by Dahlia West
He shrugged. “More or less.”
Dalton was still more than capable of creating beautiful things, but it took longer these days and it would never be a source of income the way he’d wanted it to be before the accident.
“I’m glad,” she told him. “The dining room table is beautiful.”
He’d known how much she’d loved it when he’d first revealed it to her, but it still made him happy to hear her say it out loud.
She cleared her throat. “Are… you going to be in here all night?”
He paused, sandpaper in hand. “No,” he replied. “I mean, I guess I don’t have to. Why? Do you need me to go-”
“I thought we could watch a movie,” she said. “I’m not tired, yet. Well, not too tired. And I thought-”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine. Give me a minute to cover this up and I’ll be in.”
She nodded and smiled. “Okay.”
Dalton threw a sheet over the table and turned off the light. The light was off in the living room, but Zoey had left the kitchen light on behind them. Cozy, but not too much.
He washed his hands in the sink while she picked the flick. He didn’t much care what they watched, which turned out to be a good thing because she chose a romantic comedy that he would have groaned about in his earlier days. Now it was just enough to sit with her. She smiled and laughed along with the gags and was happy for the first time since he’d seen her again. It was good, he thought. She needed a break. Things didn’t get awkward until the obligatory sex scene, which Zoey clearly hadn’t considered when she’d made her choice.
She fumbled with the remote, unable to accomplish much. He took it from her and hit mute. They sat in silence for a moment as people infinitely happier than they had probably ever been were enjoying themselves onscreen.
“Why’d you do it?” she asked suddenly.
Dalton’s thumb hovered over the remote control before he finally pressed the OFF button. He probably wouldn’t have picked this time to talk about it, but the more time he spent with her, the more time he wanted to spend with her and the more he wanted to enjoy that time because he knew it wouldn’t last forever. Bringing up old hurt was the last thing he wanted to do, but she’d asked and so that meant she was ready to hear it.
“Because you wouldn’t leave.”
“You’re not supposed to leave, Dalton! For better or worse, you’re supposed to stick it out!” she argued.
“We weren’t married, Zoey,” he reminded her gently. “I thought your parents were wrong. I thought I could provide a good life for you, or at least a good enough life, anyway, as long as I could work hard to do it. After the accident, I could see it coming, everything they were afraid of happening,. I couldn’t even build you a home after that. I couldn’t even provide the single most basic thing a man is supposed to. But you were there every day, making sure I went to physical therapy, making sure the bills got paid. Didn’t seem fair to you. And no matter how many times I told you to go…”
“I loved you.”
“I… loved you, too,” he said lamely.
“Then how could you do it?”
He grimaced. “I wasn’t exactly in my right mind.” The truth was he’d been hammered. He was actually surprised that he could get it up that night. They’d been at a party, but he’d started his partying long before they’d even left the apartment. He remembered blonde hair, too much perfume, and red lipstick. She’d cornered him after he came out of the bathroom, but instead of brushing her off they’d found an empty bedroom. And Zoey’d found them, as he knew she would.
In his mind, it was best. Zoey would leave and he wouldn’t have to feel guilty or inadequate every time he looked at her. Zoey had walked in and he’d kept pounding away. He hadn’t nutted in the blonde so much as passed out on top of her after his mission was accomplished. Neither woman had been very happy with him.
The next day Zoey had moved out, freeing Dalton for the seemingly noble and seductive new career choice of drinking himself to death. Though he’d never actually said it out loud, or even really acknowledged it to himself, underneath the haze of cheap beer and expensive liquor, he knew he wouldn’t live forever that way and he’d been strangely okay with that.
Until Mom died.
