Losing You (Stars On Fire #4)

by Ryleigh Andrews

  When she was presentable, Lizzie sneaked a peek in the nursery, saying hi to Mrs. Myers, before they shooed her away.

  “Fumes!” they shouted.

  So she went about opening the windows on the second floor to ventilate the house. Then she decided to hang out in her office, making sure to snag a plate of Mrs. Myers’ baked French toast along the way.

  When her eyes started to droop, Lizzie headed upstairs. Nap time.

  From the landing, she could see some of the progress they had made, and couldn’t resist stepping in the direction of the nursery when Gwen’s head whipped out in the doorway. “No. Fumes!”

  “Fine,” Lizzie huffed and turned to her bedroom to chill out on her bed. Flipping on the television to a Cubs game, her eyes gave in to her exhaustion and she fell asleep.

  When she woke up, her body rested against something warm and hard. Lifting one eye open to check it out, she saw the light blue fabric of Marc’s shirt beneath her.

  “Hi, sleepyhead,” he said.

  “Hi. What time is it?”

  “After five.”

  “Shit!” she exclaimed, not believing yet totally believing that she’d slept that long.

  “Yeah . . . what happened?” he asked.

  “Sorry. I got side-tracked,” she said, turning her head to look at him.

  He rolled his eyes at her. “Sure . . . side-tracked.”

  “I was. The bed was asking me to lie on it. It gets lonely,” she whispered as if telling him a secret.

  “You’re silly.”

  “Maybe a little . . . but the bed got you to join it as well.”

  “The bed had nothing to do with it,” he said teasingly. “I heard the game—extra innings win by the way—and followed the noise to here where I saw you out to the world.”

  “Oh,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

  When she tried to sit up, he stopped her. “No, just lie down.”

  “Where are the others?” she asked, following his order, breathing him in.

  “Long gone. They saw you passed out like you were and they quietly snuck out.”

  “Are you all done?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can I see?”

  “Maybe,” he teased, pushing a strand of hair from her face.

  That single move scrambled her brain cells, ruining the fabulous retort she had. All her focus fixed on his fingers moving those hairs behind her ear and the way the tips of those fingers skimmed her skin, smoothing her hair.

  Then her brain righted itself and the kiss they’d shared yesterday was front and center. A hug hadn’t been enough. Neither had that kiss. She wanted another.

  Her gaze moved up his body to his face and found those intense blue eyes on her. Lizzie wasn’t stupid. She knew that look, knew what he was feeling. He wanted another too.

  Placing her hand on his strong thigh, she attempted to push herself up. He moved his hands to her underarms to assist her, pulling her up, her face even with his. Her large belly pushed against his flat stomach and she pictured the abs she knew lay under the fabric.

  Lizzie splayed her hand over the V of his shirt, his warm skin beneath her palm. Her focus fell from his eyes to her hand on his chest. His tanned skin such a contrast to hers, drawing her to it. She moved her pale hand and replaced it with her lips, his quick intake of breath revealing his shock.

  She was surprised too but couldn’t stop . . . he tasted so good. Her mouth moved higher, up his neck, his jaw, his head falling back into the pillow, giving her more access.

  God, she wanted him.

  Pulling at his shirt, she lifted it over his abs, his chest, and over his head.

  “Elizabeth,” he said softly.

  Her hands and lips mapped his entire torso. He groaned loudly when her chin grazed his erection.

  Holy fuck. He was so aroused.

  “Marc . . .” she whispered against his waist.

  He sat up, taking her up with him, his hands on the hem of her tank top and quickly pulled it up and over her head. They were face to face, topless. The need to kiss him drove her and she found herself closing the distance between their lips. When her mouth was a breath away from his, her son decided to give her a swift kick. Marc’s eyes widened in shock.

  “What the heck was that?”

  “That was my son,” she said. Knocking some sense into me, she thought.

