Every Second With You

by Lauren Blakely

  I’ve often dreamed of telling Harley’s mom exactly what I think of her. Of giving her a mug that says Worst Mother in the World. Of calling her unfit, and spitting on her. But now that I’m here, none of those seem satisfying. Harley’s mom is irredeemable, and I’m not going to stoop to her level. Instead, I think of what Michele would tell me to do. Speak your truth.

  Because words are all we have, and her mother might be unmoved by them, but this isn’t about her. This is about her daughter. The woman I love with every ounce of my heart and mind and soul.

  “I’m no angel, Mrs. Coleman. I’ve done plenty of bad things in my life. But I know this much. That’s not how you treat people you love. That’s not how you treat anyone. You’re lucky—and by lucky, I mean it’s absolute luck and chance, and it has nothing to do with you—that your daughter is not on the streets, or worse. Everything she has made herself into is because of her, because of her heart, because of all the places in her that you could never ever touch,” I say, pointing a finger at her. She is implacable as she sits steely-eyed, arms crossed, staring harshly at me. “She is who she is not because of you, but in spite of you. I know this, too—she’s going to make an amazing mother to our child, and it has everything to do with her, and absolutely nothing to do with you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to take her home.”

  Then I reach into my wallet, leave some bills on the table, and walk away, leaving her mother exactly where she belongs.

  Alone.

  Chapter Twenty

  Trey

  “I thought she would change,” Harley says, wiping a hand across her cheek.

  “Some people never change,” I say, softly kissing her tears away.

  “But we changed, right?” Her brown eyes are so earnest. “We both worked so hard to change. To live differently. To leave the past behind.”

  “Yeah, we did, and we do. Every day. But it wasn’t and it isn’t easy, and we both wanted to change. Your mom doesn’t. But she doesn’t know how, either. She doesn’t have the skills or the tools.”

  “I just hoped she’d apologize. Or have a good reason. But when she said that about my father, it was so cruel. I felt like she slammed me. Like I was seeing stars.”

  “I can only imagine,” I say, and I wrap my arms around her and pull her even closer to me on the futon at my place that will soon become our place.

  “Do you think it’s true? What she said?”

  I shrug. “I have no clue.”

  “It just seemed so mean. Like she wanted to hurt me. I don’t think she ever loved me.”

  “Harley, she’s not a good person. She doesn’t know what she wants. She doesn’t know how to love.”

  “It just hurts so much. I don’t think I’ve ever known love before you.”

  I smooth out her hair, and kiss the top of her head. “But now you know it, and you’ll always have it. And I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  I can feel her smile, even in the darkness. There’s no music on now, just the soundtrack of New York City playing through the closed window, the faraway noises of tires on asphalt, of alarms from cars, of buses trundling down the avenue. Here, inside, we are safe in our world.

  “You won’t now, will ya?”

  I shake my head, and hold her tight. “You are everything to me. You are the most important person in the world, and I will do whatever it takes for you,” I say, then I lower my voice to a whisper, as my hands make their way to her belly. She’s carrying my child. It’s such a humbling thought, and such a heady one, and it still scares the hell out of me, but it also makes me love her even more. “And for our baby.”

  I hear the tiniest little sob escape her throat as she leans her head back against me, her neck stretching out, long and inviting. “I’m getting fat.”

  I shake my head again. “No. You’re even more beautiful. And who the fuck knew that could happen, because you were already perfect.” I inch my hands under her sweater, my palms now against her belly, skin to skin. “I think you’re even sexier, Harley.”

  “Oh, stop. I’m not sexy.”

  “No. You’re wrong. Because you’re insanely sexy, and you’re having my baby, and there is nothing sexier than that.”

  She turns, and now her arms are looped around me. “You’re crazy. I can’t believe you’ve gone from freaking out to being all you’re so sexy. Soon, you’re gonna want me to do a Mother Earth rain dance or something.”

  I laugh. “Doubtful on the rain dance, but if you wanted to do one I wouldn’t turn you away. Don’t you get it? I might have freaked out, but I’m not freaking out now. I’m here, right here, loving you.”

