by Chloe Walsh
Sighing heavily, Teagan threw an arm over her face, clearly embarrassed.
I wasn’t having any of this shit.
Dragging my wife onto my lap, I held her close as I slid inside her. "I fathered your baby," I told her, jaw clenched from the exertion it took to stay still inside her. Wrapping my arms around her body, I moved once, thrusting slowly. "I made you swollen." I moved again, deeper this time, harder. "I want you." Catching her lip between my teeth, I tugged gently, forcing her to look up at me. "I want you like this." I moved again inside her, and this time I didn’t stop. "Swollen with my baby." I kissed her lips, desperate to make her feel how much I loved her. "You've never been more beautiful."
I must have said something right because Teagan threw her arms around my neck and slammed her lips against mine. And just like that, all earlier notions of self-consciousness and embarrassment were forgotten.
It was just me and her; grinding, moaning, and being as one.
****
Hope
My mouth was still hanging open as I stared up in horror at the man I'd once pledged my heart to.
Jordan Porter was staring into my eyes with so much intensity that I could hardly bear to keep his gaze.
The music pumping from the stereo did little to hide the sound of my racing heart as it hammered against my ribcage.
The feel of my hand being released brought me back to the here and now with a bang, and I looked on in horror as Lucky stalked past Jordan, disappearing into the street outside.
"Hey Lucky, wait!" I called out. Feeling torn, I moved to go after him, but something inside me forced my legs to stay, forced me to remain exactly where I was, trapped...
"Keychain," Jordan repeated in his deep, raspy voice that at one point in my life I found to be incredibly sexy. It was still sexy as hell, but I wasn’t under any more illusions when it came to this man.
Tearing my eyes off Lucky's retreating frame, I looked up at my husband and exhaled a ragged breath. "What are you doing here?" I sounded like I was about to cry. Frustration and anxiety thrummed inside of me. I'd made a lot of mistakes in my life, but there was none so bad, so severe or irrevocable as falling in love with that man. He'd ruined me – more than once – and now, he was here, back to break me some more.
Looking at him made me realize I could never be with him, and knowing that made me realize that I'd wasted so many years of my life waiting on a man who would never be truly mine.
He couldn’t keep doing this to me.
I needed to walk away.
For Christ's sake, the fucker was engaged to another woman. I needed to take the huge clue hanging down in front of my eyes.
"Why are you here?" I demanded, firmer this time.
Oh god, I felt so dizzy I could faint.
Everything was buzzing around me with the exception of him.
He was the only solid thing in my vision.
He was all I could see.
"You know why I'm here," he said, piercing green eyes locked on mine. He took a step forward, making me take two steps back.
Shaking my head, I pressed my thumbs to my temples.
This wasn’t happening…
Turning on my heels, I raced into the kitchen, desperate to put some space between myself and the man that had the ability to ruin me like no other person could.
I couldn’t be near Jordan right now.
Not after how we'd left things…
"Are you okay?' Jordan's voice came from somewhere behind me and I balked.
I wasn’t okay. I was nowhere near okay, but I heard myself whispering, "yes," all the same as I continued to stand over the stove, watching the aimlessly as the bacon splattered in the pan. "Are you?"
"Yes." He wasn’t okay.
He wasn’t okay and neither was I.
Where we were supposed to go from here was beyond me.
"Can we talk?"
"That depends," I shot back shakily.
"On what?"
Turning around, I looked him dead in the eye. "On whether or not you're going to be honest with me."
"I'm going to try," he replied, voice hoarse, eyes full of heated emotion.
"Fine." Dropping the spatula in the pan, I turned off the gas and walked over to the couch. Taking a seat on one end, I crossed my legs and waited. "I'm listening."
His movements were rigid – almost pained – as he walked over to the armchair opposite me and sat.
Unable to stand the silence, I decided to be the first to speak. "Is this where you give me the 'it's not you, it's me' speech? Because, I've got to tell you, there was nothing wrong with either of us for the past week."
