Behind his eyelids he couldn’t help but see a little girl with blonde hair and summer sky eyes. He fisted his hands in hair and squeezed his eyes tight.
The word pregnant was staggering and scared him shitless.
But the next word that screamed in his head was mine.
My baby.
Harper’s baby.
Their baby.
He slapped the controls to the shower off, stepped out, and toweled off. He returned to Harper, needing the scent of her around him. He slid in beside her, gathered her close, replacing himself with the pillow she held so tightly.
Like a vine, she slid her leg between his, plastered herself to his chest, and settled her nose into the crook of his neck. And still she didn’t wake.
Right now, he wished he could lose himself in the oblivion of sleep. But he stared at the ceiling, watching the shadows slide longer as the moon traveled through the sky. Heard the seagulls cry and the crash of the tide as night faded into day.
All the while, he tried to quiet the endless record of what-ifs that spun through his head.
What if they had the baby?
Could he support them?
Did they stay in the house with the band or get their own place?
If they didn’t have the baby—could he get past that?
When he couldn’t stand the noise in his head any longer, he detangled himself and dragged on his running gear. He stopped at the door to the back patio and turned to watch her. White sheets and sunshine. But under the sleep was a restless frown and white knuckled grip on the sheet.
They had to talk. But first he’d take his time, as she’d taken hers. He stretched out the stiffness from staying still, holding her for hours. Forced himself to walk just long enough to warm his muscles, and then he pounded sand.
Early morning sun, spray from the shore, and the endorphin rush mixed enough that he could turn everything off. Regulating his breathing, his heart rate, his stride, all of it centered him. He ran until his lungs screamed, then he ran faster, praying for an answer or at least the hope of one. He ran until he didn’t recognize the beach any longer.
Still it wasn’t enough.
He turned around, aimed himself at the cottage. Aimed himself at Harper. Aimed himself to the one thing that was his peace. When he spotted the hammock and the porch, he slowed.
Then he saw her there, leaning on the sturdy post of the pergola. Her hair was down and still wet from a shower and she was wearing one of his shirts. The white Led Zeppelin one.
The familiarity of her, of the little things that made her his Harper drew him forward. He climbed the small dune to the porch and went to her. Lifting her off her feet, he closed his mouth over hers.
He felt the tears, tasted them as she gripped his shoulders, her nails digging for purchase as she shuddered through a sob.
You need to talk to her.
He pushed the voice away. He needed to connect to her again. How was he supposed to have any hope of bringing this mess to any sort of conclusion if he felt like he was moored on the other side of a sea of confusion between them?
She seemed to feel the same way because her legs came up around his hips, her ankles crossed tight to his spine. He fisted his hand in her hair, tasting every part of her mouth, branding her with everything that was inside him.
He shouldered his way inside, kicked the door shut, and kneeled on the bed with her wrapped around him. She pushed at his shorts with the heels of her feet, drawing them down as her quick fingers grasped him tight. She knew how he liked her to touch him. He groaned, wishing for even an ounce of discipline when it came to Harper. But for once, he followed his body’s craving without remorse. They needed this. He needed this.
He dragged his teeth down her neck to her shoulder, biting the skin there until she trembled for him before he gently swiped his tongue over the same spot.
Dragging at the shirt—his shirt—he pushed and pulled until it was off and they were skin to skin. Then there were no barriers and he was there, inside of her. The heat of her welcoming body calmed pieces of him. Her hands bracketed his face and her eyes on his took him the rest of the way.
The intensity faded, and they became a slow thrust and retreat of slick flesh. She kissed him gently. Words of love and sorrow rolled between them, tripping on their tongues in between sighs of pleasure. He braced himself over her, his palm under her head to hold her close, his other hand drifting down to pull one knee up over his hip to get closer. Deeper.
Sweat coated both of them by the time he felt the first tremors of her coming for him. She curled around him until there was no room for air between them. He reared back and stared down at her as she arched up to keep the skin on skin connection.
Her eyes flew open and his name was a gasp of ragged breath. He shoved his arms under her, surrounding her as she surrounded him and buried himself deep. When her nails bit into his back, he finally let go.
When the roar in his brain stopped, he tried to move off her and she brought her legs up.
“Don’t go.”