by Kate Stacy
Though I had no clue it was going to happen this quickly, I mentioned the possibility to her yesterday. She was vocal about not wanting me to leave. We’ve lived together since we graduated high school and a big part of me will miss it but staying here isn’t an option. Stalker aside, I’m at the point in my pregnancy where I’m going to have to start relying more on other people—whether I like it or not—and help isn’t readily available here. My siblings would do almost anything for me, but Presley has her own life and I refuse to ask her to put hers aside to be home to take care of me.
There’s also Ryan.
I know I said it was too soon, and I still kinda feel that way, but I wasn’t lying when I told him I want to spend more time with him. We’ve been together for a couple months now and things have been good so far. My attraction and feelings for him are only growing stronger. I’ve been holding back, intentionally not bringing sex into our relationship. I want to be sure we’re together for the right reasons, not only because we’re having children together. With relatively no personal experience, I didn’t want sex to confuse things for me.
Don’t get me wrong—I want Ryan.
So damn bad.
Every time I see him, my body is quick to remind me how explosive our night together was, as if I could ever forget. All he has to do is step into a room and my hormones rage. I honestly don’t know how I keep resisting my urges, especially today. Watching his muscles pull and flex as he moves, lifting heavy boxes and carrying the weight like it’s nothing. It feels like there’s an inferno blazing in my core.
I watch him grab another box, eyes greedily tracing over every taut muscle in his arms. Without shame, a low moan slips from between my lips. His eyes dart to mine and he winks, flashing that movie star smile before going out the door again.
“Never mind,” Presley says, watching the trail of guys, Ryan at the front. “I can’t compete with that.”
I’d totally forgotten she even asked me a question, but I’m paying attention now.
For a second, I’m almost jealous of the way her eyes linger. A red haze starts to cloud my vision until I realize she’s not looking at Ryan at all. Her eyes are locked on Adam. Maybe I was right. Maybe he is her type. Interesting. Very interesting.
I’m curious as to how this might play out.
Once the guys finish loading everything into the trucks, we all pile in and head to Ryan’s, where they unload into the spare room there. Having my own space was my one stipulation to moving in with Ryan and he readily agreed. Greedy hormones aside, I’m not ready to jump into bed with him yet, in either sense. For now, I’ll have my own room in his house while we get used to living together.
As a thank you, I order lunch for everyone before they go their separate ways.
Holden and Jaxson head to the bar.
Presley and Macy try to stick around, wanting to help me unpack, but finally head out after I convince them I have no plans on unpacking today.
Adam takes off, too, likely heading to his shop.
And then there were two.
A voice nudges at the edge of my consciousness.
“Camille.”
Warmth slides up the length of my arm, over my shoulder, settling on my neck.
“C’mon, gorgeous girl. You gotta wake up.”
“Don’t wanna,” I grumble. “Can’t make me.”
He chuckles, and I smile. I wanna wake up to that sound forever.
“You’re fuckin’ adorable.”
I finally open my eyes, only to scowl at him. Playfully, I pout. “You ruined my plan to become one with the bed.”
His chuckle turns to full blown laughter.
“Sorry.” He’s not. “I had a good reason for waking you. Holden called. Your sister is in labor.”
Nap forgotten, I hurry to get out of bed with only a little help from Ryan.
It’s frustrating, being this tired. It’s not like I did any of the heavy lifting today. I didn’t even lift a finger. I should have been enjoying some alone time with Ryan once everyone left, but my exhaustion won out and I laid down to take a nap. Growing babies is hard work.
The rest of my family is already at the hospital by the time we get there. I want to go back to see Madalyn, but she’s already in active labor. From what Holden says, she waited until the last possible minute to go to the hospital, so we shouldn’t be waiting long.
Less than an hour later, Jaxson appears through a set of double doors looking like the happiest man in the world. I suppose in this moment, he is. He and Madalyn fought through hell for this day.
“Ava Lynn,” he says, sounding much like the proud father he’s just become. Tears spring from my eyes in fat, salty drops when his voice cracks. “She’s beautiful. Six pounds, two ounces, nineteen inches long. Fuckin’ perfect.”
Emotion overflows the room. There isn’t a dry eye in the room when Jaxson loses his composure completely. Holden’s the first to move, pulling Jaxson into a tight hug. Together, they rock back and forth, neither ashamed of the tears that flow freely down their faces.
After a few minutes, Holden claps Jaxson on the back and pulls away. “How’s my baby sister?”
“They—” Jax clears the emotion clogging his throat. “They’re both doing good. Sleeping.”
We all take turns, congratulating the new dad and giving him our love before he manages to escape to go back to his girls. He promised everyone would get to see baby Ava soon, so no one has any immediate plans to leave.
My cell starts ringing, pulling my attention away from the love and happiness in the room. I look down, groan at the words on the screen, and silence the ringer. Seconds later, it starts ringing again. Unknown caller. When I ignore this call, the text notification chimes, but I’ve had enough. I turn off my phone and slip it back into my purse. Almost everyone I love is here, so I won’t miss anything important by being unavailable.
