Deacon turned the ignition on the car and pulled out into the heavy traffic of the main strip. He didn’t have any choice but to pay attention to where he was going. To focus on the street signs and the lights. To the people around him.
Anything to block out the tears he’d heard in her voice.
The panic. God, so much panic and fear.
He wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel and made himself look around. Made himself take the left, then the right that lead to their cottage.
Their destination was right there. The cozy place with the solar lights and wrought iron fixtures. The large purple door and the stone. The sweet little place that was supposed to be their escape.
He pulled to a stop at the top of the driveway and let his hands fall to his lap. Harper’s forehead was tipped to the glass, her breathing regular. Had she fallen asleep?
Or was she just hiding?
Again.
He climbed out of the car and rounded the hood. When he opened her door, the dome light cast harsh shadows on her face. The bruises under her eyes and the streaks of makeup down her cheeks ripped at him.
Crouching in front of her, he smoothed a lock of hair out of her face. She instinctively moved into his touch, her eyelids twitched, but she didn’t stir. As much as he wanted to shake her awake and talk, part of him was happy she was asleep.
He didn’t know what to say.
Didn’t know how to make this not become a fight. His hands trembled with anger and worry for her. For them.
After the word pregnant, the only thing he’d heard was we’re not ready.
Over and over again, she’d said it. In a dozen different ways.
His worst nightmare unfolding in front of his eyes.
A woman who may never want to have his child. That was closed off even to the thought of a child in their lives. But he didn’t know if she never wanted one, or if it was just because they were still so new.
And he couldn’t blame her for the thoughts. That was the part that hit him hardest. Because, no, this was so far from the best timing to have a baby.
But the idea of Harper being uninvolved with the baby if they did have it?
He lowered his head.
He’d never bring a child into that kind of life.
Harper had been an independent spirit since her early teens, but at least her parents had wanted her around. She’d created a family on the road with Mitch and her brother for those times that she needed it. She’d finally let him in.
He didn’t know his father. And his mother had only worried about what man would take them in, take care of her. He’d been an afterthought for as long as he could remember.
That would never be his kid’s life. He or she would never wonder if he was coming home, or if he’d remember to feed them.
Deacon slid his arm under her knees and gathered Harper into his chest. His heart squeezed when she wrapped around him. Her face turned into his hair, her warm breath on his neck. The solid weight of her was real and whole.
She murmured his name in her sleep, her arms tightening on his neck.
He’d loved her for only a few months, but the idea of her not in his life was so terrifying. Why did this have to come up now? Just when they’d finally found a little peace and they were starting to actually make this marriage thing work.
He skipped the front door, not wanting to jostle her awake to get to the lock and his keys. Instead, he followed the path to the back porch. The privacy of the beach and their little cottage let them grow complacent. Locking doors was a rarity. In fact, most of the time the door was open as were the windows to let the cool ocean air in.
Slipping inside, he set her down on the bed. She rolled into the pillows with a soft sigh. He slipped off her jewelry, drew down the straps of the dress, easing the material over her ribs and down her hips. Tanned skin glowed in the low light from the bedside lamp they’d left on. She tucked her knees up against her body and wrapped herself around a pillow.
God, she was so beautiful. Her hair a tangle of sunshine streaks over honey. His eyes drifted lower to the curve of her breast and hip. Flesh colored lace hugged her ass, luring him in. He needed to hold her.
Needed to hope that they could make this work.
Intellectually, he knew she’d been scared. She’d needed proof to start to process the thought of a baby in their lives. Or…not. Ultimately, it was her body. And he’d abide by her wishes.
But the idea of losing something they’d made together sliced him down the middle. They could have children later. Women had a choice for a reason. He believed in that choice.
But could he live with it?
He turned away from her. As much as he wanted to curl around her and tell her everything would be all right, he didn’t believe it.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
He crossed to the bathroom and shucked his clothes, stepping under the rain hood at the center of the shower. He closed his eyes and turned the water up as hot as he could stand. He reached out to the tiled wall and leaned forward, letting the water drill into his back. Until the muscles there would stop seizing up.