by Jewel E. Ann
“Jesus, Elle …” He grimaces.
I rest my hand on his chest. “I don’t want to, I’m just being realistic. I could miscarry. I’ve never been pregnant before. I don’t know how this will go. But I know a lot of women who have had multiple miscarriages. All I’m saying is that I don’t want you to stress out over this right now. You could go home and tell Harry, and if he doesn’t react well, you’ll have put a strain on that relationship over something that may never happen.”
“Something that may never happen?”
I nod.
He sits up, hunched over the side of the bed, fisting his hair. “I need some air. I’ll be back later.”
“Air?” I sit up as he walks away. “It’s cold and snowy outside.”
He continues out of the bedroom and down the stairs without responding. I flop back onto the bed and try to get some sleep, but after long minutes of incessant thoughts, I sit up. Throwing on some warmer clothes and boots, I tiptoe downstairs and try not to announce my departure as I escape out the back door.
“Dang! It’s cold.” I pull my hat down over my ears better and cinch my scarf tighter. There’s a rental car in the driveway, so he didn’t go far. I follow the footprints in the snow to the dock where Flint stands with his back to me.
“It’s cold. Go back inside,” he says without turning.
“You’re upset. Why are you upset?” I stay a few feet behind to give him some space.
“I’m not upset. I’m just trying to figure out everything.”
“Were you not listening? I told you it’s too early to stress over figuring any of this out.”
He turns. Cheeks rosy from the icy air. Jaw set as if it’s frozen in place. “You miscarry. Then what?” His shoulders lift toward his ears.
“Then …” I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“Nothing,” he repeats with a breath of cynical laughter. “I go back to my life and you go back to yours?”
I cringe, turning my body to guard my face from the wind. I’m not sure which is more chilling, the frigid wind or his words. “I … I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Maybe.” He nods slowly with an indiscernible expression. “And if you don’t have a miscarriage?”
“Then we figure it out.”
The warm air condensing from his exhales floats over his shoulder, proof that he’s here. I still can’t believe it.
How ridiculous of me to think that, even for one second. Of course he’s here. When I break—he picks me up.
“Let’s go inside. I don’t want you in the cold any longer.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders and guides me into the house.
“Oh shit.” I stop, looking up at the back door and the man opening it to go inside like he lives here.
“Who’s that?”
“Alex.”
“Your ex?”
“Yes. He’s here visiting his parents for the holidays.”
“And how do you know that?”
I continue toward the door. “They stopped by yesterday.”
“I see.”
“There she is. Where did you go?” my grandma asks as we step inside from the freezing cold.
“Just to get a few minutes of fresh air.” I smile, shifting my gaze to Alex, but he’s not looking at me.
“Who’s your friend?” he asks as if we’re still together and he’s curious about this man behind me.
“Alex, this is Flint. Flint, this is Alex.”
Alex doesn’t offer his hand, but maybe it would be weird since his are kind of robotic. I don’t know what the protocol is on that. “How do you know my Ellen?”
My Ellen? Since when? I narrow my eyes at Alex, but he’s still not looking at me.
“I wasn’t aware that she’d been chipped and registered to a specific owner—like a dog.”
I snort at Flint’s response.
“Sorry.” Alex gives me a brief glance. “Habit. I feel like we’ve been together forever.”
Except for the two years you treated me like shit and the year since our divorce. But who’s counting.
Alex steps toward me, giving me that look of adoration that he used to give me, as he lifts his arm up, touching my cheek with his cold, prosthetic fingers.
I stiffen as Flint’s hand wraps around Alex’s forearm, pulling it away from my face. “But just to be clear … if any man were going to put something inside of Ellen and lay claim to her … it would be me.”
Just to be clear … I just fell in love with Flint Hopkins again.
From the kitchen table, my dad and grandparents look on with confusion while Alex’s face alights with realization as he jerks his arm from Flint’s grasp. Flint steps between me and Alex like he’s protecting me. He doesn’t need to protect me from Alex, not anymore. But seriously, I love this man so damn hard right now.
Alex takes a step back. He’s athletic, lithe but strong, like most good surfers and climbers. But my ex-football-playing baby daddy probably packs a bigger punch.
“So you’re the responsible one who put her in this situation. How kind of you,” Alex says.
“What situation?” Grandma asks.
I move around Flint, giving my best fuck-you look to Alex. “There’s no situation, Grandma. I’m good, Alex. Thanks for stopping by to check on me.”
Alex stares at Flint. I’m afraid to turn around to see the look on his face.
“Call me if you need me.” A smug smile crawls up Alex’s face. The only thing he loves more than knowing my secret is knowing Flint knows that he knows. “Like if things get too complicated.”
“I don’t anticipate that.” I give him a tight smile.
Alex nods slowly. “Have a happy New Year.” He turns and gives a polite nod to my dad and grandparents.
I watch him all the way to the door. When it shuts behind him, I turn toward Flint. He’s wearing his special unreadable expression, but the vibe I’m picking up is that he’s upset. At Alex? At me?
I don’t know.
“El-len?”
“Yes, Dad?” I smile at him.