When I look around the room, Ryan’s staring at me with purpose and I already know he heard my phone go off. I’m not hiding it from him, but I’m also not going to let some asshole ruin this momentous occasion. I’m going to push it aside, be happy, and celebrate with my family.
But still, I give Ryan the confirmation he’s searching for—I nod.
TWENTY-FOUR
Ryan
Pulling up in my driveway, I turn off the ignition and take a few deep breaths.
This is a daily habit of mine.
I try to purge any lingering stress from my mind and body before I step foot through my front door. I hate bringing any kind of negativity home with me, especially now. Home is my happy place and I’ll do just about anything to keep it that way for my family.
The last couple of weeks have been equally incredible and irritating.
Moving in with us has been a good change for Camille.
She’s been eating more, which has helped her gain back the weight she lost. And then some, which is a fact she likes to remind me about anytime she eats. I find it amusing. She doesn’t. She fails to realize that she could gain a hundred pounds and I’d still be attracted to her. It just so happens that the weight she’s gained has accumulated in all the right places, accentuating her already perfect curves. Nothing could stop me from wanting her.
Weight complaints aside, she seems to be doing much better. Of course, she’s always tired and sometimes it shows, but it’s to be expected. She’s got two babies draining all her energy. She’s not entirely stress-free, but I think living here has helped.
Her doctor is still concerned about her blood pressure, though Camille still isn’t showing any signs of a more complicated problem. I know it’s from the stress of the damn messages that have not stopped coming.
And that’s where my irritation comes in.
I want this motherfucker stopped.
Only, we have no idea who it is, no one to confront.
I desperately want to change Camille’s phone number, but it would only be a temporary
solution to a long-term problem. Whoever this guy is, he shows no signs of stopping. Right now, we need the messages in case one of them can give us any kind of clue as to who’s sending them.
Lady luck has not been on our side.
Every number he’s used is untraceable, and he never keeps one number for too long. It’s obvious he’s using burner phones. We’re at a standstill. We can’t do anything without knowing who he is, but he’s not giving us anything we can use to figure it out. Quite frankly, it’s pissing me the fuck off.
Pushing back my anger, I take one last breath and make my way inside.
The sight that greets me from the living room dissolves any remaining dregs of frustration.
Camille is relaxing on the couch, looking sexy as hell without even trying.
She’s wearing some type of baggy, off-the-shoulder sweater, giving me a tempting peek at the smooth curves of her shoulder and neck. Skin-tight shorts leave most of her lush thighs exposed. Her comfort is topped off with a messy knot on the top of her head and a pair of knee-high socks.
This girl is the sexiest fucking thing I’ve seen in my life.
Camille has always been gorgeous, and I sincerely appreciate the curves of motherhood on her, but that isn’t what holds my attention.
Knee-fucking-high socks.
I never could have imagined that seeing my girl in a pair of knee-high socks would make my dick hard, yet here we are. Maybe it’s just because it’s Camille. I don’t even know. The reason doesn’t matter, it does nothing to stop the image of fucking her in nothing but those socks from forming in my mind.
Jesus Christ and all the saints.
Closing my eyes, I think about the most unsexy things I possibly can to make my dick go down.
Meth addicts. Elderly indecent exposure.
Don’t judge me. I’ve seen some crazy shit as a cop.
Once I can move comfortably, I drop my phone and keys on the kitchen counter as I pass, heading straight for my girl. Kissing her when I come home has become the best part of my day. Today is no exception, only our simple ‘hello’ kiss quickly turns into something carnal and raw. Forcing myself to pull my lips from hers, I leave her panting for breath as I drop to my knees in front of her and press a soft kiss to her belly.
Placing my hands on both sides of her round belly, I massage gently while I talk to the babies.
Maybe it’s inappropriate, but I take great pleasure in watching the lust swirl in Camille’s eyes as I tell our babies how much their mommy drives me to the point of madness.
“Don’t tell them that,” she says, voice full of laughter.
Smiling, I drop another kiss on her belly. “Daddy’s gonna get himself in big trouble, but I can’t help it. Mama’s gorgeous.”
The babies start moving around, pushing against my hands.
It’s not the first time I’ve felt their movements, but like every other time, I’m left with a sense of awe. Feeling my children react to the sound of my voice is amazing. It could never be anything less than special.
Camille adjusts her position and I move to the couch, laying down with my head in her lap. I continue to talk to the babies, excitement growing the more they move. I talk about nonsensical things at first, but they don’t seem to care. The more I talk, the more they move. I tell them how excited we are for their arrival, especially their big sister. I tell them how spoiled they’ll be by everyone that loves them already.
A sniffle from Camille steals my attention. Her eyes are full of tears, but she smiles.
“They love the sound of your voice.”
I can only smile.
Camille joins my one-sided conversation and we talk to the babies until her growling stomach interrupts.
“I’ll get us something to eat. What are you in the mood for?” I ask, kissing her belly again before I sit up.
