On Broken Wings

by Chanel Cleeton

  “At some point are you going to set up a nursery here?”

  She nodded. “Maybe in the next few months? I guess if the house hasn’t sold by then I’ll hit pause on the whole thing and plan on staying until the baby’s a few months old. Maybe the market will be better by then.”

  “That’s a good plan. I can help you with the nursery if you want. Paint, that sort of thing.”

  “If it’s a girl, I want to put a chandelier up. Maybe have a mural painted on her wall—a castle or a forest or something.” Her cheeks flushed. “It’s silly to make such a big change for a temporary room, but I saw these pictures online and they looked like something out of a fairy tale. If we have a boy, I saw these really cool vintage children’s book covers that you can frame. I thought that could be fun.”

  Her words made me feel like part of the process, and I was no longer on the outside looking in.

  “Those are great ideas.” I cleared my throat. “So when’s this doctor’s appointment?”

  “To find out the gender?”

  “Yeah.”

  “In a little over two weeks. On the thirtieth at two. Does that work for you?”

  “I’ll be there. Can I pick you up and take you?”

  She smiled. “I’d like that. Thanks.”

  “I can’t wait to find out if we’re having a boy or girl,” I confessed.

  Last night, I’d dreamed we had a daughter. She’d been so tiny, and she’d fit so perfectly in my arms. I’d been terrified to hold her, but Dani had stood next to me, her hand on my arm, and suddenly it was completely natural and so fucking right.

  “Me, either. I’ve been dying to find out what we’re having so I can start coming up with names, making plans . . .” Her voice trailed off. “We can start coming up with names,” she corrected.

  God, I felt that, too. I hadn’t even thought about names, had figured that was more her arena than mine. I didn’t want to overstep, but at the same time, I wanted to be a hands-on dad.

  “It’s cool. As long as you don’t name the kid something horrible, I’m good.”

  “Define ‘horrible’?”

  I considered it for a moment. “No colors. Or fruit. And honestly, I’m probably not big on place names, either.”

  She grinned. “So I guess ‘Kiwi’ is out?”

  “I’m going to pray you’re joking.”

  “You’ll never know, now will you?” she teased.

  I shook my head, a smile playing at my lips.

  Curiosity filled me. “What are you hoping for?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you want it to be a boy or girl?”

  “Honestly, I just want a healthy baby.”

  “Do you have any Spidey-Sense on what you think it is?”

  Dani laughed. “I don’t.” She cocked her head toward me. “Okay, now I’m curious. What do you want it to be? Boy or girl?”

  I shrugged. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

  Which was a little true, but also kind of a lie. I didn’t really want to tell her the truth, not yet at least. The truth merely highlighted how utterly in love with her I was.

  “Really? I’m surprised. I would have thought you would want a little boy.”

  “A boy would be awesome, really awesome. But honestly?” My gaze ran over her face, and the truth came out whether I was ready for it or not. “I want a little girl.”

  “A girl?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.” Embarrassment filled me, but I gave her the rest. “Maybe with your hair. That’d be cute.”

  A flush covered her cheeks. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.” My voice gentled and I didn’t bother trying to keep the emotion out. “A girl who looks exactly like you would be absolutely perfect.”

  Dani ducked her head, her eyes cast downward, the curtain of hair obscuring her expression. I wanted to reach out and brush the hair off her face, wanted to caress her skin. I wanted to kiss her so badly I ached.

  There was something so intimate about this conversation, a connection between us now that we’d created a life together that hadn’t been there before. We had a piece of each other that would stay with us always. Maybe it was some primal, biological urge, but seeing the woman I loved glow with my baby inside her bound me even more tightly to her. I wanted to get down on my knees and worship her, wanted to lose myself in her, wanted to come together, over and over again.

  DANI

  There was something about Easy that flipped a switch in me every single time; I was sleeping, and then he woke me up.

  Hearing him say he wanted a daughter, that he hoped she looked like me, did funny things to my heart. I hadn’t said it, but the truth was if we had a little boy, I imagined him with Easy’s blue eyes, his gorgeous smile, his blond hair, and all his mischievous energy.

  It was seriously adorable that he’d already started reading parenting books, and it was amazing to have someone I could talk to about the baby, to no longer go through this on my own. Talking to Jordan was awesome, and she’d been really supportive about the whole thing, but Easy’s excitement matched my own, and it was different knowing we’d be in this baby’s life permanently.

  “Do you want to see the first sonogram picture?”

  His eyes widened. “Yeah. Of course.”

  “I’ll go get it; I’ll be right back.”

  I headed into the kitchen, my hand on my belly, and grabbed the photo off the fridge. I walked back into the living room, holding it out to him, a rush of pride filling me.

  The image in the picture already looked like a little person, it’s head and belly prominent, little hands and legs just barely discernable.

  His fingers trembled as he took the photo from my hands. He didn’t speak. And then he looked up, emotion swimming in his gaze.

  “I can’t—” He cleared his throat. “I can’t believe that’s our baby. It’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”

  Tears welled in my eyes; I brushed them away. “I’ve probably spent hours staring at that picture. It’s so incredible to see it like that. Apparently the baby is the size of a passion fruit now.”

