“I didn’t think it would look this real, with arms and legs,” he chokes out around his tears.
“I’m almost ten weeks, so we missed the stage of the baby looking like a blob,” I say as I let go of a sad laugh.
“Ten weeks?”
“I’m due in October,” I tell him, and he finally looks up from the photo. His cheeks are damp, and I move to my knees, cup my hands along his jaw, and in the same loving way he does with me, I gently lick his tears away.
TODAY IS THE last day I have with Declan before I have to leave. Bennett returns this evening and I’ve been a wreck all morning. I’m scared and nervous that Bennett will know I’m pregnant, that somehow he’ll be able to tell. But I’m also sad, because for these past few days since telling Declan, I’ve allowed myself to believe that this baby is his and that we’re going to make this work. It’s all a lie though. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but whatever it is, I want to do it with Declan. I don’t even want to imagine going back to a life where he doesn’t exist for me.
I’ve never come across anyone like him. His intensity is entirely consuming, and when I’m not with him, all I can think about are ways I can sneak around to get to him. It’s like he’s the oxygen I need to survive, and when he’s gone I’m suffocating. I don’t know if love is supposed to feel this way, but it’s all I know, and it’s all with him.
“How are you feeling, darling?” Declan asks as he walks into the bathroom.
“Better. The heating pad just can’t do what a hot bath can.”
“You’ve been in here a long time.”
Sinking down into the hot water, I look up at Declan as he stands over me and admire him. His square jaw, covered in day old stubble, the hard lines of his chest that are noticeable through his shirt, the roped muscles of his shoulders and arms. He’s a beautiful man, casual in his dark jeans and bare feet, and suddenly, I’m mourning the loss of him as he blurs on the other side of the tears that flood my eyes.
Squatting down on the balls of his feet, he crosses his arms over his knees, asking, “What’s wrong?” softly, his brows pinching in worriment.
“I don’t want to leave.” My voice is a mere whisper as I close my eyes to shield the tears from falling. I’ve never exposed this vulnerable side to another person as I find myself doing with Declan. I’ve always prided myself on how well I can cast the iron around me. Stoic and poised; the envy of everyone. But with him? It took something I didn’t think I had in me.
Trust.
Somehow . . . somewhere along the way, he got me to trust him, and in the wake of that, I let him in. He now occupies a part of me that I had only reserved for Pike, but Pike only filled parts of that for me. It’s Declan who fills me entirely, breaking the elasticity, filling me completely and running over to occupy the other vacant pieces inside of me.
The water laps around me, and I open my eyes to see Declan, naked, stepping down into the large tub. I move forward as he situates himself behind me, wrapping me up in his arms as I sink into his embrace. He slowly combs his fingers through my wet hair, and I release a faint hum in approval for the soothing touch. I run my hands down his strong legs that I’m tucked between and close my eyes again.
“Lean forward,” he says, and when I do, he starts to gently massage my lower back. “How’s that feel?”
“Really good,” I tell him. I’ve been suffering from searing stomach and back cramps, the same cramps that led me to the doctor earlier this week. Declan became really concerned the other night when he woke up to find me sleeping in the bath tub, filled shallow with hot water. He made me call the doctor to see if she could prescribe painkillers, but since I’m pregnant there isn’t anything that wouldn’t be harmful to the baby. So I’ve been spending most of my time soaking in hot baths since it seems to be the only thing that gives me any real relief. The doctor said that this type of cramping is pretty common during an endometriosis pregnancy.
“I hate that you’re leaving when you’re hurting so much,” he says while he kneads his fingers along my back.
“I don’t want to go.”
“Don’t. Stay. I’m not going to be able to function knowing you’re with him.”
Drawing my knees to my chest, I wrap my arms around my legs, making my request, “Talk to me.” I need him to do something to distract me from my sadness.
“What do you want me to tell you?”
“Tell me about your home in Scotland. What’s it like there?”
He pulls me back against his chest, grabs a washcloth, and starts dipping it in the water and wringing it out over my shoulders and neck.
“It’s rainy most of the time,” he begins, and I close my eyes, resting my cheek on his pec and listen as he speaks. “But the green, sprawling hills make up for the lack of sunshine. The countryside is amazing.”
“Is that where your house is? In the countryside?”