“Shouldn’t we wait for Hannah and Adam? I can just grab a snack until they get home.”
“Nope. Hannah is staying at a friend’s house tonight, and Adam will be at the shop late. It’s just you and me tonight, so what sounds good?”
“Oh, my God. I’d kill for a margarita,” she groans, dropping her head back. “And queso. All the queso and a big ass burrito.”
I chuckle as she peeks at me from under her lashes. She’s too fucking adorable for her own good.
“I’m gonna run out and grab some food. I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
“Don’t rush. I’m gonna shower while you’re gone. I have a feeling I won’t wanna stand long enough to do it once my belly is full.”
So much for trying to keep myself from getting hard again. The mere thought of Camille’s luscious body, naked and dripping wet, has me conjuring up all types of visuals and most of my blood runs directly south. Biting back a groan, I try to distract myself by helping her up off the couch. Touching her soft skin does nothing to help my internal struggle, even though it’s only her hand in mine.
Leaning in, I kiss her cheek. “Be back soon.”
I head toward the kitchen to grab my keys and phone as Camille disappears down the hall. I hear the bathroom door close as I reach the front door. My phone vibrates as I’m locking up. I glance at the screen and realize it’s not my phone at all.
It’s Camille’s, and the message preview on the screen makes me want to go on a rampage.
You’re mine, Camille. I had you first. I’ll have you again.
I wanna nail this motherfucker to the wall.
The only good thing about this text is that it could be helpful.
This knowledge causes me to stand motionless at the front door warring with myself. The cop side of me wants to rush back inside, pull Camille from the bathroom and show her the message. The sooner she sees it, the sooner I’ll know if she can tell me who sent it. The boyfriend/baby daddy side of me knows it’s important to take care of her, which includes keeping her stress down and making sure she eats.
The latter wins.
I quickly go back inside, swap phones, and leave the house, double checking the lock on the door.
It only takes me about twenty minutes to get our dinner and get home, but that twenty minutes was spent obsessing over the damn text. Twenty minutes is a lot of time to sit, stewing in anger and frustration. Two weeks now, I’ve read and re-read every single text message, looking for even the slightest hint of who this guy could be, and I’ve come up blank every time.
This text could be the game changer.
TWENTY-FIVE
Camille
A hot shower is one of the most relaxing things in the world. I’m so relaxed, I have to force myself not to crawl into bed for the rest of the night. The knowledge that Ryan went out to get me queso is the only thing that stops me.
I throw on an outfit similar to the one I was wearing before and head out to the living room. I bounce on my feet when I see the takeout bag on the table in the living room. My excitement dies when I see Ryan sitting on the couch, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. I stiffen, reacting immediately to my ability to feel his tension from across the room.
I move toward him slowly, cautiously, as if he were a caged tiger.
I’m not afraid of him, not really. I’m only wary.
What happened in the last half hour? What am I missing?
My eyes pass over his face, but I can’t get a read on him.
“Ry. What’s going on?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. “Did something happen?”
The muscles in his forearms flex, drawing my attention to his hands.
And my phone.
“Another one?” I venture a guess before he answers either of my previous questions.
“Yeah,” he says, voice rough and full of grit. “Grabbed your phone by accident. Only noticed when the text came in.”
None of that matters. Now that he knows about the harassment, there’s absolutely nothing on my phone I’m worried about him seeing. I don’t want to, but I n
eed to know, “What did it say?”
Releasing his tight grip, he hands me the phone.
I hesitate before swiping the screen, but at this point, I’m more afraid of not knowing.
I suck in a harsh breath as I read the words.
I know.
Stunned, my arm falls loosely to my side, the phone slips out of my trembling fingers and I don’t move to catch it. I watch it fall to the floor and for some reason, my eyes won’t leave those words on the screen. They taunt me, bringing back things I’ve long wished forgotten.
I know, without a single doubt, the identity of the sender.
What I don’t understand is why.
“You know who it is.”
Unable to speak, I nod.
I read the words again and choke back a sob.
Ryan jumps from the couch, wrapping his arm around my waist to pull me against him. The warmth of his body makes me realize mine has gone cold. Leaving the phone on the floor, he guides me to the couch and helps as I lower myself.
My pulse races, but my body is numb.
I’m going to have to tell him everything.
Every single thing I’ve tried to deny for so long.
Every single secret I’ve ever kept for myself.
He waits, not calmly, but patiently while I gather myself. We’re sitting, but he hasn’t released me from his hold. His body vibrates with unspent tension and I can feel every bit of it. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t push. He only waits.
“Chad.”
His name feels like a curse on my tongue. As if speaking his name would conjure him from my nightmares. Childhood fears brought to life. Like Bloody Mary, or Candyman.
“His name is Chad Sullivan,” I say, taking a breath to steady my nerves. “He was my high school boyfriend.”
I pull away from Ryan, unable to tolerate being wrapped in his arms while I purge the demons of my past. I see the hurt flash in his eyes, so I take his hand, linking his fingers in mine.