Then Dalton saw the immediate effect of a death in the family. Adam had been torn up. Ava hadn’t been able to stop crying. Hell, even Jonah, as distant and disconnected as he’d always been, had felt her loss. Would he put them through losing him, too? But by then it was too late, wasn’t it? They didn’t deserve to watch him slowly die, but they deserved a better man for a brother, anyway. It was a catch-22 he couldn’t find his way out of. So Dalton did what Dalton used to excel at, ignoring the problem until it either fixed itself or someone else handled it. In his mind, cheating on Zoey had been the one halfway decent thing he’d ever done, taking the bull by the horns instead of waiting it out.
“I was so messed up, Zoey. I thought I was saving you. I wasn’t though, was I? I was pushing you away, into something worse.” He reached out and brushed his thumb across her bruise, a light touch, one that wouldn’t cause her any more pain. “But I never hit you, did I? No amount of twisted, boozed-up logic would ever get me to do that. I just can’t understand it, hitting the woman you love. Hitting your wife.”
He took hold of her hand and ran his thumb over the unadorned finger.
“I took them off months ago. The swelling.” She laughed. “Kind of fitting, the baby broke up our marriage.”
“You never had a marriage, Zoey. Yeah, it’s For Better or Worse, but it’s also Love, Honor, and Cherish and he didn’t do any of those things.”
She looked away. “Neither did I.”
“Oh, bullshit. I know you, Zoey. You’re a good woman. You went into that marriage with good intentions and I know-”
“I didn’t love him. Not really. Not with my whole heart. Because I was still in love with you.”
Dalton swallowed hard. He didn’t want to ask, not really, but he still had to know. “Was?” he asked quietly.
Zoey held his gaze. He held his breath. She didn’t answer.
Their lips found each other like they’d never forgotten the way, which made sense to Dalton and felt so right despite the circumstances. Not only was Zoey here with him in his home, but Zoey was home. She was everything he’d found, lost, and caught sight of one final time before being pulled under completely, like a man drowning just a few feet off shore.
She pulled at him frantically, digging into his arms, trying to bring him closer. Dalton forced her mouth open wider with his tongue, unable to pace himself or hold back anymore. But it was wrong, he knew it, and maybe he was pushing her too far, too fast. He broke off the kiss but was unable to move away. His hands remained in her hair and they were both struggling for breath.
“Zoey-”
“I need you,” she whispered.
“I know. God, I know. I need you too, so much. I’m not going to leave you. I’m going to help you through-”
“No,” she said. “Dalton… I need you.”
Chapter Sixteen
The bedroom was different, but her body was familiar. He remembered every curve and yet spent some time getting to know the new ones. Her breasts were larger and maddeningly tantalizing. Her nipples had darkened and now stood out in stark contrast to her pale skin. Dalton liked it. It made them easier to find in the dark. He took one into his mouth. She writhed beneath him, pressing her hands onto the back of his head, wanting more. Dalton soon forgot which one of them was drowning as she clung to him desperately.
He worked his way down, lips brushing over her belly. The mechanics made sense: sperm + egg = baby, but the reality amazed him. Zoey had a new life inside of her where there was none before and she nurtured it as best she could, like she was doing with him now. He ran his hands over the swell and down to her thighs, parting them. He dipped his fingers into her and found her slick, hot, and needy. If the mechanics of baby making sex made sens
e to him, he still had to pause over the ins and outs of sex with baby. Not wanting to hurt either of them with his massive size, he brought his hand up to Zoey’s hip and guided her to her side instead, settling in behind her.
The curve of her ass fit perfectly into his pelvis. That part wasn’t new. In their time together, Dalton and Zoey had made love in every position it was possible to get into, and quite a few that ultimately weren’t but had been fun trying anyway. He slid his hand down and parted her lips with his fingers, holding her open for him. His bare cockhead pressed against her heat, mixing her juice with his own pre-cum, and pushed inside. He stopped instantly, though, with Zoey’s pussy tightened around him, already squeezing him hard.
“Zoey?” he whispered into her ear.
She made a soft noise that sounded like a whimper. It might have been a sob, caught between the swirl of orgasm and disappointment. “I’m sorry,” she replied. “It’s just… I haven’t…” She stumbled over her words and Dalton’s heart ached for her.
