by Lane, Arie
I wonder if I broke her more somehow, and succeeded in driving a wedge between us that I won’t be able to fix. Could she really hate me for what I’ve just done?
“Bentley, talk to me, please?” I beg.
“There is nothing to say, Tristan. I told you I want you to leave.”
“You don’t really mean that, Bentley. You mean the fucking world to me, you can’t truly believe I would do anything to hurt you,” I say.
“It doesn’t matter what you think. Whether you believe you hurt me or not is irrelevant. It doesn’t change the truth. You knowingly went out of your way to do something you knew would cause me harm,” she admonishes.
I try again to hold her, but she brushes me off. “Bentley, I’m trying to make this better. I’m trying to fix something that cunt broke in you. Can’t you see I just want you to be better?” I profess.
“So that’s it, Tristan,” she says with a humorless laugh. “No one asked you to try and fix me. Where the fuck do you get off deciding how I should be made better? Did someone dictate that you’re suddenly in charge of fixing poor fucked up Bentley? What makes you think you have any right to force me to ‘get better’? Who the fuck died and gave you authority to fix what’s been broken inside of me? I’m content with being broken. If that’s something you can’t deal with then you should have let me know before you ever fucked me. Either way, I don’t give a shit what you want to fix. I’m not a goddamn toy you can just glue back together,” she spits out.
I not thinking rationally when I shout back at her, “Darla fucking died. And with her death, yeah I took it under my own authority to fix the fucking mess she created. I can’t take back the shit she did, Bentley. But I made damn sure she’s gone for fucking good.”
Bentley flips on me before I can backtrack on what I said. “What the fuck did you do, Tristan?” she accuses. “This was never your fight. Tell me what you fucking did. What do you mean you made sure she was gone? Are you responsible for her death? Did you kill my mother?”
“I’m not talking about this with you, Bentley. I’m not giving you more ammunition to wage a war against me. I don’t know how the hell to get it through your head that I love you and I will do anything to protect you. So if you really are afraid of me, and if you really believe you need protection from me, we have a big fucking problem. I told you I’m not ever walking away from you. It’s not because I have some sick fucking need to control your life, Bentley, but I would do anything to be a part of it,” I confess.
I watch her shake her head in disbelief. I don’t need to say the words for her to know what I’ve done, and she never needs to know just how far I went. The only thing Bentley would ever hear me admit to is that I’m happy the bitch is dead. I approach her again, fully expecting her to push me away, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t let me hold her either, she just walks past me and heads back up to the house.
I follow behind her. I always knew if she found out, it would go one of two ways. She’d either hate me for what I’d done, or it would bring us together even closer. I’m standing here, waiting on baited breath for the moment of truth. She doesn’t say anything as she walks up the steps. I stay in the kitchen as she goes back upstairs. At the very least, I think she needs a few moments alone to process what she just heard.
She doesn’t take very long and I doubt she processed anything as she comes back downstairs dressed in her fuzzy fleece pants and t-shirt. I learned early on these are her comfort clothes. What I don’t notice are the other clothes in her hand until she plops them onto the kitchen table. She steps around the counter without a word and I head into the bathroom to change.
When I come back into the kitchen Bentley is sitting at the table sipping on a glass of juice. Two plates of food are set down, and I know whatever she’s debating that at least for now, she isn’t sending me away. I also know better than to believe that this is a draw. I’m not a fucking idiot. I realized from the moment she darted out of the tub that I crossed the line, no matter what my intentions were. I get to be with her another day, but I knowing I’m walking on eggshells, and I’m far from being forgiven.
Bentley
It’s been three weeks since Tristan all but admitted to killing Darla. I haven’t broached the subject again. I don’t want to know. All that matters is this man, who wasn’t even a part of my life, killed someone to protect me. But that wasn’t the whole truth. He didn’t just kill someone. He killed the one person who had single handedly destroyed my life. She had tried to take everything from me, and he stopped her. That was hard for me to process. I wasn’t sure if that equated to love, but I wasn’t questioning it either.
Things between us have been very touch and go. He’s backed off of the tub thing, but I haven’t gotten past him doing it in the first place to forgive him. I’ve trusted Tristan in ways I’ve never trusted another, and the moment I let my guard down,he betrayed that trust. That isn’t something I can get over so easily. Regardless, he seems to have forgotten all about it. He’s been bugging me to confirm the signing he wants me to attend, and I pushed my editing up so the book will be ready in time for his birthday. I still don’t know what the rush is, but if it really will make him happy then I’m willing to give him it.
My morning sickness is in full swing and most days I try to stick with ginger ale and graham crackers. Marco has been in touch and told us how they are enjoying the world over. He and Aggie are somewhere over in Europe enjoying gross sounding foods and potent alcoholic beverages. He’s very excited about the baby news, even though he’d already heard it from Tristan. He tells me he isn’t sure when he will be back stateside, but as long as he is taking care of his health and Aggie, I don’t mind.