He gives me a look that’s much easier to decipher. It’s the look that will make me confess if I don’t get out of here soon. All these years later, and even after suffering a stroke, he still has that look.
“Do you need something? If not, I’m going to go get ready to take you to your appointments.”
Dad continues to stare at me. Nope. I’m not going to let him break me. Not right now. “Okay, give me twenty minutes.” Without glancing back at Flint, I climb the stairs, but I feel the heat from his body right behind me. Maybe it’s not his body, maybe it’s his anger.
“You’re mad, but I’m not sure why.” I turn the second I step foot into my bedroom.
He towers over me in our customary toe-to-toe stance. “Your dad doesn’t know about the baby?”
I shake my head.
“Your grandparents don’t know about the baby?”
Another head shake.
“But your fucking ex-husband knows about the baby?”
My chin drops, gaze to the floor. “He was here. I threw up. It just …” I shake my head. “I don’t know. It came out. I felt like hell. I was mad at you and mad at the world because feeling like that makes you hate life a little.”
“Why were you mad at me?”
I look up. “Because you are partly to blame for this pregnancy, and when I was bent over the toilet dry-heaving until every single muscle burned, it wasn’t your hands pulling my hair out of my face, it was his. And that pissed me off. It pissed me off that you weren’t here. It pissed me off that he was here. And I …” I sigh. “I needed to tell someone.”
“I hate that he touched you. I hate that it was his fucking hands that pulled your hair back. I hate that I wasn’t here.”
I nod. “I know.”
The pain intensifies in his face. It hurts to imagine what’s going through his mind.
“My dad has his therapy appointments. Are you coming with us?”
; He pulls me into his chest. “Yes.”
*
FLINT DRIVES US through the snow-covered roads to my dad’s appointments. Flint makes dinner for my family. Flint dazzles all of us with his knowledge of—everything. Flint helps get my dad ready for bed so I can rest.
He reminds me why I so easily fell hard for him, long before I admitted it to him. Long before I admitted it to myself.
This man didn’t come here to just take care of me, he came here to take care of what means the most to me. Those who love you the most, will cherish what you cherish. They’ll nurture what makes you—you.
I grab a glass of water and turn off the lights before heading upstairs to bed. Flint’s making my bed like there’s going to be a military inspection. I don’t think he ironed the sheets, but I can’t say for sure. I don’t see a single wrinkle in the perfectly turned down bed. Speaking of perfect … the sculpted man stuffing the pillows into pillowcases and wearing only partially unfastened pants makes me feel something in my tummy besides nausea. “I’m not going to let you leave.”
Flint smooths out the downturned sheet once more. “Yeah?” He takes my glass of water and sets it on the night table.
“Yeah.” I press my hands to his chest, letting my fingers trace each muscle. “If it’s a boy…” I whisper “…I hope he looks just like you.”
His fingers find their way through my hair, until he’s holding my head, tipping it back until my gaze finds his. “And if it’s a girl?”
I smile. “I hope she brings you to your knees every day.”
“Like her mom?”
Mom. No words can describe how that makes me feel. My life started over after the divorce. My dreams vanished. I’ve been waiting for life to show me where I fit in again. Mom.
I want this life.
“Do I bring you to your knees?”
Flint pulls me to the bed and guides me to sit on the edge. He kneels on the floor between my legs, wrapping his arms around my waist as his cheek rests on my chest next to my heart. “More than anyone.”
My fingers trace the hard lines of his bare back as I think about Harry’s mom. “Surely not more than anyone.”
He shifts his head so his lips press to my sternum. “Anyone,” he whispers.
Sliding my hands to his head, I slowly fist his hair and drop my chin until my lips press to his head.
I want this life.
I want this man.
Do I want the impossible?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Flint
I WAKE BREATHLESS with this woman in my arms—and my child. Sweat beads along my brow from a nightmare.
We were in the delivery room and Heidi was at the door shaking her head. She mouthed “Penance” just before fading away like a ghost. Ellen gave one more hard push. The doctor announced it was a girl. I kissed her until her lips fell limp against mine. Machines started beeping. Everyone scrambled. The doctor said, “We’re losing her.”
In a blink, I was standing over Ellen’s grave holding our baby.
“Mmm …” She hums, her ass pressed to my morning erection. “I like where your hand is,” she murmurs as her hand covers mine over her belly. “Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year. How are you feeling?”
“So so. A little queasy.”
“Food and more contraband herbs for you.” I sit up and reach for her water and the glass tincture bottle.
She giggles. “Is it pot? Are you giving me marijuana?”
“The correct name is cannabis. Open.”
She sits up, giving me the hairy eyeball. “So that’s a yes?”
“Open.” I hold up the dropper.
“Flint …”
“Elle, open.”
“Not until you tell me.”
“It’s not a yes.”
“So it’s a no?”
“Open.”
“Tell me!”
“I make my own tinctures. Marijuana is illegal to grow in Minnesota.”
On a stubborn sigh, she opens her mouth. I squirt in a full dropper.
“Yuck!”
I hand her the water. “Drink. And let’s get you some food.”
“You’re evading my question. I need to hear, ‘Ellen, I’m not giving your baby marijuana tincture.’”