  What the hell were she and Marc doing? Her damn pregnancy hormones were kicking into overdrive and were intent on ruining what she had with Marc. They couldn’t just have sex. She couldn’t do that . . . especially with someone she cared for and wanted in her life. She and Marc needed to be smart about this.

  She rolled to her side and grabbed his hand. “Feel. He’s like tap dancing in there right now.”

  Marc stared at his hand on her stomach, his face a picture of concentration. That same face broke into a wide grin when he felt it. “That is absolutely amazing, Lizzie,” he said, his hand still on her stomach. “Where is his head? On the side somewhere?”

  Lizzie shook her head. “No,” she said, taking his hand and moving it to the bottom of her belly. “He’s in the head down position. He doesn’t have much room to move now . . . so when he moves, I feel it. It’s almost time.”

  “You nervous?”

  “Yeah . . . in a little over a month, my life is going to change. This year has been constant change but this . . . this is something I’ve never done before. I mean, I haven’t held a baby since high school!”

  “You will do just fine, Elizabeth.”

  She thought about the past two days and the way her friends and Mrs. Myers had shown up to help her get ready for her son’s arrival. Their actions eased the overwhelming cloud she’d been under. “I will because I have the best people by my side,” she said, putting her head on his shoulder. “You being top on that list.”

  Reaching over, he grabbed their shirts. She kept her eyes on his face as he slid the tank over her head. Her cheeks heated as she finished putting her top on, the realization of what they’d done finally hitting her.

  “Marc . . .” she said as he quickly donned his T-shirt.

  “Shh . . .” he responded, kissing the tip of her nose.

  “But we should—”

  “Yes, we probably should talk. What just happened . . . I know you know my body’s reaction to it,” he paused and she tried not to smile . . . as did he when he looked at her pointedly. “That being said, I think we should put the brakes on whatever this is. Like you said, so much change has happened in your life and it’s not over yet. Let’s focus on you and that baby in your belly. I will still be here, Elizabeth. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Lizzie

  July 26, 2010

  “You coming in this time?” she teased Marc, standing up after the nurse had called her name. Despite tagging along to her last few appointments, he’d yet to come into the exam room with her. He surprised her when he nodded.

  Marc had been on alert since she told him about the Braxton-Hicks contractions she’d been feeling today.

  The nurse weighed her and took them into the exam room where she took her blood pressure. With a nod to the paper sheet on the counter, she said, “You know the drill.”

  Lizzie’s eyes widened. She hadn’t thought about the fact that she’d have to undress in front of Marc.

  “Do you want me to leave? Turn around?”

  “Nah . . . it’s not like you haven’t seen it all before. It’s just a lot fatter this time.”

  Yet she didn’t move. Rising from his seat, he retrieved the paper blanket and held it up for her, like a curtain. “I don’t want you uncomfortable.”

  Even though he kept his eyes up as she removed her shorts and underwear, he somehow knew when she had disrobed because he wrapped the crinkly blanket around her, holding it secure with one hand and taking her clothes from her with the other. She stepped up and sat on the exam table while Marc took the seat by her side and looked at his phone.


  “Are you posting that you’re at the OB-GYN?” she teased.

  “Ha! No . . . just reading Clark and Mia’s Twitter exchange over who’s the sexiest brunette in the band.”

  “Ah . . . who’s winning the debate so far?”

  “I don’t know. They’ve just compared abs. Sorry, bro. Mia wins there.”

  “Lemme see!” Lizzie exclaimed, very curious about this.

  Marc handed her the phone and she burst out laughing at Clark’s drawn on abs. He definitely had a six pack beneath the colored lines but he’d tried to give himself a twelve-pack.

  “Oh dear . . . yeah, Mia wins that round for sure. I wonder if I’ll ever have abs like that again,” she said, patting her watermelon of a stomach.

  “You had abs like Clark?”

  “Well, that’s what mine will probably look like after this.”

  “You’re telling me you’re going to grow hair on your belly? He’s a furry beast!”

