezed. “Sweetheart, I’ll do whatever I can to give you a baby.”
“Would you adopt?”
Her question took his breath away. Is that really what she wanted? He couldn’t answer, not without taking a minute to process the idea. He’d always thought if they were able to have biological children, they would—even at the hefty price tag of twelve grand.
“Adoption is expensive, too, isn’t it?” he asked.
“It can be, but then we’d have a child rather than be praying my body works the way it’s supposed to. What if we try IVF and it doesn’t work? Then we’re out twelve thousand dollars and won’t have money left to adopt.”
She had a point. Goddammit.
“Do we have to make a decision about this right now?”
Shaking her head, she climbed out of the bed and straightened her shoulders. Shit. He’d pissed her off. “Nope. We don’t. By all means, Donovan. Let’s not talk about it at all.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” How had this turned into a fight? As much as he didn’t want to let it, anger took hold.
“It means you say you want to be there for the bad, but as soon as I start talking about it you get defensive.”
“I didn’t get fucking defensive. I asked a question, a reasonable one. It’s a huge decision for us. I don’t want to just jump in without thinking about it.”
“I have been thinking about it. For week
s.”
He stood, pacing the room and willing himself to stay calm. “Well, good for you. I haven’t had weeks because you didn’t include me.”
“I couldn’t include you. You were busy accusing me of cheating on you.”
“Because you were laughing and having breakfast with another man!”
She stormed across the room until she was inches from him. “He. Is. My. Cousin!”
Taking a step back, he turned to face the window. He closed his eyes and braced himself on the windowsill, inhaling deep, calming breaths. Speaking in a low, measured tone, he hoped she would see he was trying. “Okay, fine. I’m not sure if I want to adopt. I just need time to think about it. I want a family with you. I know that. But to decide we don’t want to try for biological kids if there’s even a remote possibility seems like giving up.”
She didn’t respond. Turning, he expected to see her staring him down, instead he found the room empty. “Shit!”
She wasn’t going to get away without finishing this conversation. He stormed out of the room, but the moment he caught sight of her all the fight left him. Her head rested in her hands as she stared at their wedding photo.
“Look at these two people, Donovan. Where did they go?”
He took her by the hands and pulled her to her feet and against his chest. “They’re right here.”
“I don’t want to fight.”
“And I want to give you children, however we can get them. I need you to know I’m willing to work my ass off to pay for as many rounds as it takes.”
She looked up at him with watery eyes. “Really?”
“Sweetheart, I’d do damn near anything for you.”
Tightening her arms around his waist, she buried her face in his bare chest and pressed a kiss over his heart. The brush of her lips on his skin sent heat through him.
“Promise?” she murmured.
“You just have to ask.”
“Don’t make me sleep alone anymore.”
Chapter 13
Valerie had been awake for at least an hour, just waiting for him to stir. For the last five nights, she’d slept wrapped in her husband’s arms. Donovan’s hands slid over her skin, cherishing her, but not asking for more than affection. She wanted him, but at the same time, he was right. Moving slow was more important. Building trust between them again would be the first step at healing.
This morning, she lay next to him, watching his chest rise and fall. She wanted to see those green eyes look at her with the love she knew had never left. He didn’t have duty today and if she could, she’d stay in bed with him just like this all day. But her alarm began buzzing even as she snuggled closer to the warm man next to her.
“Mmm, don’t go, sweetheart. Tell them you’re sick.”
“I wish I could.” Heaving a sigh, she scooted away from him. “I don’t have any more sick days.”
His jaw tensed, sending a slice of apprehension through her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”
“Stop. That wasn’t an invitation for pity. It’s just a fact.”
Tossing the blankets off his legs, he stood and stretched that glorious torso. Even through the cotton of his t-shirt, she could see the muscles in his back and shoulders flex and shift. He raked his hand through his unruly hair and made his way toward the door.
“Pancakes or French toast?” he called over his shoulder.
She couldn’t keep her disbelieving laugh to herself. He wasn’t seriously suggesting he’d make something more complicated than eggs, was he? “What?”
“I’m making you breakfast. So, pancakes or French toast?”
“Uh, French toast sounds good.” Her words were laced with shock and she had to school her expression for fear of hurting his feelings.
“Go on. Take your shower. I promise I won’t burn the house down.” His smirk sent a rush of arousal straight between her legs.
When she emerged from their bedroom, dressed and ready for work, the rich aroma of cinnamon and maple syrup filled the air. “What have you done with my husband? I know for a fact your breakfast skills stop at bacon and eggs. I usually handle the fancy breakfasts.”