Tristan is becoming accustomed to my mood swings. It’s like he has some kind of radar to sense when I’m going to be in a shitty mood. Our sex life, on the other hand, is insane. I feel like my libido is in overdrive. Horny doesn’t even come close to what I’m going through. I got to give the man credit though. All it takes is me brushing against his cock and he’s ready to go.
Maddie suggested to him that we christen each room in the house. I can say we’ve gone above and beyond, along with the garden, the garages, the gazebo, and anywhere else he can safely lay me down or bend me over.
I am lying on the bed with Tristan watching a movie. He’s rubbing his hand across the small baby belly I’ve sprouted, making me feel like one of those Buddha statues.
I joke as he continues to rub, “You know if you’re trying get lucky, I don’t think your rubbing in the right place.”
“No? Are you sure about that,” he teases, before running his hand down my side.
I still to stifle the giggle, but it’s too late. The twinkle in his eye tells me I’m done for as he straddles my legs to hold me down then starts tickling my sides. I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe. My chest is heaving and my stomach is full of butterflies. When I warn him if he doesn’t stop that I might pee myself, he climbs back off of me and just as he lays his hand back on my stomach, he feels it. A huge smile comes across his face as the skin moves and pushes against his palm.
“I guess rubbing that bump you’ve got growing is lucky,” he says before placing a kiss on the spot he felt the kick.
Chapter 21
Tristan
I’m very excited for today as I will be meeting my baby. Well not really, but I will get a picture, and we find out if Bentley is carrying a boy or a girl. I’m kind of on the fence. On one hand, I really want a boy. Someone I can teach all of the things my father never taught me. On the other, I’m in love with the idea of a mini Bentley. I know if it’s a girl she’s going to be a gorgeous little angel. I just hope I get a few years before she’s sassing me like her mother.
I know it’s probably strange to admit, but I love the little bump that Bentley is sporting. Something about knowing that it houses a part of her and me makes it sexy as fuck, and I can’t seem to keep my hands off of her. By the doctor's last calculations, she
’s fourteen weeks, and it’s mid June. At the moment, I feel like I’m paving a road of nothing but good intentions as I try to rush through everything I want done.
Today though, I’m not rushing. Today, I’m going to listen to our baby’s heartbeat. Bentley is finally starting to feel better in the mornings and I take that as a good sign. I was starting to worry that she’d be sick through her whole pregnancy.
We step into the doctor’s office and Bentley hands the girl her card again. The girl looks me up and down with a frown before addressing Bentley. ‘Will your husband be joining you for your ultrasound?” she asks.
I watch Bentley look up at her in confusion before turning to look at me, before looking back at the girl and replying. “He’s not my husband, but yes, he will be joining me.”
I notice as the girl behind the counter perks up at the news, and now it’s my turn to frown. I haven’t even considered if it bothers Bentley that she’s having this baby out of wedlock. Not that it actually matters as I have no intention of her having this baby before she has my name.
Bentley doesn’t say anything as we wait for the doctor to call her name. Once we’re back in the room, a nurse sets up the ultrasound machine. She is explaining how it works as she rubs this jelly stuff across Bentley’s stomach. Bentley lies back and stares at the screen. I want to know if she’s okay, but the only assurance I get is her squeezing and releasing my hand as I go to hold it.
The ultrasound technician is rubbing a wand through the jelly as she talks. “First, I’m going to listen to the baby’s heartbeat,” she explains. When she lands on the spot that’s loudest, I almost break down in tears. There is our baby with a little tha-thump tha-thump. “The heartbeat is faster than what you're use to hearing with your own heartbeat, but it’s completely normal.” She assures us while moving the wand around more. I watch as she takes different measurements and shows us different angles of the baby. She tells us how the limbs are all present and forming normally. Then she turns to us and asks the one question I have been waiting to hear. “Would you like to know the gender of your baby?” she asks, looking in Bentley’s direction. Bentley never takes her eyes off of the screen though, so I reply with a curt nod letting her know we would.
I watch as she rubs the wand at another angle then clicks the mouse to seize the image. She focuses and points to what looks like nothing more than a void to me. “Congratulations, it looks like you’re having a baby girl,” she states. It’s the first time in my adult life I recall shedding a tear, but hearing that our baby is healthy; that Bentley is carrying a baby girl, is one of the most emotional moments in my life.
The girl hands us a few images before giving Bentley a tissue to wipe the jelly off. She replies with a simple thank you, but still doesn’t say anything more as we make the next appointment. She doesn’t even notice the girl behind the counter trying to slip me her number. It isn’t until we exit the building that she lets out a breath that I didn’t notice she was holding.
I walk around the car and open the door so she can get in. As she adjusts the seat buckle, I place a kiss on top of her head then secure the door before going to the driver’s side. I have several thoughts running through my head but I’m not sure which is safe to mention aloud. I don’t know if she is having a good day emotionally or not, and I don’t want to provoke her by saying the wrong thing. As I go to open my mouth though she breaks the silence.
“I guess we should start considering girls names,” she says softly.
I hate the way she says it, because to me what it came out sounding like is ‘I think you should consider girls names.’ It’s like she’s separating herself from the baby, from us. I can’t fight the sick feeling that she’s only having this baby for me, that I’m forcing this on her as well. Instead of assuming that’s what she meant though, I pose the question back to her.
