Fighting Pride
Page 20
The last couple months have felt a little bit like a dream, and sometimes I’m afraid I’m going to wake up from it and find out it was all a tease instead – that would be a horrible nightmare. Those thoughts fade away more and more each day and being together has slowly become our new normal. And it’s perfect and everything I hoped it would be.
My mom and I are doing better. She feels ashamed for not telling me the full story and has times when she feels vulnerable. But she seems emotionally more healthy than I have seen her in years, if ever. Tatum and I have her over for dinner a lot and I love watching the two of them in the kitchen cooking together, talking and laughing. We’re all healing, more and more every day.
Finally arriving home, I let myself inside and smile as I call out, “Van Gogh, I’m home.”
Tatum darts out of the back room, a smile on her face, and jumps into my arms. I hold her to me tightly, then place her back on her feet, my gaze taking in her frame hotly. She’s wearing one of my white t-shirts and little else. She’s taken to painting in them, and I find that I like it. A lot. Her dark hair is piled on top of her head, some of it falling around her face, and there are a few splatters of paint on her shirt and a smear here and there on her face. “God, you look gorgeous,” I tell her.
She smiles and kisses me briefly. “Well hello to you too,” she says and when she pulls away I mutter a groan of protest.
“Come here,” I demand.
“I will, but first, I have a surprise for you.”
“Well hell, this seems to be the day for surprises.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you later,” I reply and place the paperwork I’m referring to on the table. “What surprise?”
“Follow me.”
She leads the way into her art studio and my hands find their way up her legs and over her ass teasing her on the way, making her giggle. I love the sound of her laugh. I wish I could bottle it up, then reopen it and play it like my own personal music box whenever I want.
Inside her studio she has a sheet over a painting on an easel. She turns to face me and bites her bottom lip, a sign that she’s nervous. It makes my brow furrow wondering why she’s feeling that way. She’s never nervous to show me her work. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just, have something for you.”
“A painting? Like as a gift?” I ask already smiling. I love it when she paints for me.
“Close your eyes,” she instructs and I obey.
I can hear the whishing sound of cloth sliding over canvas as she removes the cover. I hear her take a deep breath and then her whispered, “Open your eyes.”
When I do, they find her first and I frown a little at the worried look on her face, my eyes moving quickly to discover what’s got her in this state. Before me is an image of a woman in profile, from the neck down. She’s cradling her pregnant belly. Behind her but turned a little more outward is a shirtless man with his face buried in the woman’s neck. He’s got one arm wrapped around her protectively. I know immediately that the man and woman in the painting is Tatum and me. I smile at this representation of a happy time in our life, and take a step closer, devouring every detail. I remember vividly awaiting the birth of Hope, how excited we were, and I love that she’s brought this memory back to life. Regardless of the outcome, it was still a beautiful moment that I’ll always cherish. I start to turn to her to tell her this, when something suddenly catches my eye.
She’s painted my tattoos meticulously. The attention to detail is amazing, but the thing that makes me inhale sharply is that she’s painted every tattoo as they are on my body right now. The tattoos that I’ve gotten since we were apart are depicted, and prevalent on my side is the tattoo of Hope’s name.
Snapping my head to her, I stutter over my words, finally spitting out one, “Tatum?”
“Cole?”
“Is this? What is…are you…am I crazy? Are you…?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“You’re…how…” Elation makes me smile immediately.
“We haven’t exactly been careful. I’ve been on birth control but you know, it’s not one hundred percent effective.”
I take her in my arms and cup her face in my hands, “We’re having a baby?” The excitement is there, bright and hot, but my smile falls a little when white hot fear passes through my body. I’m ashamed to find it there, to feel it at all, but I can’t help it. I try to not let her see it at first, but then consider how far we’ve come and drop the armor. She smiles softly and brushes her thumb across my face.
“I know. Me too. I took about eight home tests and then went to the doctor, feeling a mixture of elation and fear.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have come with you.”
“I wanted to be sure first, and I wanted to surprise you. So much. I immediately knew how I would do it and I wanted the chance.”
“I understand, and I love my surprise. Tell me what the doctor said.”
“She said that everything looks really good. Healthy, and strong. She said they will monitor me closely given what happened with Hope, but that there’s no reason for alarm. We have no reason to be fearful, although I imagine it’s normal, but I figure we will take it one day at a time. We have each other, and my god Cole, we created life together again.”
I nod, my eyes burning, “One day at a time,” I repeat.
“Yes.”