“How long has it been?” he finally asked, not really wanting to know but needing to all the same.
“Not since we found out about him. He won’t touch me,” she admitted.
Dalton couldn’t believe it. Six months? How could anyone share a bed with Zoey and not have his hands, his mouth, and his dick all over her? She was beautiful and adventurous and giving. Once more he was struck by how badly Patrick had fucked up and how badly he himself had fucked up. Both men had let go of the best thing that had ever happened to them. At least Dalton had been trying to give her a better life.
It was decided, then. One orgasm wasn’t enough. Dalton knew from experience that Zoey was capable of one or two more, at least. They’d once spent all night trying to make it to ten. They’d never managed it, but it had been amazing just the same. He lifted her thigh a bit, opening her up for him once more, burying himself deeper. Now fully sheathed in her still-twitching pussy, he slid his hand over her hip and found her soft curls. Zoey gasped and leaned her head back into his shoulder. He worked her gently, knowing she was sensitive now. She pushed back against him, though, urging him on.
There had been problems between them, so many problems when they’d still been a couple, but this had never been one of them. Dalton knew every inch of Zoey’s body, even now despite the fact that it had changed so much. Everything he remembered was the same. Her nipples, despite their newly darkened appearance, still hardened at the slightest touch. She still loved it when he rubbed her clit. Dalton’s hand slipped under her belly and between her legs with practiced ease as he tried to tease her back into action. She turned her head so he could take her mouth. His tongue slid against hers and her taste was warm and familiar.
“Loosen up for me, sweetheart,” he encouraged, thrusting inside her to make his point. She was wet, but tight. “You’re gonna take me all in and keep me there until I get my fill.” His lips brushed against hers. “Or you get yours.”
His mouth came down on hers again, teasing her, filling her everywhere he could. He wrapped one arm around her and pulled her in close so that there was not even a scant inch of space between their bodies. He may not be able to keep that proximity forever, but he had it now and he wasn’t giving it up. He’d missed her too much and thought about her too often not to hold her as closely as if she was another part of him. A piece of him had been missing since she’d left, since he’d been drinking and pushed her away to spare her. He was drunk again, though, this time on the feeling of being whole again now that she was back in his arms and in his mouth and squeezing his cock so gently.
She gripped his hip fiercely and he knew she was close again. He pressed his fingers against her clit. “Let go or no?” he asked roughly, letting her decide how she wanted it. Zoey grabbed his hand and pushed it down, riding it — and his cock— hard. She came with a loud cry that Dalton had heard so many times before. The sound alone was usually enough to push him over his own edge. His shaft jerked inside her and he felt the familiar throb as he kept his promise and filled her.
She relaxed into his arms, panting. He kissed her shoulder as the flow of his cum ebbed inside her. Slowly, regretfully, he withdrew even though he wanted nothing more than to stay where he was forever. But she deserved to rest, after all, especially since he’d worn her out. He kept her against him, however, unwilling to give up the closeness.
He put his arm over her, across her belly, and closed his eyes. He could tell by the rhythm of her breathing that she was already drifting off too. He inhaled, breathing in her scent as deeply as he could. Nights had always been the hardest after she’d left. Before rehab, he’d taken to sleeping on the couch to avoid the memories of her in his bed. Her skin was as soft as he remembered and her hair smelled like coconuts. He stifled a laugh as he remembered last year at this time when he’d asked her about it. “I have to hold onto summer somehow!” she’d told him.
Right before drifting off, Dalton felt a slight movement against his forearm. His eyelids fluttered open and he held his breath. After a few seconds, the baby kicked again. “Sorry,” he said automatically and re-positioned it. The baby kicked him again as if in response. Dalton lay still in the dark of the bedroom and considered this for a long moment. Could the baby actually hear him? That seemed… weird. But he supposed the baby did have ears. So he could hear them talk and… oh God! What if the baby really could hear? Then he’d heard everything they’d just done!