“Are there any names that stick out at you for her, Bentley? I’m sure anything you come up with would be beautiful.”
I don’t know why I expect her to tell me no. So I’m pretty certain the wind is knocked out of me when she gives me her answer.
“I was thinking Audrey Iliana, but if you don’t like it we can name her something else,” she replies in that same soft tone.
It’s absolutely perfect, and I’m awestruck that she came up with it. Audrey is Aggie’s middle name, and Iliana was my mother's. The fact that she picked those names without me means more than she could ever know.
“It’s perfect, Bentley. Audrey Iliana Reece,” I say, rolling the name off my tongue.
I watch the smile form on her face and I know whatever was bothering her in that doctor’s office is fading away. When we get back to the house, Dante sweeps her away for lunch, and I wait patiently for the mail. Bentley ordered the proofs for the new book and I’ve been waiting for them to arrive.
She ordered three, but before she processed it, she had a stomach emergency and I added an extra one. Now I’m waiting for them to arrive so I can grab it before she notices. She hasn’t been too concerned with them arriving so when the package is sitting there on the table, I grab it.
It’s one less thing I’ll need to worry about before the signing. I already enlisted the help of the girl who makes her books to adjust this one to what I need it for. I had five weeks before my birthday to make everything perfect. And no matter what, it is going to be perfect.
I enlisted Mrs. Anders, Maddie, and Dante’s help in keeping her distracted. I know I’ll never pull this off alone, and with her feeling sick all the time it’s hard to get a moment in edgewise. Taking out my phone, I send Dante a quick text.
Package arrived. In contact now. Try keeping her out.
Even though she is only four months along, Bentley’s weary about being on her feet and away from the house. This past week, she had a scare and was told that she might end up spending her final trimester on bed rest. The news didn’t only make her miserable, it made her panic as well. I know if something does happen to the baby that it wouldn’t be her fault, but I can’t seem to convince her of that. She’s damn infuriating with her adamant belief that I’ll never forgive her if anything happens. I hate seeing her look so defeated. I’m distracted by my thoughts when the phone chimes in a few minutes later, letting me know I have some leeway to start putting things in motion.
Woman is eating her weight in sushi. I made sure she got the cooked kind. She said the doctor told her she could have some fish, but I doubt he meant enough to feed a fleet of sumo wrestlers!
I laugh out at his comment. If Bentley saw him compare her to a sumo wrestler I’m pretty sure she’d belly bump him on his ass. She is getting pretty big though, but from her weigh in at doctor's office, she has only gained a couple pounds since her six week visit. The doctor said since she’s carrying a girl we should expect her stomach to be rather large, something about carrying high for girls and low for boys. I didn’t understand a fucking word of it, but she seemed to. I send him a text back knocking her some more. I know I’ll get my ass handed to me as well if he lets her see it.
Maybe you should take her shopping for some of those stretchy maternity pants, so she stops trying to squeeze her ass into those skinny jeans she wears.
I ignore the next message ding as I log onto my laptop and send out emails to those I need to help me with my project. I don’t know how long it will take, but I only have five weeks to get everything done and perfected.
Bentley
Dante insists after the doctor’s appointment that we go to lunch. I don’t really feel too hot, and the doctor said since I’m spotting that I should keep off my feet as much as possible. He refuses to take no for an answer, so I punish him with sushi. Dante can’t stomach the smell of fish, let alone the taste of it.
He’s laughing at whatever texts he’s receiving, and refuses to let me see them myself. He and Tristan are even more buddy, buddy lately and I feel like they were conspiring against me. He confirms my suspicions when he looked up from his phone.
> “Tristan says you need to stop trying to fit your ever growing ass into those skinny jeans before you pop a button and take someone’s eye out,” he teases.
I act offended by his remark and gasp in mock horror as I reply, “I'll have you know that my jeans fit just fine. I just have to wear them lower than this belly I’ve got going on. And if Tristan is so offended by my growing ass, he can kiss it and fuck off.”
He laughs before going back to his phone and typing out another message, then looks back up at me. “Are you sure you don’t want to go shopping for some maternity clothes? Pretty soon you’ll be flashing everyone your belly and boobs. As if those bad boys weren’t big enough before, those monsters could knock someone the hell out now, Baby Girl.”
I consider what he says, taking it into consideration. I really have been putting it off. I don’t want to be one of those women who stops giving a shit about what they wear just because she’s pregnant. I’ve been hoping I wouldn’t have to convert to stretchy fabrics until after the signing, but at least I’ll still be able to wear my maxi dresses.
We spend the next two hours skipping from store to store with the occasional break to rest my feet and several bathroom stops to make sure the spotting isn’t getting worse. After confirming that I’m still okay, we head into another store. I try on more clothes in that short span of time than I think I have throughout the rest of my life. No two pieces of clothing fit the same and it seems like most are limited to khaki or black.
Dante holds up the most offending piece of clothing I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I shoot him a look that tells him I’d kill him if he suggests it again.