  He laughed. “How do you know that?”

  “There are all these websites that can track where you are in your pregnancy and then they convert the baby’s size to fruit sizes.”

  “Our little passion fruit,” he mused. “What’s next?”

  “Next it’ll be a lemon.” I tried to give him my sternest look. “Do not make any bad puns.”

  Easy grinned, stirring another flutter in my heart. “I won’t.”

  He hesitated. “Okay, dumb question, but what’s it like?”

  “Having a passion fruit inside me?”

  A dimple popped out. “Yeah.”

  “A little weird,” I admitted. “Cool, but weird.”

  “Is it uncomfortable?”

  “A bit. Not too bad, though. As far as pregnancy symptoms go I’ve gotten pretty lucky. I’m tired, and a little nauseous, but I haven’t been really sick. A few food cravings, but I haven’t woken up in the middle of the night with an urgent need for pickles and ice cream. The aversions are stronger than anything. My grocery trips involve me going down the aisles thinking of all the foods I don’t want to eat. My back hurts occasionally, and my feet have been strangely sore, but from the stories I’ve read online it could be way worse.”

  Those books were filled with horror story after horror story—hair in strange places, extreme pain, things coming out of your body. Each one freaked me out more and more, until finally I’d forced myself to skim the “body changes” sections. Let Mother Nature surprise me.

  “If your feet hurt, do you want me to rub them?”

  I blinked. He might as well have asked me if I wanted to spread margarine all over my body and then have him lick it off.

 
“I’ll pass, but thanks.”

  He cocked his head, his eyes dancing with amusement as he studied me. “Why do you look like I suggested something utterly depraved? I offered to rub your toes, not suck them.”

  God, his voice sounded way too enticing saying the phrase “utterly depraved,” even as I recoiled at the idea of his mouth anywhere near my toes. Other parts of my body, though . . .

  “Feet are gross. And private.”

  He gave me a knowing look that said it all—he’d already been inside me; any barriers that might have existed between us had pretty much been eradicated the second he saw me naked.

  “You know what I mean,” I muttered, feeling my cheeks flush again.

  “Come on. It’s not a big deal. They’re just feet. Put them in my lap.” He wiggled his eyebrows, adopting a playfully wicked expression that knocked the air out of me.

  Easy was lethal on a normal day, but when he played around, he was pretty much irresistible.

  “No,” I squealed, my protests growing fainter by the moment.

  I mean, I’d gotten a pedicure a few weeks ago, but I wasn’t sure I wanted Easy, way-too-good-looking-for-his-own-good Easy, to see my feet.

  “You’re being silly. Your feet hurt. You’re carrying my baby.” I didn’t miss the pride that shone through his voice. “It’s not a big deal for me to rub your feet.”

  This time he didn’t bother waiting. Instead he grabbed my ankles, and before I could even catch my breath he’d slipped my flip-flops off. My toes curled instinctively.

  He laughed. “This is really an issue for you, isn’t it?”

  “No. Maybe.”

  He laughed again, the sound rumbling around in my belly and sending a shock to my body.

  “Relax.”

  Ah, hell.

  His hands settled over my feet, the size difference between us enough that he covered me. He was merely touching my feet, but my body did exactly as he commanded, sinking into his embrace, my eyes fluttering closed as my head fell back on the couch pillow. He began rubbing my feet, his thumbs pressing into the soles, his fingers working their magic, and then I didn’t need him telling me to relax because I was a pool of liquid, sinking into the couch.

  “Oh my God.” I bit back a moan. “Seriously, oh my God. Where did you learn how to do that?”

  He grinned. “I work with my hands. I have this manual dexterity thing down.”

  A moan escaped. A tiny one. “Yeah, you do.”

  “Come on. How are you besides the sore feet?” he asked while another punch of lust hit me.

  The rest of it was way too personal to share. My boobs were popping out of my bra, I had to pee every ten minutes, and I was horny all the freaking time.

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “Does anything else ache?”

  EIGHTEEN

  DANI

  God, that sounded dirty, and combined with the press of his fingers into my skin, it had my body responding. I shook my head, even though that was a ridiculous lie considering the pulse pounding between my legs. I wiggled from his grasp, tucking my legs underneath me, suddenly feeling warm.

  “Thank you,” I replied instead of answering his question, wondering if he could hear the undercurrent of need in my voice.

  “Better?”

  I nodded and lied, considering his touch had soothed one ache and ignited another. “Better.”

  He gave me another smile, and a shiver slid down my spine.

  We’d moved into uncharted territory ever since we had sex and, on one hand, I wanted to be able to talk to him about the pregnancy, about how I felt. I missed the friendship we’d had before we’d slept together. But this thing between us had sprung up and changed everything, and I didn’t know how to move past it, or through it, or whatever we needed to get to a point where I wasn’t crawling out of my skin around him, my body on fire. I’d experienced flashes of it yesterday; now that he was sitting close to me, I couldn’t deny those flashes consumed me.

  Easy’s gaze ran over me, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he noticed all the changes in my body—the fuller breasts, exaggerated hips, the bump.

