They’re in the middle of their first dance, one of the few traditions they’d stuck with for their wedding. One other was the cake, but I figured that was just because my uncle had a sweet tooth and was happy for any tradition that supported cake.
Holly is sitting in a chair with a pillow under her backside, one that I’d brought just for the occasion, her bare feet up on a stool. Her hands are resting on top of her belly and her gaze is aimed at Red and Babe, her expression and smile soft. She looks beautiful today in a lacy pink dress my sister brought over for her; apparently, there was a color scheme for family. The dress is snug around her growing stomach and the glaring evidence of what I’d done to her made me feel both possessive and proud. Is that normal? I wasn’t sure, but I know I didn’t care. Where Holly is concerned, I want to beat my chest and grunt, mine. But my mom raised me to have better manners than that, so instead, I just stayed real close by her the whole time.
“It’s so sweet, isn’t it?” Every once in a while, her gooey center makes an appearance and I wanted to wrap myself around her and protect it.
I grunt an affirmation and take the chair next to her, leaning down, elbows to knees, clasping my hands together to keep them off of her.
“Unh? That’s all you got?” I feel her finger poke my arm. “Such a tough guy.”
“Fine. It’s real fucking romantic. That better?” I match her teasing smile with one of my own. “It warms the cockles of my heart.”
“Uh-oh, you’re not going to propose again, are you?”
I lean back, groaning, while she giggles. “Man, poke the bruise, why don’t you?”
“Wait, what? Did you just say Dean proposed to you?” My sister hisses from Holly’s blind spot.
Holly’s eyes go big as my sister moves into view. It all just makes me shake my head. This is going to ramp up my mom and sister’s intrusion in my life by a million.
“No, no, I was-it was a joke, I was making a joke, I was kidding,” Holly declares, her head bobbing dangerously side-to-side.
My sister’s no dummy and I watch as her eyes narrow and her hands go to her hips. She’s perfected her internal lie detector with her two kids, although, mostly Amelia-she’s trouble.
“Hmm.” Her eyes keep pinging back and forth between Holly and me and it causes a laugh to slip out.
“I’m gonna get you a drink, Mama, be right back. Gracie, sit down, take a break, be nice to Holly.”
“I’m always nice to Holly,” she calls out to my retreating back, “and, wait, did he-does he have a nickname for you?”
I don’t hear Holly answer and feel a little bad about leaving her to my sister, the wolf. Just a little since I’m pretty sure Holly will be just fine. My sister wants her to stick around so she’ll be cool.
“Hey, man, can I get a couple waters?” I ask Joe, the kid who would normally be working the shop right now but is instead handing out drinks to guests.
“Yeah, man,” he reaches into a couple, grabs a couple of bottled waters and hands them over.
“Water? Dude, I got a nice, big bottle of whiskey right over there, there’s no need for you to be sober right now.” Bear strolls up asking Joe for a cup of ice, reaching out to slap my hand and give it a shake.
“Thanks, man, but the last time I drank with you, I behaved in a way I’m not entirely proud of. Plus, I gotta drive Holly home soon.”
I’d been out with Bear the night I got piss drunk, showed up late at Holly’s house, and gotten naked with her on her couch. It’s not that he’s a bad influence, and I’m not placing blame on him either, just trying to resist temptation.
“Hey, is Lara here?”
“Nah, she had to work.” His kind and patient wife is a nurse at the hospital. I liked to call her Saint Lara, not only because of her day job, but for putting up with Bear’s difficult ass all these years.
“That’s too bad. I like her better than I like you.”
“Yeah, most people do.”
He taps his plastic red cup to my water bottle and we both drink.
When the sun begins to set, the party moves down to the sand. My uncle and dad changed out of their “formal” clothes into shorts and t-shirts long ago, and they’re both down in the sand building a pit for a fire. If the ranger or sheriff drives by, they’ll put a stop to it, but until then, we’ll have some fun. I’m on my way back from my Jeep with a jacket for Holly, but I can’t seem to find her. She isn’t where I left her.