  She presses a soft kiss to my lips. “Show me love, Trey.”

  “Always,” I tell her, and then I trace her face with my fingertips, the pads of my fingers mapping her beautiful features, memorizing them, even though I know all of her by heart and still can’t get enough of her. I brush the backs of my fingers against her cheek, and she sighs as she leans into my hand. She closes her eyes, savoring my touch. I am gentle with her, because she likes it when I am, and because she deserves it, and because I want her to feel loved. Especially now, after that dinner, when she’s hurt and vulnerable, when the person who was supposed to love her most in the world has kicked her once more. But now I’m that person—the one who loves her most. “I’m your family now, Harley. You know that, right?”

  She nods into my palm, her eyes still closed, but her lips curved into a sad, sweet smile. “I know that.”

  “It’s not something I will ever take lightly,” I tell her, and then I end all conversation with a kiss; a slow, tender kiss that says everything. With the press of my lips against hers, I am telling her I cherish her. As I taste the soft underside of her bottom lip, I am saying always. As I cup her cheek and bring her near, I am letting her know that my love for her is boundless.

  Her breath mingles with mine, and she tastes so good, so sweet, and I want so much more of her. I want to connect with her so deeply, to take away all her pain, to erase the sadness. I want her to know what love is, and that she has it, deeply and always with me.

  And, judging from the way she’s wriggling and starting to moan, she wants more than kissing. A hell of a lot more. In seconds, she’s kissing me harder, and crawling up on me, straddling me as she wraps her legs around my waist. She grabs my hair and starts to rock her hips against me. Then she breaks the kiss to look at me.

  “I’m so horny,” she tells me, then laughs.

  I laugh too. “And presumably you like me, too?”

  “I’m so fucking horny, and so fucking in love with you. Is that better?”

  I nod. “Much better.”

  “Make love to me now, please,” she tells me.

  “Happily,” I say, and shift her from my waist so I can take off my clothes. I tug off my shirt quickly because I want to watch her undress.

  I love the way she strips. There’s nothing unusual or overtly sexy about how she disrobes; she doesn’t toss me a saucy wink, or sashay her hips. She doesn’t need any tricks to get me hard. What I love most is that it’s her, taking off her clothes for me. So she can be naked with me, and me alone.

  “God, you’re so fucking gorgeous it should be a crime,” I say as her jeans hit the floor, then her underwear. Here she is standing in the dark, the moonlight casting its silvery glow across her white skin. Her legs are strong, muscular from walking everywhere in the city. Her breasts are perfect, and I cup them in my hands, so full. And her belly that used to be flat is now growing round, and I place my palms on it, smoothing them against her skin, so warm.

  I pull her down on the futon, so I’m flat on my bed, and she’s straddling me. “Ride me,” I whisper.

  She takes my cock in her hands, rubs me against her entrance, and I curse loudly, my body humming with the need to be so deep inside her. “You’re so fucking wet, Harley. I can practically feel you dripping on me.”

  “I am so wet,” she says and her voice is thick with lust, as she
rubs all that delicious heat against me. “I’m so turned on, it’s crazy. I want you so much.”

  “Then stop teasing me,” I say, and she does, sinking down on me in one quick move, and burying me deep inside her. My eyes roll back in my head. The pleasure is so fucking intense. It obliterates all my brain cells, reducing me to nothing but this moment, to the extraordinary feeling of her on me. She is too wet for words, and I love how slippery she is as she starts to ride me, up and down, hitting her rhythm as she moans greedily. Then she reaches for my hands, linking her fingers through mine, and gripping me tight. She leans forward, her blond hair tickling my chest, my cheeks, my shoulders. She is a curtain of luscious hair all over me, of hot sexuality, of gorgeous femininity.

  She is desire, she is heat, she is mine, and she is as in love with me as I am with her. Watching her, I can’t believe how lucky I am that I not only get to have her, but that I can make her feel this way. Soon, she starts to ride me, frantically, feverishly, like she’s driven solely by the mission to get off, and hell if I don’t want anything right now but complete and utter success in her task.

