“Call Maya whenever you want, Holls, just please also call the others.”
“What about you? When do I get ahold of you?”
“My entire family knows how to get ahold of me on base, your number one priority is getting to the hospital.”
I can’t even imagine what going into labor is going to be like. I’ve read the books, the articles, the mommy blogs, but it’s such an abstract concept right now. And I’m sure that’s why Dean needs to find comfort in having a plan, I know that. He likes plans, he likes structure, and the idea of not being around to take me to the hospital probably makes him crazy. It would probably make me crazy if the roles were reversed.
“And you’re absolutely sure about not doing any kind of labor class or hospital visit or anything?”
“Absolutely sure.” Ugh, the thought of sitting in a room with a bunch of strangers talking about birthing plans and techniques and watching videos together, sitting in a circle breathing while my “partner” rubs my back. Yeah, no. That just sounds horrible. “Besides, I’ve already had the hospital visit, remember?”
“Mmm,” he grunts, tugging me just a bit closer to his body.
Not his favorite memory, I guess.
“Hey, Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“I was thinking,” I start, tentative, broaching a subject I’ve been working up the nerve to discuss with him, “maybe we should have a name picked out for a boy, just in case.”
“Dean Jr.?” He suggests and I pull back to look at him, hoping like heck he’s joking. You never know with this guy.
“No,” I answer, my eyes narrowing at his stupid grin. “But what about Samuel?” I offer up timidly.
“Samuel?” He dips his chin to his chest so he can see me better, a question in his eyes. “Like, after my Uncle Red, Samuel?”
“Yes.”
His gaze is piercing, always trying to read my mind and understand.
“We could call him Sammy. That’s cute, right?”
“Sammy Slade,” he mutters, studying my face. “Or O’Brian, whatever.”
“He’s a good man, your uncle, he’s been so nice to me and he loves you so much, Dean. I don’t know, it probably won’t matter since the chances are slim of her turning out to be a him.”
Once again, I have no idea what’s going on in his head and I’m just going to have to wait him out.
Which turns out to be so worth it, I discover, when, instead of responding with words, he reaches out with both hands to cup my face, thumbs resting on my cheeks, and kisses me. He’s so gentle at first, so soft, like he’s testing me, but I’m not about to push him away, and when he realizes this, he presses harder and one hand slides down to my back, pulling me close (as close as he can with this giant beach ball between us). My exposed strip of tummy is pressed to his warm, hard stomach, while his hand at my back grazes up under my t-shirt against bare skin and it’s all soooo good. His hands, his abs, his lips, good gravy, I’m about to either explode or melt into oblivion, it could really go either way at this point.
And then he stops but he doesn’t release me, not with his hands and not with his eyes.
“What was that for?” I ask, my voice a soft breath between us.
“I just can’t not kiss you anymore, Holly.” His fingertips press tight to the skin where they’re touching, his eyes tight and searching. “I just have so many feelings.”
You’d think he was mad about that, the way his voice sounds, but I know better. I know that he’s struggling to control what’s happening, but I think this is just one of those things in life you can’t control.
“Feelings…ew.” I wrinkle up my nose in faux disgust and his lips crinkle, his eyes soften just a bit.
“I know, right? Feelings are the worst.”
“Totally.” I refuse to look away from him because I know he does better understanding when he can see my eyes and I don’t want him to miss a bit of this.
“But…maybe, you also have…feelings?” He asks, and ugh, he sounds so vulnerable. If I didn’t already love him stupidly, I would have tipped right over that edge. Dean doesn’t do vulnerable, yet here he is, doing it for me, and I just want to soak up every drop of this moment, want to preserve it for eternity in my mind; but I must be taking too long because I watch him start to shut down and pull away.
“But….” I tell him quickly, before I lose him, grabbing on tightly to his arms for added measure.
“But?”
“Big but, so much but.”
But maybe I do have feelings, but maybe I’m in love with you, but maybe I want to stay like this forever and ever.