“Oh.” He quickly pulled his arm away and sat up. Zoey stirred only slightly.
Maybe babies could hear. If that was true, what else could they do? What else didn’t he know? Zoey was already zonked and so asking her wasn’t a good idea, but he had an idea. He tossed back the covers on his side of the bed and climbed out. He turned and replaced them carefully, tucking Zoey in before he quietly crept out of the room and headed down the hall to the guest room where her stuff was stashed. He flipped on the light and scanned the area. On the nightstand by the bed, he swiped the pregnancy book and sat down. He flipped through the pages, past the first month and second month. Strange pictures of creatures with tails assaulted his eyes. Babies had tails? He stopped and read that page.
Indeed, babies did have tails. For a while. Usually they lost it before they were born. Adam probably hadn’t lost his, though. Probably they’d had to remove his. He smiled at the thought.
Dalton continued to flip through the pages to discover that yes, the baby could hear them now. In fact the baby had been able to hear for months now. He frowned down at the page. Had the baby heard Patrick yelling at Zoey? Probably. Had the baby heard him hit her? Yes. The baby couldn’t understand it, but maybe babies were like dogs and could hear the tension and anger in a person’s voice. If that was true he was going to have to be more careful around Zoey. Dalton had already raised his voice a few times, although not specifically at Zoey, just at her situation in general. He wouldn’t have the baby scared in his presence. Not if he could help it at all.
He flipped to the “mom” chart and looked it over. By the seventh month expectant mothers were tired, got headaches, backaches, swollen feet and ankles, and sometimes had difficulty sleeping. Dalton wondered if he had enough Tylenol in the house for all that. Could she even take it? He flipped to the index to find out. Apparently there was a lot to know. Before he knew it a half hour had gone by. He had work in the morning so he memorized the last page number and put the book back on the table. He turned off the bedroom light and headed back down the hall.
He slipped into bed as gingerly as he could and snuggled in close to Zoey again. After a moment’s hesitation, he put his hand lightly on her belly. There was no movement.
“I’m Dalton,” he half-whispered, but he said it too softly. He cleared his throat and tried again, being careful not to wake Zoey. “I’m Dalton,” he repeated, just a bit louder. He spread his fingers over her belly and felt a tiny foot, or maybe it was a hand, connect with his palm.
“Hey,” he said, both amazed and also disappoi
nted that he couldn’t think of anything more profound than that to say.
Chapter Seventeen
Dalton slipped out of bed in the early morning hours, careful not to disturb Zoey as she slept. He stepped into the shower and yawned under the hot spray. He’d slept well though, better than he had in a long time. It seemed his day off was already starting out better than any that had come before it. When he’d first heard Ava mention Zoey’s name over the phone, nothing like this had entered his mind. He’d only wanted to chance to apologize for his own nightmarish behavior and nothing more. The most he had expected to get out of it was the opportunity to say it.
He supposed AA had done that, helped to change his way of thinking. He’d learned to take things one day at a time so as not to be overwhelmed at the mere thought of an entire lifetime of sobriety. But in training yourself to deal with things incrementally, you also removed your ability, or at least your willingness, to hope as well. If looking too far ahead was unwise, trying to spot the finish line was downright dangerous.
When you expected the worst instead of daring to hope for the best, you developed a numbness toward anything good that happened.
He didn’t want to be that way, though. He didn’t want to close himself off from what was happening to him now, even if it didn’t last— even though it probably wouldn’t last. Zoey was here now and it might be the last truly good thing that would ever happen to him, so he decided to ride it out for as long as he possibly could.
His eyes were closed when the glass door slid open. He turned suddenly. “What are you doing?” he asked her, grabbing at her arms. He swept her to him and held her against him. “Zoey, you could fall!” he admonished. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
She laughed. “So, you think I just shouldn’t shower for the whole nine months?”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “I have a tub.”
She slid her arms around him and smiled up at him. “But you’re not in it.”
