Fool For You (Made for Love Book 4)

by R. C. Martin

  “You’ll be missed, you know.”

  I stop what I’m doing, looking at her intently. I’m not sure when it happened, but Logan Holloway has become more than my star pupil. I guess, somewhere along the line, all her talk of being friends stuck somehow. I suppose Teddy probably played a part in it, as well. The two of them get along famously. It doesn’t happen often, but at their insistence, we’ve all gone out a few times over the last couple of years—Logan, Roman, Teddy and me. And while I can admit that I’ll miss seeing Logan’s fine work on a daily basis, I’ll still be around from time to time.

  “You won’t get rid of me that easily, Logan,” I warn her. “Besides, there’s much to be done. I won’t be going anywhere just yet.”

  “True. Let me know if I can be of any help. Anyway, I won’t keep you,” she says, waving her hands as if pushing aside the conversation. “You should get home. Tell that wife of yours I said hello.”

  “I’ll do that,” I reply, pocketing my phone and my keys. “Have a good weekend, Logan.”

  I leave the office with no further delay. Stepping out into the warm, early evening of June, I head straight for the Porsche, anxious to get home. I drive too fast, pulling into the garage in record time. Teddy’s car parked next to mine ensures me that she’s inside, and as soon as I cross the threshold I’m calling her name. When she doesn’t respond, I wonder what she’s up to. As I shrug out of my jacket, I make my way into the bedroom. I don’t see any trace of her, but I head to the closet anyway, seeking to hang up my jacket. I trip the automatic light when I walk in, and I’m immediately alert to the fact that I’m not alone.

  Teddy’s head snaps up, her pretty brown eyes locking with mine in an instant. She’s on the floor, leaning back against the island in the middle of the room, crying. The fact that she was in the dark leads me to assume she’s been in here for a while, not moving—just crying—a reality that disturbs me greatly. I toss my jacket on the counter and squat down in front of her, reaching out to run my hand over her hair.

  “Sweetheart, what’s going on? Why are you on the floor? Why are you crying?”

  “We’re going to have to move!” she blurts out, a fresh sob spilling from her mouth. “And it’s stupid, but I’m really going to miss this closet. I love this closet.”

  I frown at her, gripping the back of her neck, wondering what she means. She’s right, we will have to move, but I can’t imagine how she knows already. The only people who know are those who were in the office with me twenty minutes ago.

  “Shit, I hope you’re not mad,” she says, reaching out to touch me. She presses one of her hands against my bearded cheek, running her fingers through my hair with her other as she murmurs desperately, “Don’t be mad, okay? Please don’t be mad.”

  I shake my head, so fucking confused I can hardly think straight.

  “Teddy, what is going on? Why would I be mad? What are you talking about?”

  “I have something to tell you…”

  I can’t stop crying. Literally—can’t. I’ve been sitting here for an hour, sobbing my eyes out. To say that I am shocked would be an understatement. I’m freaking the fuck out. Quite honestly, I wonder if this is what it feels like to go insane—to be incapable of grabbing hold of any one emotion, your head a crazy, chaotic, jumbled mess of thoughts. The one thing I’ve managed to fully comprehend in all of this is that we can’t stay in this house where the only other extra room we have is our gigantic closet. We need more space.

  At least, I think we need more space…

  A part of me is terrified that maybe I’m wrong; or maybe none of this will turn out the way that it should. This was supposed to be impossible.

  But then another part of me knows that God is bigger than impossible. Perhaps this is simply—marvelously—a merciful gift. My miracle. Our miracle.

  “Teddy?” Jude mutters impatiently.

  I can tell by the scowl that tugs at his brow that I’ve got him worried. I know that I should just tell him. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, I should just do it fast. But how he’ll respond is one of the things that scares me.

  “Teddy!”

  “I’m pregnant,” I spit out. As soon as I say the words, a fresh wave of shock rolls over me. It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. I let it sink in just a little bit more, my eyes searching my husband’s face frantically, trying to decipher what he might be thinking.