“Hey, you seen Holly?” I ask Barney and his wife who are sitting at one of the deck tables eating cake with their kids.
“Yeah, I saw her go in the shop with you mom and sister,” he says.
“Thanks, man,” I pat him on the shoulder and head into the shop.
I see the three of them standing in the kid’s section of the shop.
“Isn’t this so cute?” My mom’s voice would guide me if I didn’t already spot them.
“Yes, very.”
“And, here, take one of these, I love this graphic and who knows how much longer we’ll have it for.” I see my sister add what looks like a t-shirt to a pile in my mom’s arm.
“Uh, what’re you guys doing?” I step up to their clique.
“Just outfitting Holly and the baby with some shop gear,” Grace explains. “We should do a big family photo after the baby gets here to hang in the shop, all of us in our Red’s t-shirts. Wouldn’t that be cute?”
I’m pretty sure she’s not really asking me, so I don’t respond.
“Hey, you ready to go?” I ask, leaning in towards Holly’s ear.
“Mmm, not really, but we probably should. I swear I had ankles when the day started,” she mumbles, looking down at her feet.
“Here, Dean, take all this,” my mom shoves the stack of clothing into my arms and I shuffle the jacket so as not to drop it all. “Holly, honey, we’ll send some food home with you two, okay? Oh, and cake.”
“Thank you,” Holly says, resting her hand on my arm and leaning on me just a bit. She must be feeling the long day if she’s leaning on me willingly.
“Hey, Gracie, can you get me a bag for this? I wanna help Holly.”
Grace heads over to the cash register and comes back with a bag, into which I dump the loot.
“I’ll go help Mom, be right back,” she says and then Holly and I are alone.
“You okay?” I know she gets annoyed when I ask her that all the time, but I’m going to keep asking until she and the baby are in the clear.
“I’m just tired, I think. This is more activity than I’ve seen in quite some time,” she admits. “But, Dean, I had such a nice time today, it was worth the swollen ankles.”
“Want me to carry you to the car?”
“God, no,” she asserts, her face set and stubborn.
I’m ready to face off with her when my mom pokes her head in the shop door. “Dean, come help your dad carry all this food to the car!”
“Alright, come on, then.” I pull Holly’s hand through the crook of my arm and we walk slowly out the shop, where I sit her down in a chair on the deck while my dad and I load up more food than Holly and I can eat in the next few days into the car.
“Hey, Dean?” a sleepy Holly says from next to me in bed. This is probably my favorite time of day, when she and I are under the covers and the room is dark and quiet; here, she’s so easy to talk to here, it’s like her walls come down in this bed.
“Yeah?”
“I had a really fun time with your family and friends, you’re really lucky to have them all here.”
I turn my head to look at her shadowed profile.
“I am, I know.”
There’s a question, a lot of questions, actually, on the tip of my tongue, and I’m debating if it’s a good idea to ask any of them.
“Hey, Holly?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you ever talk to your dad?”
Her breath catches and she rolls her lips in between her teeth. I’m not sure what that reaction is, but I
’m leaning towards it not being a real good one.
“No.” Her answer is short and final. But I’m a pusher.
“Never? Not once since he went to prison?”
She takes a deep breath, her face still tipped toward the ceiling. Normally, right about now, she’d be tipping onto her left side to face me, since that’s the side her doctor recommended she sleep on.
“When I was sixteen, shortly after I’d gotten my driver’s license, I drove out to see him without telling my Grandma.”
I hold my breath, hoping she’ll continue without my prodding.
“I-I hadn’t seen him since he went in and I hit a rough patch in therapy, so I thought it would help me, you know, get closure or something.”
“Did it?”
She shrugs. “I guess.”
“Have you thought about reaching out to him now, letting him know he’s going to have a granddaughter?”