Jordan flinched. "I'm so fucking sorry, Hope."
My heart sank.
This was it.
He was about to break me again.
Bracing myself for the pain I'd felt several times before at the hands of my estranged husband, I cast my eyes downwards and held my breath, waiting for the predominant blow. The one that would surely annihilate me this time.
He was leaving me again.
His bags were packed and I was on borrowed time now.
Annabelle's time…
"If you walk away from me again," I heard myself tell him. "If you go again, don’t ever come back."
"Hope…"
"I mean it, Jordan," I choked out, unable to stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks. "Not until you know what you want." Sniffling loudly, I exhaled a shaky breath. "I can't cope with this." I shook my head. "You need to leave me be."
"You know I can't do that," he whispered, not meeting my eyes.
"And you know that I'm in love with you," I shot back. "That I've been in love with you since childhood. So if you're leaving me, then leave! Stop wrecking me. Stop changing your mind. If you don’t want me, then go away and don’t ever come back."
Jerking to my feet, I walked into my bedroom and retrieved the brown envelope and pen on my desk before returning to the kitchen.
Wordlessly, I removed the stack of white papers and signed my name to each page. I could hardly see through my tears as I scrawled my name, but I did it. I forced myself to sign away my marriage.
When I had finished, I dropped the pen on the countertop and inhaled a deep breath before turning to face him.
He was standing in the middle of my living area with a haunted expression on his face. "Hope," he whispered. "I'm still…"
"Here," I sobbed as I walked towards him and thrust the papers into his hands. I waved a shaken hand at the papers I'd just handed him. "You're a free man."
Jordan stood in front of me with tears in his eyes. "I never meant for any of this to happen," he croaked out. "All I ever wanted was you."
"But it happened just the same," I shot back, crying hard now. "If this is what you really want, you know what to do." Wrapping my arms around myself, I shivered. "But don’t contact me again," I told him. "I mean it. If this is what you really want, then don’t look for me and don’t call." My body shook violently. "Because I can't take another second of this god awful pain."
Jordan took a step towards me and I flinched away from his touch.
"Keychain," he whispered, clearly torn.
"Don’t say another word," I begged him, clenching my eyes shut. "It's too hard."
"You were the last person I wanted to hurt," I heard him say.
"Just go," I cried out hoarsely.
Seconds later, my front door slammed shut, and I knew he was gone.
For the second time in my life, my husband left me…
"You told me to leave you alone." Jordan's voice came from behind me, soft, deep, slightly hoarse, and I couldn't stop myself from shivering.
Rubbing my shoulder with my cheek, I felt my body sag against the counter and in this moment, that counter was the only thing holding me up.
I felt him brush against me and I shivered all over. "Told me not to come back until I figured out what I wanted."
My voice was barely more than a whisper w
hen I said, "And you know what you want now?"
"I know what I need." Moving closer, so close I could feel his heart hammering in his chest, he ducked his face to my neck and whispered. "I need my Hope."
"How do I know you won't change your mind again," I heard myself say and I cringed in shame. I was pathetic. A pathetic woman hanging on the word of an untrustworthy man.
"How can I believe this?" I added, dropping my head in disgust. My entire body was shaking violently. He was here. everything about this situation was wrong, and yet I'd never felt more…right. I couldn't explain my feelings for him. I couldn't rationalize my behavior or make sense of the power his words seemed to have over me. All I knew was if it weren't for the countertop in front of me, and Jordan's body behind me, I would be a puddle on the floor. I was hurt, and angry, and desperately in love with him.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
The sound of my father's voice boomed through the room, causing everyone around us to freeze in silence, and my heart to wither in my chest.
Jordan tensed behind me and even though he didn’t deserve it, I found myself turning to defend him. "Dad, wait," I blurted out, but it was too late.
Dragging Jordan away from me by the collar of his shirt, my father, more livid than I could ever remember seeing him, closed his fist and socked my husband in the face.