  “You’re what?” he asks, his scowl still firmly in place.

  “I’m…I’m pregnant. At least, I think I am.”

  He stares at me for a moment longer. Then, before I know what’s happening, he’s gripping me under the arms, lifting me up off of the floor before he sets me down on top of the island. He then wraps his arms around the back of my hips, scooting me forward until my pelvis kisses his.

  “One more time,” he insists, still with a scowl tugging at his brow.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  “That’s impossible,” he says, shaking his head at me.

  “I know,” I reply with a nod.

  I rest my hands on his arms, rubbing his biceps, needing to feel him—to feel grounded—to know that he is here and this is real. For almost three whole years, we’ve been having sex. Not once have I ever taken any sort of birth control. It didn’t seem necessary. For almost three whole years, our healthy sex life has resulted in nothing more than an innumerable amount of orgasms, and an immeasurable amount of intimacy. And while I’ve heard it said that people have less sex after they say I do, I’m pretty certain that matrimony has boosted our sexual activity. I didn’t even know such a thing was possible, but if my husband has taught me anything, it’s that I should never underestimate him.

  “My period was late,” I go on to explain. “It’s not the first time it’s happened, so I didn’t think anything of it. But then…then I wasn’t just a little late, I was really late.”

  “How late?”

  “Seven weeks.”

  “Shit,” he breathes—still with the scowl.

  “I took, like, five tests, and they all said the same thing,” I continue, my tears picking up speed once more. “They’re in the bathroom if you don’t believe me. And I bought more…if—if you think—”

  “I put a baby in you?” he asks, interrupting me.

  I nod, trying to combat my desire to burst into a full-on sob. I can’t tell what he’s thinking or feeling and it’s driving me crazy.

  “I know—I know that—that this was never what you wanted. I know—shit,” I curse, forcing myself to take a breath and calm down. “I know that you married me thinking that this wouldn’t happen. I know—”

  “I put a baby in you?” he asks once more, speaking over me. Before I can open my mouth to speak, he crushes his lips to mine. It surprises me, and I jump a little in his arms. “I put a baby in you,” he mutters, his mouth still pressed against mine. “Fuck.”

  He pulls me against him tighter as he forces his tongue between my lips, and suddenly I can think of nothing else. Just this kiss. Just him. Just us—all three of us.

  I wrap my legs around his hips, locking my ankles at his back as I seek to pour out everything I’m feeling in this one moment. I kiss him deeply, circling my arms around his neck as I cling to him, needing him like I’ve never needed him before—and he takes it all. I don’t even know if he realizes it, but he does. His strong hold around me reminds me that I belong to him, and he takes good care of what is his. I just hope that he’ll love us both; that our child will not be the obligation that I forced on him.

  Our child…

  I pull my mouth from his, suddenly in desperate need of air, and he rests his forehead against mine.

  “You’re not mad?” I ask, unable to combat my desire to hear him say the words.

  He leans back a little, just enough to be able to look into my eyes. His scowl has returned, which makes my stomach knot up with nerves, but then he shakes his head at me before he says, “I’m not mad. Why would I be mad?”

&nb
sp; “You’ve always said that you didn’t want kids.”

  “I don’t,” he replies matter-of-factly. “But you do.” He draws in a deep breath, bringing his hands up to hold my face. He tilts my head back a little so that he’s staring directly into my eyes. “Don’t you know how much I love you? Don’t you know that I will always give you anything that’s within my power to give you?”

  I scrunch my brow and press my lips against each other tightly, begging myself not to crumble in his hands right now. I then force in a shallow breath, offering him the tiniest of nods.

  “A baby was something I was never going to be able to give you. Not like this. And yet, against all odds—I put a baby in you. How could I be upset that I’ve given my wife the one thing she thought she’d never have? I’m not mad, sweetheart. I’m not mad at all.”