We stay in bed until my hungry stomach rumbles vibrate the bed.
“I’ll go see what there is to eat,” Dean says, starting to pull away from our cuddle cocoon. “I’ll go to the store later, stock you up for the week.”
We’d been laying here in bed for the better part of an hour, talking, touching, kissing (!). I wasn’t cold anymore, in fact I was the absolute, complete opposite of cold. I was hot. Everywhere. Especially certain places. It was misery, yet it was bliss, and I didn’t want him to go anywhere.
“No,” I whine, trying to pull him back to me.
“You’re hungry.”
“Yeah, I am,” I say, making an attempt at saucy and alluring. His chuckle lets me know I’ve failed.
“Food, Mama,” he declares, pressing his lips to mine before rolling out of bed. And, yes, obviously, my eyes snap to his chest, his stomach, his arms, because they are bare and on display for my viewing pleasure.
Why, oh, why, must sex be so far off the table right now? What if I only had this small window where he felt this way, and I was going to miss it because of a pregnancy condition that affects roughly three percent of expecting mothers? Don’t misunderstand, my priority is my baby’s safety, but I just really don’t want to miss my window. He said he has feelings, he didn’t exactly clarify what kind of feelings-I mean they could be lustful and/or fleeting.
“Ugh, what a chore, you having to feed me. I can do it myself, you know,” I tell him, never wanting to be a burden.
“I like feeding you,” he says, stepping back up to the bed and leaning over, planting his hands on either side of me. “I told you, you bring out the animal in me, and there’s just something about you, pregnant with my child, dependent on me, that really gets me going.”
“Oh, jeez,” I roll my eyes and attempt to push him away.
“I know, it’s disgusting and primal and I’m not proud of it, but, I have a feeling you might enjoy some of my other primal urges.” He climbs onto the bed, straddling my legs, and uses his hands to pull mine above my head, trapping them there with one hand, using the other to slide down my body, arm to chest, to belly. His face is so close to mine, his lips brush against my cheek, my jaw, then my neck, and lower. Oh, I really hate when he tries to prove me wrong, but I have to say, I really like how he’s doing it.
“Okay, okay, okay, I get it,” I surrender, “you’re sexy and you know it.”
I stick my hand between my chest and his face and push him back.
“Now get your ass in that kitchen and make me some breakfast.”
His deep laugh tickles the skin of my palm, along with his tongue, ew, which makes me promptly release his face.
“Your wish is my command,” he declares with a kiss against my neck, and then he’s gone. And once I’m sure he’s out of sight, I fan myself with the blankets, because, yowza.
We don’t do nothing that day. We have a few hours of warm sunshine once the marine layer burns off, so he makes me get out of the house and go for a short walk on the beach. I know, I know, I was just saying I couldn’t wait to get sun on my face and sand under my feet, but every morning I feel like I’ve gained ten pounds since the day before and I’m just feeling it today. Dean says he’ll carry me back if I need him to and I laugh (but, still, I don’t pee myself).
Thankfully, flip flops are all that are required because I couldn�
�t bend over to reach my feet if my life depended on it. I slip into a sweater, grab my floppy hat, and we’re off. Dean’s in shorts and a Red’s Surf Shop hoodie, with a blanket tucked under his arm, waiting for me just outside the back door.
Dean had fed both Mr. Bubberchop and me, though I got yummy eggs and toast. Believe it or not, I was not feeling pastry these days. I even let him add spinach to the scramble. Now if only he could learn to lactate.
We walk at a snail’s pace, but he doesn’t complain, and I admit, it’s nice to be out of the house, after all. It’s not real windy yet, the sun is shining, the sand feels so warm and soft on my feet. And do I want to hold Dean’s hand? Yes, yes, I do. But I don’t. I’m not sure of the rules yet. Apparently, we kiss in bed now, in addition to cuddling, so hand holding on the beach could be next.
He stops, shakes out the blanket he’s been carrying, and lays it down in the sand.