  “Harley,” I rasp out, not even sure what I’m saying. “Harley, I fucking love you so much. I love everything about you, and I’ve never been more in love with you than I am right now.”

  She inhales sharply, her eyes are closed, her face is strained, her breath erratic. She squeezes my hands even tighter, grabbing them hard as she thrusts herself up and down on me, her heat rising with each stroke. She’s so close, and I love seeing her lose control on me. Witnessing her come apart.

  “Trey,” she moans, and she opens her eyes, but she can’t focus, and I like it that way, I love it that way. She’s giving in to the sensations, and so am I, because soon I am coming undone with her.

  After, she collapses on me. Her breasts are damp with sweat. I hug her tight, hold her close, and brush her hair away from her ear. “Did that work?” I ask into the quiet night.

  “Um, yeah. Couldn’t you tell?”

  I shake my head. “That’s not what I meant. I meant, did I show you love?”

  “Yes. You and me, this is what love is.”

  We learned it together.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Harley

  “Did you pack everything?”

  “For the five thousandth time, I’m a dude. I don’t need that much stuff.”

  “Shorts? Did you pack shorts?” I ask, as the maroon-uniformed doorman grabs the handle and holds open the door for us. “Thank you,” I say to him, and Trey does the same.

  “I don’t own shorts.”

  “But we’ll be at the beach.”

  “Then I’ll buy shorts when I’m there.”

  “You really don’t have a bathing suit?” My boots click against the marbled floor. I unloop my scarf as we walk to the elevator. A piece of yarn snags on my earring, and I tug once gently, then it loosens.

  Inside the elevator, he taps my cold nose, all red from the blisteringly brutal fall we’re having. Okay, late fall. But still, it’s bitter, and I can’t wait till tomorrow when we leave the city for San Diego. Even if we were heading to the Arctic I’d be excited.

  “The rumors are indeed true. I do not own a bathing suit. But I can’t fucking wait to see you in a bikini,” he says.

  When we reach his parents’ floor, I fluff out my hair, wanting to look good for them. As I brush my fingertips against my earlobe, I find my earring is gone.

  “Crap. I must have dropped my earring in the lobby. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll go with you,” he says, but then his phone rings. He grabs it from his back pocket, and his eyes light up. “It’s Ilyas.”

  “Take your call. I’ll be right back.”

  The elevator starts to shoot me down, but then it slows at the fifteenth floor. A gorgeous brunette steps inside, and she’s holding hands with a young boy who’s probably not yet three. I smile at the boy; he has such beautiful green eyes, so unusual for a young kid.

  “All right, Teddy. We’re just going to run to the store and then run back, okay?” she says to him, and he pretends to run in place.

  “Like that, Mama?”

  She nods. “Exactly.”

  Then she looks at me, shoots me a smile. “He likes to pretend to run.”

  “I can see.”

  “Sorry. I know it can be annoying.”

  “Not at all,” I tell her. “I’m actually having one of my own soon, so I kinda enjoy watching kids.”

  “Congratulations,” she says, beaming at me. “Your first?”

  I nod. “Yep.”

  She ruffles Teddy’s thick brown hair. “He’s my first, too.”

  “He’s very sweet,” I say. “And he has beautiful green eyes.”

  “He got them from his dad,” she says with a shrug. “We never see him. But it’s nice he shared those eyes.”

  I laugh as we reach the ground floor. She steps out first, and I quickly spot my earring on the floor.

  As I hook it back in my ear, I watch the mom and her son, wondering if I’ll have a boy, if we’ll hold hands like that, if he’ll have Trey’s eyes.

  “Have a good night, Ms. McKay,” the doorman says as the pair leaves the building.

  “You too,” she says.

  I return to Trey’s floor as he’s finishing his call. “That would be great. Thank you, Ilyas. I appreciate this so much.” He ends the call and holds out his arms. “He wants to hook me up with a shop in San Diego this week. Says there’s some guy there who does world-class designs. He wants me to see them.”