  “No! At least I hope not,” she said with a laugh just as the doctor came in.

  “Hi, Lizzie. Let’s get this show on the road,” the doctor said.

  She laid back and let the doctor do his thing—measuring her belly, listening to her baby’s heart beat, and the internal exam which freaked Marc out.

  “Hmm,” said the doctor.

  “What?”

  “Have you been experiencing any contractions?”

  “Not really. Just the tightening around my stomach from time to time. I just thought they were the Braxton-Hicks ones . . .”

  “You are five centimeters and almost one hundred percent effaced. Those were real contractions, kiddo.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Very.”

  “Damn.”

  After determining that her contractions weren’t regular, her doctor sent her home with a warning to take it easy, conserve her energy, and to let him know if there were any changes.

  “Soon, kiddo,” he said and left to see his next patient.

  “Holy shit,” she said, a little shocked. “He said ‘soon.’”

  “He did, Elizabeth. Let’s get you dressed and home.”

  For the rest of the day, they kept things quiet, lounging about and watching television. She had a light dinner, her nerves keeping her from eating any more.

  When she asked him to stay, he replied, “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He went to his car to get his bag and her anxiety levels shot up with him not being in the room with her. She was scared and needed him by her side. Soon could mean any damn time. When he came back inside, she blurted out, “Sleep with me.”

  “Lizzie . . .”

  It was a huge step and he knew it.

  “Please, I’m so nervous. I know that even though you’d only be down the hall, I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I . . .”

  “Shh . . . it’s okay,” he said, taking her elbow. They headed up the stairs, side by side, to her bedroom. After each taking a turn in the bathroom to get ready, they sat in bed. He put on a pair of light blue sleep pants and a T-shirt. She, on the other hand, had on a tank top and a pair of Tom’s old boxers. It was fucking hot.

  She flipped on the TV and watched the news and he pulled out his laptop and typed away. “Whatcha working on?” she asked after the news was over. His fingers paused on the keys.

  “My next novel.”

  She didn’t really know much about his writing. Tom had told her a little, that while he was in rehab that he’d started a book, but it was all very abstract. No specifics at all.

  “Why don’t you talk about your writing with me?”

  “You never asked me about it.”

  “Oh,” she said, realizing she hadn’t. How completely selfish of her. “Will you . . . tell me about it?” she asked, turning to him.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “I don’t know . . . everything?”

  He took a breath and closed his laptop, his hands resting on top of it. “Well . . . let’s see. My first book was released this past February. It’s doing very well, surprisingly. Though I didn’t use my name, it got out that it was me—son of Beckett Kerr. I’m currently working on a screenplay for it with a screenwriter friend in LA. That’s actually been quite a fun experience. Can’t wait to finish that. And I’m also working on a new book.”

  “Does it have a title yet?”

  “It does.”

  He said nothing else. She’d have to push. “What is it?”

  “Losing You.”

  “What’s it about?” she wondered. The title intrigued her.

  “That, my dear Elizabeth, is not something I’m ready to discuss yet.”

  She pouted. “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t know the ending yet.”

  “Oh,” she said, guessing that made sense. “Well, let me know when you do. Now I’m very curious as to what this book is about.”

  “You’ll be the first to know,” he said, his intense eyes on her. “Why don’t we go to sleep? Your doctor said rest, and I don’t think staying up past midnight equates rest.”

  Subject closed, Lizzie thought but didn’t push. She’d be keeping an eye and ear tuned to him and that laptop which he placed on the nightstand. Then he turned out the light. She did the same, lying on her left side facing him.

  “Sleep, Elizabeth,” he said, kissing her forehead and placing his hand on her bare belly.

  Lizzie woke up in the middle of the night, feeling an uncomfortable pressure on her bladder and as quietly as she could, got out of bed to go to the bathroom. She had to hurry to the toilet because she was seconds from peeing herself.