  All my efforts to keep the sob in my throat from bursting free are demolished at his confession. I feel downright inconsolable as I bury my face in his neck, overwhelmed by all of it. It’s not until I finally begin to calm down that I start to think maybe I’m not going crazy after all. Maybe my hormones are to blame. I mean, I’m pretty positive that I’m pregnant.

  “I have news of my own,” says Jude, his hand gently squeezing the back of my neck.

  “You do?” I sniff, shifting to see his face.

  “Yes. It’s about work.”

  “Tell me,” I insist, reaching up to dry my cheeks.

  “We’re expanding. We’re opening up another office and I am going to head the operation.”

  “Jude—that’s amazing. Where’s the office going to be?”

  “Newport Beach.” He pauses, and I can tell by the way his eyes roam over my face that it’s his turn to gage my reaction. “We’re moving to California, sweetheart.”

  She stares at me for a second, not saying a word. Then she opens her mouth to speak only to snap it closed at least three times. I raise my eyebrows, slightly amused and deeply curious about what’s going on inside of her head. Though, after the fucking bomb she just dropped on me, I suppose I can understand if she’s having a hard time wrapping her mind around it all. I can’t even begin to fully comprehend the fact that she’s now with child.

  It feels strange to even think it. Me. A father.

  I shake the thought away, focusing my attention back on my wife. I give her neck another squeeze. “Say something, Teddy,” I insist.

  “Um…w-when?” she finally manages.

  “Three to four months—maybe longer. I’ve got some business that I have to tie up before we go. I also need to get an office space set up. I want to buy us a house, and chances are, I’ll want to make some modifications. I won’t move you out there until it’s done.”

  “Wait, you’re going to go before me?” she asks, sounding worried.

  “You know how I get,” I reply with a smirk. “You’ll be wherever I am. We’ll have to make a few trips before we move, though. I might have to spend a weekend or two away, but I won’t move without you.”

  She nods, fidgeting with my tie. Another moment of silence passes between us before she asks, “So…by Judah Day, we’ll be Californians?”

  “Yes.”

  “Newport Beach,” she hums, speaking the word as if she’s trying to see what it tastes like.

  A smile plays at her lips and my chest tightens.

  “So…so, it’s like we’re starting fresh. All of us…together.”

  “Yeah. That’s one way to look at it. Are you okay with that?”

  Her eyes well up with fresh tears and she reaches for my face, holding me tenderly.

  “Do you remember the night you first kissed me?” she asks, squeezing her legs at my sides.

  In an instant my mind fills with the memory of my shy girl in that coffee shop, dripping wet and exquisitely sexy. “Yes. What about it?”

  “You took care of me that night. I needed you, and even though you barely knew me, you took care of me. You’ve been taking care of me ever since. And I won’t lie to you. The thought of moving away now, well, it scares me a little. We’ll be just us with a baby on the way and all of our family will be here—but, I trust you. I love you, and I know that whatever life holds for us next, it’s going to be amazing, because you’re amazing. You’ll work hard, like you always do, and we’ll make it home.

  “Jude,” she continues, tears now streaming down her cheeks. “I’m so proud of you. I’m so proud to be your wife—I would go anywhere with you. As long as we’re together—”

  I cut her off with a kiss, knowing good and well that I won’t hear a damn word of whatever it is she has to say, too distracted by my need to taste her. I swear that time has not diminished the effect she has on me. It’s the exact opposite. And no one, nothing makes me feel like I can conquer the world like she does.

  She loves me. She chooses me. Every single day.

  I thrust my tongue into her mouth and she sighs. Only Teddy could make my dick hard with a single breath. When she squeezes her legs around me once more, I begin to crave a whole lot more than this kiss. I don’t even think about denying myself as I reach for her legs, unhooking them from around me before my hands find the top of her little, cotton shorts. As I begin to tug them off, she presses her hands against the countertop, lifting her hips in an effort to help me.