"Dad!" I screamed, rushing towards them.
"You've got some nerve, kid," Dad snarled, shoving Jordan in the chest. "Coming back here. I'll give you that." Dad shoved him again and this time hissed, "Hit me!" Tapping his finger against his cheek, he taunted, "Come on, kid. Fucking hit me back. Give me a reason to kill you."
"I'm not going to hit you, Kyle," Jordan replied before spitting out a mouthful of blood.
"Your funeral," my father shot back before punching Jordan again, this time knocking him backwards.
"Daddy!" I screamed, furious. Grabbing my father's arm, I yanked hard, forcing him to look at me. "Are you crazy?" I demanded. "This is Jordan!" I stared hard at my father. "This is Jordan, Dad," I repeated. "The boy you helped raise."
"I know who he is," Dad snarled, shaking me off. "He's the piece of shit that chased you away from your family for almost a goddamn decade." He glared murderously at Jordan. "You think you can walk back into my house and take up where you left off?" Dad shook his head. "Over my dead fucking body."
Just then Superman stepped in front of my dead – well, Derek dressed as superman.
"Don’t put your hands on my kid," Derek told my father in a tone I'd never heard him use before.
If it wasn’t so serious, it would have been comical, seeing Dracula and Superman size each other up. But it was serious.
Very serious.
Rushing over to where Jordan was standing, I instinctively reached up and cupped his cheek.
"Put my hands on him?" Dad snarled in outrage. "I'm going to kill that little shit."
"No," Derek shot back, pressing his hand against my father's chest. "You're not."
"Derek," Dad hissed. "Move."
"Kyle," Derek hissed back. "Back off."
Out of nowhere, Noah and Teagan appeared in the kitchen, looking ruffled and all bent out of shape. It didn’t take a genius to know what they had been up to. The fact that Noah was only wearing the bottom half of his scrubs costume and Teagan was donning the top half left little to the imagination.
"Really?" I heard myself snap. "You couldn’t wait until we got home?" It was a pointless argument but I was desperate to take the heat off myself.
Unfazed by my question, I watched my uncle – the fighter, who was dressed as a doctor –wade into the middle of the commotion and I groaned.
We were a seriously dysfunctional family.
"Oh my god," Teagan squealed, rushing over to me. She looked me up and down and then Jordan. "They found out you guys are married, didn’t they?"
"What?" Dad roared.
"Yeah, what?" Derek added.
"Oops," Teagan chuckled nervously. Strumming her fingers on her big belly, she smiled sheepishly. "My bad."
****
Chapter Nine
Teagan
December 4th
Boulder, Colorado.
"Don’t talk to me. I'm still mad at you," were the nine lovely words I was greeted with when I attempted to stretch out an olive branch.
Okay, so maybe I did put my foot in my mouth last month, but it had been an honest mistake and I couldn’t see the validation in Hope's continuous cold shoulder malarkey.
She was still ignoring me and acting like I barfed in her cereal. I may have eaten her cereal, but I certainly hadn't barfed in it.
"I said I'm sorry, Hope," I called out when she slammed the bathroom door in my face. "How many times do I have to say it?"
The bathroom door flews inwards again. "More," Hope seethed, "Many, many more." before slamming the door shut again.
"Are you sure I'm the one that's pregnant?" I shouted through the door. "Because you're the one acting like there is two people inside of you!"
"Go away, Beast," Hope called back. "There's no food in here for you."
"Bitch!" Feeling hungry and aggravated, I stalked down the hallway and into the kitchen, relieved to be greeted with at least one person who was happy to see me.
Uncle Max smiled at me in sympathy. "She's still angry?"
"Understatement of the century," I muttered as I padded over to where my uncle was holding out a mug of tea.
"Thanks," I said when I retrieved the mug before taking a sip. "God, that's a decent cup of tea." Blowing into the rim of my mug, I took another sip before saying, "It's the only thing that tastes the same anymore."