I slip on sweatpants and a tee. “Our baby.”
“Our baby. You have to tell me how you got into growing everything, making your own tinctures. It doesn’t fit the football player, the sports agent, the attorney.”
I shrug. “I’ve always liked botany. In school, it grabbed me. I know I give Harrison a hard time about his obsession with science or music, but I was the kid obsessed with collecting seeds and growing anything I could wherever I could find the space. Just wait … at some point my parents will tell the story of carrots growing in the middle of our front yard.”
Ellen grins. “Yet, you’re an attorney.”
“Yeah, well, people rarely do what they love. We do what seems smart at the time. I loved football too, but when that didn’t work out, I did what seemed smart.”
“I love hearing about young Flint.” She smiles and stretches, arching her back. I focus on her nipples pressed to her nightshirt.
“Whatcha looking at?”
My gaze snaps to hers.
Busted.
“I’ll make you your ginger tea. Do you want a piece of toast and eggs or oatmeal?” I tug on my sweatpants and pull my shirt down as low as it will go.
“Shhh … hear that?” She presses her finger to her lips.
I listen and shake my head. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Exactly.” She sits up on her knees and shrugs off her nightshirt.
“Elle—”
“Shhh …” She shakes her head. “You know what else can ease nausea?” She walks on her knees toward the edge of the bed. “Endorphins. Wanna help release some endorphins in my body?”
“Ellen. We’re not … fuck …” I suck in a hard breath as her hand dives into the front of my pants.
She strokes me. “I’ll take this as a yes.”
“You need food.” I grimace as she tightens her grip and slides her thumb over the head of my cock.
“Then you’d better see how fast you can give me a rush of those nausea-relieving endorphins.” Grabbing the neck of my shirt, she jerks me toward her until I’m bent down close to her face. Her lips brush my ear. “How fast can you make me come, Mr. Hopkins?”
“I’m trying to be a gentleman with you. I’m here to take care of you.” I grab her wrist, but I can’t bring myself to force her to stop.
“Take a five minute timeout from being a gentleman.” Her teeth sink into my earlobe as she works my sweatpants and briefs past my hips.
“Your rats are watching.”
She smirks, jerking her hand up my length a few times. “Just Gaga.”
“Five minutes?”
Ellen nods. I love her messy red hair, those eyes … the freckles. She’s the fucking package of all packages.
I kiss her hard until she moans, making long strokes with my tongue. She tugs at my shirt. I pull away and shrug it off before pinning her to the bed. “Move your panties to the side,” I whisper in her ear.
“Yesss!” She slides the crotch of her panties to the side, closes her eyes, and lets me give her all the endorphins.
I remind myself that she wants this.
I’m not an inconsiderate man simply getting off at the first chance.
Her rats are not watching me—judging me. Except Gaga. The ugliest one of the bunch.
“Right there …” Ellen’s pelvis lifts from the bed, reaching for more.
I kiss her and slide my hand between us. She cries into my mouth then jerks her head to the side. “I’m coming …”
Good for her. I want to. I really do, but I can’t reach an orgasm with images in my mind of a hairless rat watching my naked ass.
Now it’s just awkward. I’m not wearing a condom. She’ll know if I simply quit
and don’t orgasm. But I fear I could break her pelvis if I keep pounding into her while trying to focus on her sexy tits or how warm and tight she feels around me instead of images of Gaga with her freaky little hands gripping the cage as she just stares with her black, beady eyes and pointy snout.
My five minutes are about up. Ellen digs her nails into the muscles of my ass, urging me on.
Fucking rats!
I stop. There’s no point in continuing.
“What are you doing?” she asks, a little breathless.
I pull out and roll onto my back, sliding up my briefs and sweatpants. “You beat me to the finish.” I stare at the ceiling with my hand splayed over my chest. “You needed the endorphins, and now you need some food since I gave you those herbs.”
The bed vibrates as she laughs. “I beat you to the finish? Since when is sex a race with winners and losers?”
“Since you got pregnant and now your needs trump mine.”
“Oh my gosh!” She sits up, holding her nightshirt to her chest. “You’ve had sex since …” Her head shakes as if she needs to rattle out the words instead of speaking them. “Since we were together before Thanksgiving. You … you’ve had adult companionship haven’t you?”
“What?” I sit up just enough to lean back on my elbows. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s the only explanation for pity sex.”
“Pity sex?” I try not to laugh, but this is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.
“Yes. Pity sex.” She crawls off the bed and pulls her nightshirt back on over her head like she’s angry at it too. “It’s what you give to someone who you deem desperate after you’ve had your fill.”
“My fill of what?”
“Sex! Are you not listening?”
So. Fucking. Much. That’s how much I love this fiery little woman stomping her feet and fisting her hands.
“You think I’ve been off getting ‘my fill’ of sex since you moved here?” I laugh.
She stabs a finger toward me. “Don’t you dare laugh at me.”
“I’m not laughing. I’m—”
“You’re laughing.” She marches out of the room, slamming the bathroom door behind her.
Okay, I’m laughing a little bit. I knock on the door.
“Go away.”
I turn the handle. It’s not locked.