  When her shorts and her panties hit the floor, I make quick work of my belt. Her hands undo the button of my pants, and I handle the zipper as she slips her fingers under the band of my boxer briefs. She grabs hold of my cock, pulling it out just as my lips find hers once more. We don’t speak. We don’t have to. She guides me to where she wants me, rubbing my head up and down the length of her slit, coating me in her arousal before she holds still. The sound she makes when I take over, easing my way inside of her, it says it all.

  I’m still the king of her motherfucking world.

  Four Years Later

  “Babe!” Louie calls from the living room, where I left him to binge watch ESPN, like he does every Sunday afternoon. “Your phone. It’s Teddy—she’s FaceTiming you.”

  “Answer it, will you? I’ll be out in a second.”

  I fold the last shirt in our pile of clean laundry and decide to leave the task of putting it all away for later. I hurry out of the laundry room, making my way down the stairs. Anxious to see the face of my best friend, I wonder—for the millionth time—why I let Louie talk me into buying a three story townhouse. While we’ve managed to fill it just fine, I still argue that we don’t need all this damn space.

  “Hi, Uncle Louie.” I hear the precious sound of our angel’s voice and I grin as I hurry to join my husband on the couch.

  “Hey, cupcake!” he greets in return. When I take the seat beside him, he beams at me, his bright green eyes shining in excitement. “She called all on her own.”

  “She—what? She’s three and a half years old.”

  “She’s a genius, is what she is.”

  “Who are you talking to? My daddy?” she asks, her voice hitching up an octave as she says daddy.

  “No, Little Freckles, it’s me.”

  Louie holds the phone so she can see us both, and I wave at her.

  “Uncle Geoff!”

  “Hi. What are you doing?”

  “Um—looking for daddy. Is he there?”

  “No, baby, he’s not here,” I tell her.

  The frown she gives me in response about breaks my heart. She’s such a happy, gentle, kindhearted little girl—everything I imagined she would be. With a mother like hers, I just knew that she would be an angel. Looking at her now is a reminder of how long it’s been since I’ve held her in my arms. Christmas seems so long ago, and I swear she’s already grown more beautiful. She doesn’t know it, but we’ll be out there in a couple of weeks—Andy, Carrie, and Steven, too. It’s the thirtieth anniversary of Theodora Day, and we plan on surprising her with a huge ass party.

  “Where’s your mommy, cupcake?”

  “She had to go potty,” she replies with a pou
t.

  “Did she pick out the dress you’re wearing today?” I ask, trying to find something that’ll make her smile again. “It’s very pretty.”

  “Thank you,” she says politely, a sweet smile lighting up her face. She brushes a lock of hair out of her face as she tells us, “I went to Sunday school. I learned to sing. Want to hear?”

  Louie and I grin at each other before we both offer her an enthusiastic nod.

  “Let’s hear it.”

  When I come out of the bathroom, making my way into the main room, my heart melts as I listen to Frankie sing Jesus Loves Me. There’s nothing greater than the sound of her little voice. It’s even better when she forgets some of the words, humming the tune instead, as if it were meant to be sung just the way she sings it. It isn’t until I round the couch that I see she’s sitting with my tablet in her lap. She’s kicked off her shoes, and with her dress all askew, her little legs are on display as she sits propped up against the cushions. I gasp in surprise when she finishes her song and I hear the sound of my best friend and his husband as they burst into a round of applause.

  “Francesca Danyelle, what are you doing?” I ask playfully, pressing my fists against my hips.

  She looks up at me, her light brown eyes growing wide in guilt before she says, “You said daddy was where Uncle Geoff and Uncle Louie live.”

  My heart swells and I have to fight back tears as I look down at my daughter. She astounds me—everyday—and it only makes me love her more.

  “Oh, my sweet girl,” I murmur, moving to sit next to her on the couch. “Daddy will be home soon, I promise.” She sets aside the tablet before she crawls into my lap.

  “Today?” she asks, curling up against my chest.

  “Yup. He’ll be home today.”

  “I miss him so much,” she whispers, sealing her eyes closed tight as if it pains her to be away from him.