Thinking about it is dangerous though. The thought of admitting to myself that I’m falling in love with a man who doesn’t want to be loved makes me sick to my stomach.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m happy.”
“Good.” Jeremiah takes me in like it’s the last time and gives a tight nod. “Glad to hear that, Sam.”
“See you around,” I say.
Reaching for Carissa’s hand, they walk away. There’s a lightness in my chest. I can breathe now.
“What do you say we head back?” I whisper to the sleeping babe in my arms.
“Hello, hello?” I push the stroller off the elevator and into Beckham’s foyer. He’s sitting in his favorite wingback chair in the living room. “Surveying your kingdom again?”
He turns, his face lighting when he sees us. Rising, he comes our way and scoops Sadie in his arms.
“Dane and Bellamy go back?” I ask.
“Yeah. They headed to the hotel to pack. Their flight leaves in a few hours.”
“Bellamy’s a sweet girl. I like her.”
Beckham’s head cocks. “Not sure what she’s doing with a guy like my brother, but who am I to judge?”
I bump his shoulder with my fist. “Dane is a good guy. He deserves a good girl.”
“You give him too much credit.” His brows jump. “You give everyone too much credit.”
Watching Beckham cradle the baby and swing her side to side has quickly become one of my favorite things to do. Dizziness rains over me as my heart hammers at the thought of Sadie not being here a day from now.
I’m torn between wanting to spend this final, lazy Sunday with Beckham and Sadie and wanting to give them their own final day together…
Just in case…
“I should get going.” I tighten my purse strap over my shoulder.
He whips his attention my way, face scrunching. “Why?”
“Laundry,” I blurt. “It’s laundry day.”
I cringe, hoping he won’t see through me.
“You should stick around,” he says.
“Yeah?”
“Why are you being so weird?” His full lips curl up, his head angled. “Hang on.”
He sweeps Sadie off, taking her back to her crib and returning a minute later.
“You staying or what?” He points at my feet, which are still strapped into a pair of hot pink running shoes from our walk at the park.
Kicking them off and dropping my bag on the foyer buffet, I say, “Yeah. Sure. I’ll stick around for a bit.”
I follow him to the living room, draping myself across his sofa like I own the thing. Funny how comfortable I’ve become lately, but I almost feel like I live here. At least part-time.
“The court hearing is tomorrow.” His solemn voice breaks my heart.
“I know.”
“I was wondering,” he swallows. “If you’d come along. You know. As a friend.”
Popping up, I turn to him. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”
His face rests in his cupped hand, his stare glazed, gray and despondent.
I go to him, falling to my knees and taking his hand in mine. “It’s okay to be vulnerable sometimes. It’s okay to be scared.”
Beckham smirks, refusing to look at me.
“I’m serious,” I say. “I’m asking you to let your guard down a little. You can be yourself with me. As your friend, I’m asking you to stop being so damn strong all the time.”
Our eyes meet. I’m still on my knees.
“I think we passed the friend stage a while back, don’t you?” His words are hungry and scared and wanton all swirled into one low growl that makes my heart stop cold.
“Did we?” My voice breaks, residing meekly in the back of my throat.
He pulls me into his lap, fingers laced around my waist as I lower my body against his. Our lips graze, my fingers lacing around the back of his neck.
“What is this?” I whisper, trying to curb my enthusiasm in case it’s another case of Beckham needing a quick release.
His lips crush mine. “What do you want it to be, Dess?”
Way to put me on the spot.
I taste his mouth again and again, buying time and satiating my cravings.
“We’re something,” he says, his voice reverberating from his chest into mine. “No fucking denying that.”
I nod, fingers lacing in his thick, dark mane. “We really need to label it?”
His teeth rake across the flesh of my neck, his lips burning and his hands traveling up my shirt.
“Yes,” he breathes. “I want to fucking label it. I want to know that tomorrow, when I wake up, no matter what happens, I’m going to have you. I can’t lose you both. I…can’t…”
Yanking my shirt over my head, his hands slip under the lace demi cups of my bra, and he leans in to take a pert nipple between his soft, wanting lips.
“Say you belong to me,” he growls, pinching a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “I need to hear it, Dess…”
My head dips back, his hands searching my body, skirting along my sensitive flesh.
“I’m yours,” I whisper.
His fingers slip inside the waist of my leggings, and travel between my thighs until they find my wet slit. Dragging his fingertips between my seam, his thumb circles my swollen clit.
I grind against him, his fingers sliding deep inside me, coaxing me, teasing me.
He doesn’t stop, and I realize this isn’t about him. For the first time, this isn’t about a physical release for Beckham.
“Do I make you happy?” His free hand presses against the small of my back as my hips rock.
Biting my lip and squeezing my eyes, I offer a breathless, “Yes.”
“Am I enough for you?”
“God, Beckham, yes…you’re enough…”
And yet I can’t get enough of you…
Minutes later I’m unable to fight the burning friction building up below. With hips circling and rocking, I ride myself to the edge, collapsing against his chest when it’s over.