  “I’m starting to show,” I said, realizing as soon as the words left my lips how inane the comment was—he couldn’t miss the changes in my body now that he knew to look for them.

  His lips curved, his voice going husky. “Yeah. You are.” His smile deepened and I was treated to a glimpse of how he ended up with all those girls at his feet. “It looks good on you.”

  I shouldn’t have cared if he thought I looked good, but yeah, I did. My body was going through these crazy changes, and while half the time I felt more sexy and female than I ever had, the other half of the time I was a killer whale. And those feelings definitely turned on a dime.

  “Thanks.”

  Easy’s gaze settled back on the bump.

  “Can I?” he asked, gesturing toward my stomach. His voice trailed off, the nerves there filling the space around us. God, this was screwed up. We were having a baby together, and yet the simple act of him laying his palm against my stomach felt like crossing a line—one we’d already crossed, yet now seemed desperate to avoid, as though we could jump back to the other side and pretend that night had never happened. Except it had, and the very real reminder lay between us.

  I nodded, my throat tight, the words piled up there.

  He loves you.

  I heard Jordan’s voice in my head, that same news I’d turned over and over again and couldn’t quite make sense of. It was too big, too important. My world had been shaken enough in the past year, and considering Easy was my rock, I couldn’t handle the possibility of losing that, too.

  His hand settled on my belly, just above the tiny bump that had begun to show, his touch achingly gentle. I couldn’t look at him and I found myself instead staring at the sight of his hand splayed across my shirt, those long fingers, I realized with a flush, that I’d been intimately familiar with. They’d been inside me. He’d been inside me.

  Memories of our night together hit me. The feel of his mouth on mine, his hands on my breasts, his beautiful body looming over me as he thrust inside, filling me.

  Hard muscles, slick heat, the scrape of his teeth against my skin, marking me.

  I bit down on my lip, trying to fight the arousal pushing through, unbidden. I blamed the pregnancy hormones, and how good he smelled, and how close he was, close enough that if I leaned forward a few inches I could have my mouth on his.

  I couldn’t do this. We couldn’t do this.

  Even as my brain commanded me to move, my body responded to his touch, the heat from his palm, my nipples tightening, an ache beginning between my legs.

  I didn’t move; neither did he.

  My gaze drifted higher, past his hand, wrist, those tanned forearms with a sprinkling of hair that was so male. I swallowed, running over the impressive biceps until finally I reached his face, and the look there stole the breath from me.

  I didn’t know if it was the pregnancy or that I finally saw him, or at least, saw the way he saw me, but the look in his eyes . . .

  I didn’t know what to do with that look, wasn’t sure I’d ever know what to do with that look, but that didn’t stop me from leaning forward a hair. Okay, more than a hair.

  His eyes widened, his gaze dropping down to my mouth, and suddenly my lips felt swollen, my skin feverish.

  “Easy.” It came out as a whisper, in a voice I didn’t even recognize.

  He really did smell amazing.

  “Alex.”

  And his voice . . . holy hell, that voice. Had it always sounded like that? Did he use that tone with everyone or was it just with me?

  Wait. “What?”

  “Call me Alex.” He reached out with his free hand, his fingers skimming my jawline, and the ache grew. “I want to hear you say m
y name. My real name. Not my call sign.”

  His fingers trembled slightly as they stroked my skin, and the tremor lit a spark inside me.

  Something about the intimacy of calling him a name no one else used thrilled me.

  “Alex.”

  He groaned, and his fingers moved higher, sliding through my hair, pulling me forward. He stopped when we were so close our lips barely grazed each other, our breath mingling. I waited for the rest, for him to kiss me, but he didn’t. My heart hammered as he caressed my scalp, as he ran the strands through his fingers. God, it felt good.

  My resistance collapsed.

  I leaned forward another inch, the necessary inch, pressing my lips to his. I reached out, grabbing on to his biceps, holding on as my tongue slid between his lips and the taste of him filled me.

  A girl could get addicted to this. To the shape of his mouth—those full, sexy lips—to the way he held me, to how big and strong his arms were beneath my hands.

  I sucked on his bottom lip and another groan escaped him, the sound sending a surge of power through me. Last time I’d been swept up in the magnificent ride that was Easy. Now I wanted to take control.

  I’d been worried about complicating things between us, and I still was, but there was something about seeing him again, listening to his enthusiasm about the baby—

  I loved him. I always had. It hadn’t been romantic before, I hadn’t wanted him like this, but he’d always been someone I cared about. Now he was someone I cared about, trusted, loved—someone I couldn’t keep my hands off of.

  And because I loved him, because he’d been one of the most important people in my life for so long, I didn’t want to hurt him.

  “Wait.”

  I broke away, panting, my lips sensitive from his kisses. My body protested the lack of contact, even as sanity filled me.

  I rubbed my mouth, as though I could clear my head and brush his kisses away.

  “We need to talk about this.”

  He gave me an incredulous look. “Now?”

  I nodded. “Especially now.” My cheeks heated. “I jumped you before, but I meant what I said earlier; I don’t want to complicate things between us.”