“Let’s sit,” he says.
“Okay, but be warned, you’re going to have to help me get back up.”
“Alright,” he chuckles.
I take off my hat, settle onto the blanket, criss-cross style, straighten my back, and lift my face to the sun. I can hear the sounds of people enjoying the day just down the beach, but where we are is pretty secluded. It’s not a far walk from my back door, but it would be a bit of a trek for those loaded down with coolers and towels and beach toys.
A small group of people is strolling back to the main part of the beach with their dogs. I slip my hat back on to corral my hair and notice one young woman’s got her eyes on us. Or, should I say, on Dean.
“Hi, Dean,” she calls out in a singsong voice, swinging her hips as she struts by.
“Blech,” I feign, making a gag-me face, once she’s turned back away from him.
“What?” Dean asks, a silly grin on his face.
“Hi, Dean,” I mimic. Look, I never said I was all that nice, okay?
“Holly O’Brian, are you jealous?”
I think it over and decide that the only thing I’m really jealous of is that that woman can see her feet when she’s standing up.
“Mmm, I wouldn’t say jealous, no, just...a little…curious if you’re, or maybe were, that guy.”
“What guy?” He drapes his arms across his knees, linking his fingers.
“You know, the ‘baby, it’s my last night before I ship off for war and I don’t want to be alone’ kind of guy.”
He looks out to sea, obviously mulling over my statement.
“You got all that from ‘Hi, Dean’?”
“Oh, yeah,” I assure him.
“Huh.”
We ponder in silence a few moments, both our gazes on the lulling waves.
“You know, it is a shame,” he begins.
“What’s that?”
“That you missed out on all the Dean Slade charm.”
“I don’t think I completely missed out on that,” I gesture to my protruding stomach, the obvious evidence of the effectiveness of his charm.
“Yeah, but I didn’t really try that night, you know? I was a little bit drunk and in my head…”
“Well, I did make it pretty easy for you,” I concede.
He turns to me with a grin, quirking his eyebrow.
“Oh, is this it? Is it starting now, the charm?” I ask, feigning excitement.
He huffs out a laugh. “Oh, you wanna see what you’re missing, is that it?”
“More than anything.”
“Well, get ready,” he tells me, standing up. “Stay right there.”
I watch as he walks away from me, then moves to come up to me from behind, standing in front of me, but slightly off to the side, facing out to sea. He acts like he doesn’t know me, like he doesn’t even see me sitting here, and I can feel the laughter building already.
He reaches for the hem of his hoodie and t-shirt and lifts them over his head before dropping them to the sand at his feet, then lifts a hand and runs it over his hair, giving his head a little shake. It’s then that he acts like he spots me, and shoots me a, “’Sup?,” complete with eyebrow wiggle and everything. The first giggle breaks through my closed lips.
He turns and stands right in front of me, his bare chest gleaming in the midday sun.
“This seat taken?” He asks, gesturing to the spot next to me. I wave him down and he splays himself out on his side, propping his head up on an elbow.
“I’m Dean,” he reaches out a hand for me to shake.
“Holly,” I play along.
“I don’t know which is prettier, the water, the sky, or your eyes,” he tells me without even cracking a smile.
“Wow…thanks.”
His response is a slow, creepy wink.
“Yeah, you come here often?”
And I could swear, he flexes his pecs, like, on purpose.
I have to bite my lips so as not to laugh.
“Occasionally, yes.”
“Well, I must be the luckiest guy on the beach today, because there are thirty billion grains of sand, but only one you.”
A tiny giggle breaks through my lips.
“I seem to have some of that sand in my bathing suit, wanna help me get it out?”
It’s the lift and flex of his arm that pushes me over the edge and all the giggles escape from where I’m holding them back, so much that my eyes begin to tear.
“Oh my gosh, stop!” I grab his arm, trying to get him to stop the flexing. “You are ridiculous.”