  “God, this is taking forever,” she thought, sitting on the cool seat, and when she tried to stop the flow, it wouldn’t stop. That was weird, and then her foggy brain cleared—her water had broken!

  “Marc!” she shouted. Of course this had to happen at three o’clock in the morning. “Marc!” she cried out. How much freaking water was in her belly?

  “Lizzie?” Marc called out, his voice still gravelly from sleep.

  “Bathroom! My water broke.”

  The chaotic noise of him getting out of bed gave her a chuckle.

  “I think it’s time,” she said, as he rushed into the bathroom, his hair disheveled, his sleep pants ridiculously low on his hips.

  “You think?” he said jokingly. She laughed at him and the smile stayed on her face. Her baby was coming! She was finally going to meet her son.

  Marc

  He got her to the hospital, made all the calls he was supposed to make. Now he stood in the waiting area, staring at her room. Mrs. Myers arrived in record time and was now with Lizzie. He wondered if Tom’s mother had been camping out at the hospital to make sure she was there for the birth of her grandson.

  It was good that Mrs. Myers was in there with her. She knew what to do. Marc? Not a clue. Lizzie needed someone who knew what to expect.

  But every now and again, her groans and cries of pain reached his ears and he wanted to rush in that room, and do what? . . . he didn’t know. Something. Anything. He felt so helpless out here.

  “Ahhh!!!”

  He cringed at her loud, drawn out cry. Then a nurse burst out of the room. His heart leapt to his throat, thinking something was wrong.

  “Marc?” the nurse called out.

  “Yes?”

  “Elizabeth wants you in there.”

  He rushed into the room, skidding to a halt when he saw her, exhausted, her head resting on the pillows, beads of sweat trickling down her face, her breathing labored.

  “Elizabeth . . . sweetie. Marc’s here,” Mrs. Myers stated.

  Lizzie whipped her head towards the entrance and smiled wearily at him, holding out her hand. She needed him and the feeling of helplessness dissipated. He grasped her extended hand and squeezed.

  “Hi, beautiful. How are you holding up?” he asked, moving loose strands of hair that stuck to her gorgeous face.

  “I’m tired.”

  “I’m sur
e you are, but you’re doing a really good job.”

  “God, it hurts,” she groaned as another contraction rolled over her. Her head fell back after it passed and she repeated herself, tears streaming from her eyes. “It hurts,” she cried, rubbing at the spot right above her heart. “Marc, it hurts.”

  He knew she wasn’t talking about the contractions, but her heart, wanting Tom there. Her pained eyes locked on his and he knew. “I know,” he mouthed to her, then kissed her forehead, holding his lips there. “He’s here. Take a deep breath and feel him. He wouldn’t miss this. Breathe, Elizabeth, and feel.”

  He repeated it until she did. “Again, beautiful. Deep and slow. That’s my girl.”

  “Lizzie, let’s push with the next contraction,” her doctor ordered.

  Through each and every push, Marc held her hand, kept his forehead to hers, and saw her eyes change when her son announced himself to the world with a big ol’ cry.

  “It’s a boy, kiddo!” the doctor said, placing the newly born baby on her chest.

  Mrs. Myers on the other side of them sobbed when she saw the baby. He looked just like Tom. His nose. His mouth. Here he was . . . his best friend’s son. Marc closed his eyes and let the tears come.

  Lizzie

  The smile on her face was never going to leave, Lizzie thought as she stared at her son, marveling at how much he resembled his father. She could already see it . . . the shape of his mouth, the turn of his ears, the color of his hair. God, she remembered when Tom’s hair had been that blond.

  “You’re killing us, Lizzie. Share the name already,” Gwen pleaded. She and Ollie showed up together just a little bit ago. Ollie had presented her son with a little stuffed Chicago Cubby bear and Gwen had given him a little Winnie the Pooh. “His own little Pooh Bear.”

  Back to her son’s name . . . that had been a difficult choice, but when Marc had said Tom was in the room, Lizzie knew.