“I didn’t want to need you.” With Beckham’s face buried in my hair, his soft tone tickles my ear. “God, I fought it like hell.”
I smile though he can’t see.
His fingers slip up the back of my neck before tangling in my hair and tugging me back until our eyes meet.
“Do you remember what you told me the first time we went to Utah?” His blue eyes radiate in the afternoon sunlight. “You said one of these days I was going to meet my match, and she was going to knock me sideways.”
“I remember.”
“You’re my fucking match, Odessa. I knew right then it was going to be you,” he says. “It’s been you since the moment you flipped me off in the elevator.”
Quiet laughter fills my chest, and I rest my cheek against his steel shoulder. His arms wrap around me, pulling me into him.
My father’s words echo in my mind, “Life didn’t matter until your mother.”
“I was just existing before I met you,” I whisper, voice cracked. “You brought me to life.”
Closing my eyes, my lips find his, soaking in this moment, basking in the beauty of a moment that will define us for the rest of our lives.
Chapter 39
BECKHAM
The knot of my tie is crooked.
I’ve tied hundreds, thousands of ties in my day, but for some reason I can’t get this one right.
My fingers show a hint of a tremor as I tug it loose and start over again. Facing the mirror, I drape the tie around my neck and cross one end over the other.
Odessa steps out of the shower, wrapping a towel around her body and slicking her soaked hair out of her face.
“Need help?” She saunters toward me, gripping the pale pink tie and starting from the top. A minute later it’s done. Perfectly. “There.”
The white envelope rests on the bathroom counter. I’d shoved it in a drawer for weeks, not ready yet to see the results. I now know that I’ll never be ready.
> “The hearing’s in an hour,” she says. “We’ve got to get going.”
Her eyes drop toward the white letter, and she pauses.
“Beck, do you want to open it?”
My hand cups the back of my neck, my teeth raking my lower lip. “Thinking about it.”
“No matter what it says in there, everything’s going to work out. You have to believe that.”
Sucking in a hard breath I grab the envelope and rip it open before I have a chance to talk myself out of it. Odessa watches, barely breathing, as my eyes scan the letter.
I don’t read the whole thing. I don’t have to. The words “excluded” and “zero probability” are in bold.
My knees threaten to buckle, my heart hammering in my chest. The bathroom is hot. Spinning.
“Beckham…” Odessa rushes to me, slipping her arms under mine. “It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
I push her away, gripping the edge of the bathroom counter until I can catch my breath.
“Want me to get Sadie?” Odessa places a hand on my shoulder.
“I need a minute, okay?”
Her hand falls, but she hasn’t left. “You are her father, Beckham. It doesn’t matter what the test says. You’re the one who stepped in when she had no one else. You were there since the moment she took her first breath, and you haven’t left her side once.”
Questions silently ricochet. If I’m not her father, who is? What if Eva changes her mind? What if the judge decides to place her in foster care?
An unexpected calm washes over me. I have to be strong. I have to fight. There’s no other choice.
If not for me, then for my daughter.
Epilogue
ODESSA
2 years later…
“Look at the monkeys, Sadie!”
My mom points toward an enclosure filled with orangutans and Sadie squeals, her dark pigtails bopping as she runs. The zoo is extra sparse today, and it’s a balmy seventy-five degrees. Public schools are back in session so that means we almost have the whole place to ourselves.
I push her empty stroller, a handful of steps behind Beckham. A month into my third trimester, it’s getting a little harder to keep up with everyone.
Beck turns around, “You doing okay?”
With one hand cupping my bulbous belly I smile and nod. “She’s kicking extra hard today.”
“It’s the apple juice you drank this morning,” Mom calls back. “All that sugar.”
Sadie scampers up to the railing by the orangutans and Beckham comes up behind, scooping her up and depositing her on his shoulders so she can see. He’s a good dad, and he doesn’t give himself nearly enough credit.
Beckham holds her by the knees, ensuring she won’t fall off his shoulders should she decide to get wiggly. At times, he’s overly protective of her, but I can’t blame him. In the back of his mind, he’s still terrified something’s going to happen to her. Something beyond his control.
A powerless Beckham is a dangerous Beckham, despite the fact that he’s softened just a tad over the last two years.
I park the stroller and waddle toward them. Mom is reading off the nearby plaque, telling Sadie what orangutans eat and all about their native habitats. Dad would’ve loved to be here, but I know he’s here in spirit.
“You excited for tomorrow?” Beckham crouches down to ask.
I glance up at a grinning Sadie and nod. Tomorrow she becomes my daughter. Legally. Beckham and I married eight months ago in a civil ceremony. My parents were here, and my siblings, and his best friend, Xavier. Dane and Bellamy came too. After the ceremony, we had a private dinner at one of the swankiest restaurants in the city and set off for an Italian honeymoon.