  “That’s so great,” I say, and I hug him. “So, you ready for this?”

  A dark cloud crosses over his green eyes. “Do we really need to tell them tonight?”

  “The longer we wait, the harder it gets.”

  “Yeah, since you can’t hide it much longer,” he teases as he pats my belly.

  “Ha ha ha. You’re so funny.”

  * * *

  The fork hits the ground with a resounding clang, and I swear it’s the only sound left in the universe as it rings.

  “What did you just say?”

  “Harley’s pregnant,” he repeats in a steady voice, and I’m so proud of him simply for saying those words to his parents. None of this is easy for him; talking honestly to them is extraordinarily hard. His family is friendly on the outside, a vault on the inside. “We’re going to have a baby.”

  His mom’s face is unreadable. She says nothing. She doesn’t move a muscle; doesn’t twitch, doesn’t blink. Nerves fly through my body, gnawing away at my bones. This woman scares me. She is so poised and cool, but right now we’ve cut her to the quick.

  “A baby,” she says, finally finding words again. Trey’s dad reaches for her shoulder, clasps it, trying to reassure her of something. But what? That the baby will be fine? Or that she’ll survive this bomb?

  “Yes, Mom. She’s due in May.”

  “Well, congratulations, son,” his father offers. Then he furrows his brow curiously. “Right? I mean, is this a good thing?”

  “Yes, Dad. It’s a good thing.”

  “Congratulations,” his mom says, her tone wooden. She reaches for her fork. But it’s not there, and she seems surprised that the fork is suddenly missing. “Where’s my fork?”

  I gulp and wait for his mom to say something more about the baby, about Trey, about me. But she doesn’t. The prospect of the lost utensil is far more fascinating.

  “It’s on the floor,” I say, chiming in as I bend down to grab it.

  And my belly moves.

  Or rather, something inside me moves, and kicks me for the first time.

  “Oh my god,” I gasp, and my hands fly to my stomach.

  “Are you okay?” Trey asks and I can hear the fear nosedive into his voice. Before I know it, I am swarmed, and all three of them have jumped up from their chairs and are hunched over me as I’m squatting on the floor with a fork in my hand. I glance at each of them, and they are deer i
n the woods, pinned by the predator of their worst fears. In an instant, I see all their pain, all their loss. I am their worst nightmare, and they’re assuming this is the beginning of the end.

  “I’m great. The baby kicked for the first time,” I say, and I can’t help it—I burst into a grin.

  Trey’s eyes light up. “Are you serious?”

  Standing, I reach for his palm and lay it on my belly. He waits and waits, and soon he’s rewarded with the tiniest of kicks, too. He smiles so wide it’s like sunshine lighting up the world, and if we were alone I know he’d fall to his knees and kiss my belly.

  Then there’s a broken sob, a wail cut short, and Trey’s mom bolts. She heads down the hall into her office and slams the door. I don’t even wait for Trey or his dad to react. I listen to my gut, and my gut says to go to her.

  I rap once on the door. “Mrs. Westin? May I come in?”

  I hear nothing, so I take the lack of a no as a yes. I turn the handle and open the door, and I find her sunk down in her leather chair, her face in her hands. I grab another chair, and pull up next to her. Her shoulders are shaking, and she’s trying so hard to be quiet, but her tears aren’t silent as she likely wants them to be.

  I pat her knee tentatively, rubbing it once, twice. She doesn’t shirk or pull away. “Hi,” I say.

  “Hi,” she whispers.

  “I imagine this must be hard for you. I know it was hard for Trey, at first.”

  More shaking, more tears. I inch closer, and rub her shoulder. Seconds pass, and soon they pool into minutes. But her crying slows, her tears settle, and she manages to speak, even though her head still hangs low. “Are you eating right?”

  “Yes. I’m a very healthy eater.”

  “Are you taking folic acid?”

  “I am.”

  “And did you get an ultrasound?”

  “I did. The baby looks great. I have a very good doctor, and he said everything is going well.”