“Wait, I got more, there’s a good one that has to do with playing with your righteous beach balls,” his eyebrows waggle and I’m gone, tipped over on the blanket, hat off, and laughing.
“No more!” I insist between breaths, trying to get myself under control. His arm does a perfect slide under my neck and next thing I know, we’re laying cuddled on the blanket together in the sand and I’m pretty sure there’s never been a more perfect moment than this, in all my life.
Sigh.
“This is nice,” I tell him, because there’s no way I can tell him I love him, even though that’s what I’m thinking.
His response is to pull me closer so that my head is resting on his chest. With the hand that’s not currently wrapped around my body, he picks up my hat and places it on my head, shading my face.
“Don’t want you to get sunburned,” he explains.
My response is to press a feather-light kiss to his skin.
“I was never that guy, Holls, I’ve never used a line to pick up a woman, and I’ve definitely never used my job as a means to get laid.”
I don’t think he’s offended, but maybe I hurt his feelings a little?
“I don’t really think that, Dean,” I tell him, tipping my face up to his. All I can see is his chin, though.
“You were just different, that night was…different.”
I feel like he’s purposely not looking at me and it’s driving me a little crazy, but he’s strong and he’s got me pinned to his chest.
“How?”
He takes a moment and I let him collect his thoughts, even though it’s killing me and I’m practically holding my breath waiting for his answer. How am I different? Different good or different bad?
“You…were like…a bright light in a very, very dark room. I came here last summer, back to the states, because people I knew, people I cared about, good people, died, and I had to visit their families and express my condolences, and attempt to relieve some of their grief, which is fucking impossible, I know that. I was granted a few days of leave to try and deal with what had happened before going back overseas and moving onto a new mission, a new assignment with my team. And for the first time in my entire military career, I didn’t think I could do it. I didn’t even feel that way after my first overseas deployment, after I saw my first dead body. It was never easy, I often stumbled, reacted badly, drank too much, let my heart get hard, but I didn’t ever think of quitting, I never felt like I couldn’t handle what was going on.”
My arm slides
around his torso and my eyes close in heartache, because how. How does a person live through that and still show up the way Dean does for me and for his family and for the people he works with every day? His arm gives me a squeeze, like he knows what I’m thinking, like he’s trying to give me support.
“But this last time, I think I’d just hit my limit of bad shit. I got to the bar that night and drank shot after shot trying to numb what I was feeling, what I was thinking, and then I looked across the bar and there you were, this bright ball of sunshine; and everyone else in the room stopped existing, every bad thought left my head, and all I wanted was to be close to you.”
Oh, my heart. How dare he make me feel like this?
Me saying, I thought you were the most handsome man I’d ever seen didn’t seem to compare to what he’d just said about me.
I cover my face with my hands and burrow into his side because I’m pregnant and emotional and he is killing me with his words.
“Mama,” he utters so gentle, so quiet. “I’m not trying to upset you.”
“You’re not upsetting me,” I mumble into my hands.
“Then what’s happening?”
“I’m feeling things again.”
“Ah.” He settles back down, his arm cocked behind his head on the blanket.
He gives me a minute, then continues.
“I just need you to know, before our baby comes, before we become anything more than what we are right now, that, as much as I really fucking hate to admit, I, you know, have baggage, issues, I’m damaged, whatever.”
“Oh my gosh!” I exclaim, sitting up. “Dean Slade, I can honestly tell you that you are the best man I have ever known. My dad was damaged, screwed up, and selfish, I never knew my grandpas, the only two boyfriends I’ve had don’t even exist in your area code. If anyone should be wearing a bright, flashing disclaimer here, it’s me.”
And then he smiles, that big, stupid oaf smile that pings my heart, and I do it, I hold his hand, forcing myself to be brave.
“It was my birthday.”
“What was your birthday? When?” He sits up, knee to knee with me, looking alarmed, like he’d missed something important.
“The night we met, at the bar. It was my birthday and that’s why Maya dragged me there, against my will.”
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