Leaving Sadie for the first time was hard, but knowing she was with my mom made it easier to stomach.
“Can’t wait.” I hook my hand into his elbow.
“Mama!” Sadie points to one of the monkeys swinging from a makeshift branch. “Look!”
“I see that,” I say, adding extra excitement in my tone. I’ll never get tired of seeing the world through her eyes.
Almost two years ago to the day, a family court judge agreed that Sadie could stay with Beckham and that he could start the process to formally adopt her. Every so often we expect Eva to show up out of nowhere, demanding to see her and declaring she had a change of heart, but the last we knew, Eva had moved out of the city and back to Argentina when she met her match in some Chilean doctor.
When Eva relinquished her rights to Sadie, she went on record as saying Sadie’s father was an anonymous sperm donor, even going so far as to provide the donor number, which we matched up with a private, sperm donor registry based out of upstate New York.
“I’m ready for it to be official,” I say. “Can’t help but feel she was always supposed to be mine.”
Beckham lifts Sadie from his shoulders, placing her gently on the ground until she bolts off toward my mom. Turning to me, he takes my hand and gives it a good squeeze.
“And you,” I say. “You were always supposed to be mine too.”
“I didn’t stand a chance,” he says, leaning to gift me with a sweet kiss.
“Okay, I guess Sadie wants to see the zebras next,” Mom calls.
Beckham pushes the empty stroller, keeping pace with me as Mom holds Sadie’s hand up ahead.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask. “Awful quiet today.”
He offers a gentle smile, lips closed tight. “Just thinking that it doesn’t get any better than this.”
I thread my fingers through his, pressing my cheek against his arm as we stroll.
“This,” he says. “This is what I live for.”
Books By Winter Renshaw
The Never Series
Never Kiss a Stranger
Never Is a Promise
Never Say Never
Bitter Rivals: a novella
The Arrogant Series
Arrogant Bastard
Arrogant Master
Arrogant Playboy
The Rixton Falls Series: Royal
Bachelor
Filthy
Standalones
Dark Paradise
Vegas Baby
Cold Hearted
Ask Me Anything
You asked, I answered!
When did you know you wanted to be a writer? – Charlene D.
About thirty years ago! I remember being in preschool and dictating a story to my grandmother because I didn’t know how to write yet. It was about a frog who had no willpower. But the writing bug really bit me in first and second grade, during Writer’s Workshop. I still have all my books, too!
Where do your story ideas come from? – Felicia E.
I wish I knew! Every once in a while, I’ll be inspired by a weird dream or a little seed of an idea, but most of the time I have no idea where my stories come from. They just kind of show up in my mind, if that makes sense? I thought I was crazy until I read Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic, and then I realized I’m not the only one. :-)
Also, you know when you’re listening to a song and you kind of escape your thoughts for a while and slip into a daydream? That’s kind of how my ideas come to me. I let go of my own thoughts and daydream for a while. Sometimes a bunch of scenes will come to me for a particular book I’m working on, and I’ll write them down and piece them together and figure out their order.
Winter Renshaw. Sosie Frost. Two separate people? Confirm or deny. – Sosie F.
Thank you for asking this question, Sosie, because it’s time we set the record straight. This may come as a shock to some of you, but Winter Renshaw and Sosie Frost are two entirely separate people with approximately 780 miles (and a few years) between them.
How do these characters and their lives come to you? – Ronetta W.
I start with a premise and then conjure up characters who would most be challenged by that premise. The more challenging, the better!
Do you need a best friend? Becau
se I’m available. – Erica W.
The more, the merrier! <3
Who is your favorite author and why? – Carrie S.
Whitney G., hands down! I got hooked on her Reasonable Doubt series a few years back, and I’m convinced everything she writes is pure gold. I don’t know anyone who can write (and redeem) a sexy alpha jerk like Whitney, and I love, love, love the way her characters banter. The chemistry comes to life in her books.
How old were you when you decided to write your first book? – Libby B.
Aside from crafting stories as a young child, I didn’t write my first novel-length book until I was thirty. I started and stopped, started and stopped a bajillion times, never finishing because I was 100% convinced they were never going to be good enough.
How many hours a day do you usually write? – Denise T.
I aim for three to four when I’m working on a novel. I find anything more than that, my quality suffers and it’s not worth it.
If you could get any piece of advice from any other author, what would it be and what would you ask them? – Sandra W.
Mia Asher writes the best sex scenes. I’d love to know if she has any tips! Her writing is so beautiful and poetic and almost rhythmic. It’s classy and pretty and chock full of angst and raw emotion. It’s no wonder her sex scenes are off the charts amazing.
How much research goes into your books? – Stephanie P.
It depends! Certain things I’ve had to research in the past (polygamy and hockey are two that stand out the most for me as I had zero experience with either of those things). Most of the time, I Google as I go, and they’re always little random things (the driving distance between two cities, cool hotel names, how to make an Old Fashioned, etc, etc).
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