"That will pass," my uncle assured me as we walked into the living room and sat on the couch. "Once you have the baby, your body will return to normal."
I waited patiently for my uncle to ask me the question that everyone and his mother had been asking me.
"When's your due date again?"
"December thirtieth," I told him, forcing back a smirk. If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that question… "In a few short weeks, I'll have a baby in my arms." Sighing, I added, "You know, I wish the guy who decided to tell women that pregnancy lasts nine months had done his math correctly. It's forty weeks, Uncle Max. Forty. Not thirty-six."
"And Noah?" Max asked, forcing a smile. I knew it was hard for him, accepting Noah as my husband, but he was trying and I was grateful.
"His last fight is on December eighteenth against Anthony Cole in Vegas," I replied, forcing the sudden pang of anxiety down. I would deal with my fears for my husband when I was in bed – like I did every night, with a big cry and a bag of potato chips. "He'll be home then." And all will be well with the world.
"That's good," Max said, smiling, but I could see the sympathy in his eyes. I could see the worry and the trepidation.
He didn’t want this life for me, I realized.
It was why he'd fought so hard to keep me and Noah apart.
He didn’t want me to live the life of a fighter's wife.
"It will be fine," I heard myself say, more to myself than to my uncle. "Once Noah gets home, and we have the baby, things will be different."
Noah had been gone exactly one month, six days, and four hours. I knew this because I had pathetically been counting down the days on an app on my phone.
Missing him was an understatement for how I was feeling. I literally felt like the other half of me had been ripped away and splashed on the television for kicks every Friday night.
"He's been doing well on the tour," Max begrudgingly complimented. "For a man who was shot three short months ago, he is remarkably resilient."
"Yeah," I sighed in agreement. Noah was kicking ass on tour. One part of me was thrilled for him. The other part was terrified about the pressure he was putting on his weakened body. I couldn’t change his mind though, and I couldn’t stop him from fighting. All I could was support him – and pray.
&nb
sp; Yeah, I'd been doing a lot of praying…
He called me every day from the road, and skyped me usually at random times of the night, post-fights or parties. It stung me to think of him away and surrounded by the women I knew followed him around, but what could I do? He was the man I loved and this was our life now.
"Pregnancy suits you, Teagan," Uncle Max announced, stirring me from my thoughts. "Truly, you're glowing."
"I love it," I replied with a grin as I struggled to get comfortable. "Knowing she's tucked inside in me." I patted my bump. "All safe and snug."
My uncle smiled lovingly at me. "You'll be a wonderful mother, Teagan."
"I hope so." My cheeks turned pink. "I love her so much already." My heart swelled at the very thought of her. "I keep thinking about her, like constantly. It's like I have baby on the brain twenty-four-seven." Beaming, I added, "Noah and I have been discussing names."
"Oh, yeah?"
"He wants to call her Samantha," I told Max. "But I want her to have an Irish name, like Saoirse, or Caoimhe, or Einín." I shrugged. "I want her to remember both of her heritages."
"I think you should call her whatever you feel," Max agreed. "But definitely something Irish."
"You do?" With that, I began to list off the dozen or so names I had researched, along with their meanings.
"Did you do anything nice for Thanksgiving?" Max asked me after a while. I was fairly certain the poor man was sick and tired of listening to me yapper on about different brands of diapers and breast pumps.
"I skipped it," I told him, thinking back to last weekend. "You know we don’t celebrate Thanksgiving back home and with Noah on the road, I wasn’t really feeling it."
"Oh." Max's brows furrowed. "I thought your house guests would have celebrated the holiday?"
I scoffed. "Hope isn’t speaking to her parents right now, and Lucky isn’t speaking to anyone." Shrugging, I added, "It's been kind of strained around here."
Strained was an understatement.
Since Jordan's dramatic return to The Hill, everything had pretty much gone to hell in a handbasket.