My hands run down her arms, my fingers entwine with hers, “I’m warning you, I’m going to be annoyingly protective,” I admit.
“How is this different from any other day?”
“That’s true, but you know what I mean.”
“I do, and I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“Tatum,” I whisper. “I’m thrilled, I am, but full confession here, I’m also a bit scared.”
“I know, me too. But, life moves forward, and this has happened for a reason, it’s supposed to be, and you and I, our house of love is strong. We’ll get through this, no matter what, okay?”
I smile at her ‘house of love’ reference, remembering the advice she told me my mother gave her. It’s become a motto of ours of sorts I guess. She even painted a picture that hangs in our entry way with the words – Our Home is Love. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” she whispers and I’m not sure where it comes from, but peace and contentment runs through my body and I relax, knowing we are right where we are supposed to be, and I’m given clarity that causes me to believe we’ll be okay. No matter what happens. We’re stronger now, smarter, more trusting and loyal. We know what it feels like to lose each other and to come out on the other side.
“I love you,” I tell her. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” she says and kisses me.
Lifting her up, her legs wrap around my waist and I walk forward until I can sit her on the table in the room. Lifting the shirt over her body, I growl when I find small scraps of lace beneath it. “You’re beautiful,” I tell her.
She lifts my shirt over my head and helps me get out of my clothing quickly. “Now,” she says, and in seconds I’m inside of her, moving against her, reveling in the feeling of how right this is. As I move in and out, my eyes move from hers down her body, and rest on her stomach. Seeing a palette of paint on the desk beside us, I reach over and dip my finger in the red paint and draw a heart on her stomach. I feel anticipation, excitement, and contentment at Tatum’s announcement, but the love, the love I feel, it trumps all of these and runs through me in waves.
As Tatum’s hand comes to settle over mine, and her whisper of “I love you,” reaches my ears, I know immediately that what I’ve heard is true. Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end. We’ve come full circle, and I can’t wait to find out what life has in store for us, and our new family.
This book was a labor of love for me, and I hope that you enjoyed it, and I thank you for picking it up and giving it a chance. Please consider leaving a review as
it is a big help to me. Thank you.
There are many people that I need to thank for helping me along this journey. Georgia Cranston, as always, I love being co-dependent with you. Our coffee dates are everything. Lauren Miller, Angela Corbett, Stephanie Brown, Jennifer Domenico, Mayra Statham, and Glorya Hidalgo, you always offer encouragement and remind me that I can do this anytime I’m doubting myself. While writing this book, when my block was awful and I was ready to give up, each of you were there for me in your own way, and I can’t tell you how much it means to me, and how lucky I am to call you my friends. To my mom, you always remind me that what I’m doing matters, that it’s special and you tell me how proud you are of me. Your opinion and those words mean more to me than you could ever know. Thank you for taking the time to edit my words for me.
Thank you Robin Harper - You always hit it out of the ballpark with my covers, this is my favorite so far. But I say that after every one you design. Elaine York, you always make time for me no matter what, thank you for making me feel special, and making my books look beautiful.
To my husband and girls, thanks for your patience while I struggled to get through this story. I know there were many nights you were ignored, ate cereal for dinner, watched the house get dirty and saw your clothes sit unwashed for longer than normal, LOL! I love you, and I’m lucky to have you.
To my dad and Tami, thank you for showing me how beautiful love can be in the face of pain. While your circumstances are different, thoughts of you were prevalent throughout this story’s journey. I love you both so much.
To all my readers, bloggers and my reader group, I couldn’t do this without you. Thank you to each and every one of you.
Author Jennifer Miller was born and raised in Chicago, Illinois but now calls Arizona home. Her love of reading began when she was a small child, and only continued to grow as she entered adulthood. Ever since winning a writing contest at the young age of nine, when she wrote a book about a girl with a pet unicorn, she’s dreamed of writing a book of her own. The important lesson she learned about dreams is that they don’t just fall into your lap – you have to chase them yourself. Most importantly, she is a wife and mother, and is very lucky to have a family that loves and supports her in all things. She also has an unhealthy addiction to handbags and chocolate covered strawberries, neither of which she cares to work on. For more information about Jennifer Miller, please visit www.jennifermillerwrites.com.
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Books by Jennifer Miller
Pretty Little Lies
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Pretty Little Dreams
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Pretty Little Vows - A Novella
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Perfect Little Plan
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Whispering Wishes
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Charming
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Fighting Envy
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Fighting Wrath
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Fighting Lust
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author