“Alex taught me a thing or two. Marianne Oliver didn’t let her boys leave the house without knowing how to cook for themselves.” Donovan slid a plate full of steaming breakfast across the counter to her before turning off the burner and filling his own dish. “You want coffee?”
Nodding, she moved to get herself a mug. As she poured, she watched him watch her. His gaze never faltered while he leaned against the counter. He seemed . . . at ease. Taking a tentative sip, she let the heat warm her before breaking their silence. “What are your plans for the day?”
They both took their places at the table, his foot brushing hers as they settled. “I’ve got a date with The Food Network. Or at least their website.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m cooking the damn turkey at the station next Thursday.”
Disappointment settled in her chest. “You’re working on Thanksgiving?”
“Sweetheart, I’ve had the last three off. It’s beyond my turn.”
He was right, but she loved having him at their big family celebration. Donovan was so much a part of her world she hadn’t realized how his absence had affected the rest of her family. She wondered idly what Brandon or Riley thought about their brother-in-law being absent the last few times they’d all gotten together. She’d been so wrapped up in herself she hadn’t spared them a thought.
“I’ll miss you. Thanksgiving won’t be the same without you there.”
He nudged her foot again. “You just want me to eat all of the cheese stuffed olives your mom insists on making so you don’t have to pretend you like them.”
Shuddering, she closed her eyes. “The cheese isn’t even real. I’m pretty sure it’s so processed it forgot what cheese is.”
“This is just one of the many reasons you love me. Admit it.”
Her heart stopped at his words. Three little words they hadn’t said to each other in far too long. Silence fell heavy between them as they both focused on their breakfast. The soft sound of the music he’d turned on filled the room as they finished eating and Valerie’s heart ached to take the leap she’d been afraid of since their separation. Clearing her throat, she stood and walked around the table to stand in front of him. “You’re right,” she said.
A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Of course I am. But I need some clarification. What are you referring to now?”
“It’s one of hundreds of reasons. I love you because of the olives. But more than that, I love you even when you piss me off so much I can’t see straight.”
Her eyes filled with tears as she stared at him, willing him to say something.
Instead of speaking, he rose and pulled her hard against him. His hands fisted in her hair, tugging until she had to look up at his handsome face. “I love you, sweetheart. So fucking much.”
And then his lips were on hers, taking her breath and overpowering her senses. He broke the kiss too soon but the heated look in his eyes told her he regretted it as much as she did.
“Jesus, I’ve only got so much self-control. You’ve got to get to work and if we keep this up, I’m going to have you up against that wall in two minutes.”
A thrill ran through her. “I could be late?”
Shaking his head, he cupped her cheek and smiled. “No fucking way. You go teach the hell out of kindergarten. I’ll be here when you get back.”
~ ~ ~
“Okay, so after I pull the bag of organs out of this thing, what’s the next step, sweetheart?” Donovan stared at Valerie’s image on his phone. He’d propped it up against the wall in the firehouse’s kitchen as he worked on the turkey so they could see each other.
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“Rinse. You have to rinse out both ends, then pat it dry, and rub the herbed butter all over the skin.” She laughed as he stared dubiously at the large, raw bird in the sink. “Oh! Don’t forget to pull the neck out, too!”
Neck? Turkeys were disgusting. Give him a steak or some ribs over poultry any day. At least there you knew what you were getting. Seasoned and grilled, that’s it.
“I wish I didn’t have duty today.” He knew he sounded like a petulant kid, but Thanksgiving had been the turning point for them. It was the moment he’d decided to fight for her.
“I know. But, we can have our own celebration together when you get home. I’m bringing pumpkin pie today, and I bought extra whipped cream to keep just for us.”
Her teasing tone sent a rush of need through him. It had been months since they’d had sex, and he’d tortured them both long enough, holding out because he knew they needed to rebuild their foundation. But now, oh, the things he was going to do to her when he was off shift.
“I fucking love you, sweetheart.”
Giggling, she blushed. “I love you, too, hotshot.” The color in her cheeks made him wish he could reach into the phone and touch her.
Hefting the twenty-pound turkey into the roasting pan, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Okay, so the bird is cleaned and dry. I rub the butter all over it, then shove some shit inside its ass and put it in the oven, right?”
“You put it so eloquently. But, yeah. That’s about it.”
Shaking his head, he started working. “I wish Michael was here to do this. He’s the chef. This shit is complicated.”
“It’s not so bad. And that kitchen is going to smell amazing about thirty minutes after you put the turkey in the oven.”
“If you say so. This looked a lot easier when Alton Brown was doing it on his show.”
Hands covered in butter, he slathered the skin, feeling thankful his sweet Valerie was able to talk him through the job. And then, the fucking alarm blared through the house.