Her head snaps to mine. “He is not going to have a granddaughter. My daughter will never know he even exists, because as far as I’m concerned, he died, same as my mom.”
Well, shit. I’d obviously touched Holly’s raw spot. I had lots of them, so I knew what they looked like and I certainly knew how it felt when someone tried to force you to talk about it. It felt like shit and it pissed you off. But sometimes it was necessary, only, I’m still learning about Holly and we’re in such a precarious place, I’m nervous as hell to push her away.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry, I just…I don’t know…” I reach a tentative hand out to rest on her belly. It’s kinda the only place I’m comfortable touching, anywhere else would feel like I was making a pass at her, only because I’d like very much to touch her everywhere else. So, belly it is.
“It’s okay,” she says quietly, shifting to her left side to face me. I leave my hand where it is, so when she moves, it slides to her waist. “I’ve gotten out of the habit of talking about him, and it’s not a topic I’m a big fan of.” Her hand tucks in between her cheek and pillow and, damn, I’d really like to kiss her. Anywhere. Everywhere.
“But you have a right to ask these questions, you’re sort of involved with my crazy past now.”
Her shrug is all insecurity this time and without thinking, I slide my hand up to rest at her neck, my thumb sweeping across her cheek.
“Your crazy past brought you here, to me, so I’m kinda okay with that.”
And when her eyes blink open to look in mine, all big and shiny, I know for sure that I am so gone for this woman.
Chapter 37
Holly
“Hey, there was a package for you at the front door,” Dean calls out on his way in from his morning run. “You know someone in Big Bear?”
“Ooh, Sasha and Dan!” I lay down my book and heave myself into a sitting position against my headboard.
“Sasha and Dan?”
The mornings have been chilly lately, so he’s taken to wearing these athletic legging-type of pants under his shorts and, why I think that’s so sexy, I don’t know. My libido is a mystery to me these days.
“Yes, they’re the couple I met when I went to Big Bear at Christmas, they managed the rental I stayed in.”
He stops mid-stride, halfway between the bedroom door and my bed.
“You went to Big Bear at Christmas?” He asks, his head cocked, and why do I feel like I’ve just said something wrong?
“Yes,” I stretch out the word.
“With who?”
He’s got a package in his hand and I’m so impatient to open it! Do we ever grow out of the joy of opening packages?
“By myself.” I reach out with grabby hands for the box, but, instead of handing it over, he grabs it between both hands, holding it in front of his chest.
“Let me get this straight,” he says, his voice sounding a lot more patient than I’m feeling. “You drove up a snowy mountain, by yourself, pregnant, to rent a house from strangers?”
What-what is even happening right now?
“For your information, I’ve done lots of things by myself, involving strangers, before you came along, now can I please have my package?”
“Not while you were pregnant with my kid, you didn’t.”
My hands drop to the bedspread in front of me, fisting.
“Excuse me?”
His stance stiffens, his chest grows broader, his feet plant, his face is hard. Ah, this must be Staff Sergeant Slade.
“Just because you’ve recently decided to throw your hat into the dad-to-be of the year ring does not mean you have any say over how I live my life.”
“Recently?” His arms cross, the box still held tight in one hand.
“Yes, well, let’s not forget that up until about a few weeks ago, you weren’t even sure you wanted to be a part of all this,” I wave my hand in the air, incorporating myself, my belly, and everything surrounding him.
“Is that what you think?”
“Dean, come on, if I hadn’t gone into the hospital, you still might not be here.”
And then his face hardens more into a mask so firm, I wouldn’t have guessed possible.
“Here’s your package,” he tosses the box onto the bed, his voice stiff and emotionless, and then walks out of the room. It’s when I hear the front door open and close a couple minutes later that the regret kicks in.
Crap.
I slide down and turn onto my side, tucking my hands around my belly.
“Sorry you had to hear that, little pineapple.”
I read that my baby’s hearing is now fully developed, so, great, she heard her mom and dad’s first fight. Aww, mom and dad. Why did that make my heart squeeze?
I need to pee, so I push myself out of bed, pull down my “Peace, Love and Books” t-shirt (nothing really fits over my belly anymore) and waddle to the bathroom. After my business is done, I venture into the bedroom whose door has been closed for weeks now. I’d pretty much avoided this room since the failed crib incident for anything other than tossing in a new purchase and shutting the door. I had this image of bags and boxes piled on top of each other in a heaping mountain in the middle of the room, but when I open the door, that’s not the case at all. The crib is put together, the bedding on the mattress, the rocking chair I ordered is set up in the corner, the shag rug in front of it, my fancy stroller ready to be taken for a stroll stands patiently in front of the closet. There are diapers unpacked and stacked neatly in a basket on the bookshelf, the little mint green chair has a stuffed monkey sitting in it.
Well, double crap.
Dean’s been working hard setting up a space for our little baby and I now feel like a terrible person for unloading my insecurities on him in the worst way ever.
The screen on the back door hits and suddenly he’s there in the middle of the kitchen and I’m here in the middle of this adorable room.
“I’m so sorry,” I force myself to say. Apologizing is hard, even when you’re genuinely remorseful.
His hands drop from his hips and he looks down to the floor.
“It’s alright, Holly.”
“No, it’s not.”
His eyes meet mine again and I sure wish he could read my mind so I didn’t have to actually say all the words out loud.
“I, um, obviously…um…”
“I get it,” he stops me, a palm up in my direction.
“I don’t think you do,” I whisper, my hands suddenly shaking.
“Look, I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t be so…demanding.”
“I don’t think you’re demanding, maybe a little bossy,” I venture to say. And I really didn’t think of him as demanding, if anyone was demanding in this partnership, it was me. He’d actually been extremely patient with the situation, taking care of pretty much everything and never complaining.
“I just thought things were getting better, like you were starting to trust me.”
My eyes squeeze shut.
“I do trust you, Dean.” Gah, my mouth is so dry. “I just am kinda messed up, y
ou know, because of stuff, and I don’t-I’ve never-“ I huff out a frustrated breath, back up a few steps, and sit down in the rocking chair. Wow, it’s a really comfortable rocking chair. “Why is this so hard?”
“Just say it, Holly.” His hands are back on his hips and he looks like he’s bracing for bad news, and I suddenly feel…protective of him.
“Trusting you is scary…putting my faith in another person scares me and I’ve never been in a relationship with so many emotions,” I admit. “As you may have guessed, I’m not very good at emotions.”
I find it easiest to stare at his knees. I can talk to his knees.
“I, um, I care about you and I’m super pregnant and, according to many sources, emotions tend to be a bit volatile during pregnancy-“
“Wait, you care about me?”
“Well, obviously.” I look up to his face now, confused as to why he’s confused.
“Not obviously, Holly. Not at all.”
“Oh.”
He steps towards the room I’m sitting in, stopping to hover in the doorway.
“I care about you, too.”
You’d think the confession would quell the hand-shaking, but no.
“Okay, so, the only other person I’ve cared about like this since my parents is my grandma. Well, and Maya, but don’t tell her that.” But, still, it feels like it would hurt a thousand times more to lose you, I think.
“I’m not going anywhere, Holls. I know I left room for doubt, but I’m trying to prove that to you. I will prove that to you.”
“You have,” I insist, gesturing to the room around us. “You so have. That was just my fear talking earlier, and I was irritated at the thought of you questioning my actions. I don’t like to be questioned.”
“I got that.”
“I’m used to making my own decisions, always.”
“And I’m used to people doing what I say.”
Our eyes hold in a stubborn stalemate.
“I can do better,” I swear to him.
“Me too.”
Everything about his posture and expression softens then, and I feel this sense of pride.
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