“They’re mine. I can play with them all I want.” I laugh at the look on his face.
“Did she take a test yet?”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure she knows yet.”
“Why the f**k are you here talking to me instead of to her?” He looks at me. Paul has this way of really looking at people. Like he’s sees all of you. But he never talks about what he sees.
“I’m not sure she wants kids,” I admit.
He slaps his hands together. “Then you should have used a f**king condom.”
I run my hands through my hair and jerk through the ends. “You don’t understand,” I say. I start for the door. He grabs my shoulder and turns me around.
“Explain it,” he says. “I’m listening.”
“Em is scared of being a mom,” I tell him. I hate talking about her dyslexia when she’s not in the room.
“I’ve seen her with Hayley. No one I know would be a better mother.”
My heart warms that he feels that way. I do, too.
“It sounds to me like you need to do two things,” he says.
This is why I came to Paul. He always knows what to do. I motion for him to continue.
He holds up one finger. “One: you need to get her a f**king test.”
And? I ask.
“Two: you need to reassure her.” He sits down. “You know she’s afraid. It’s your job to support her through it. Whatever she needs, you offer it.”
“But I don’t know what she needs!” I cry.
“She needs you, dumbass.” He smiles. “You’re all she’s ever needed. When I see the two of you together and how happy you are, sometimes it makes my f**king gut twist with jealousy, do you know that?”
I didn’t. I had no idea.
“From the moment you met her, you knew she was the one. And she felt the same way. You two were made for one another. So, go to her and be what she needs. Just be you. You’re all she’s ever needed, you fuckwad.”
He’s right. We can do anything together. “I need to go see Emily.”
He claps his hand on my shoulder. “Buy a test on the way home,” he says. “Then text me and tell me how it goes.”
I nod and pull him in for a hug. He looks startled, but he falls against me and pulls me close. When he lets me go, I reach for the doorknob. He stops me.
“You’re feeling hopeful, right?” he asks.
I nod, and a grin tugs at my lips. “I’ll be the happiest man in the world if she’s pregnant.”
“You’re one lucky son of a bitch.” He grins, though and signs, Good luck.
Thanks, I sign back. Text you later.
I let myself out, only stopping for a minute to talk to Sam and Pete. I stop and buy a pregnancy test kit at the pharmacy and go home, hoping Em will be there.
I open the door, and she pops up from where she was sitting on the couch. I hold the test kit behind my back. “Hey,” she says.
“You okay?” I ask.
She fidgets, wringing her hands together. “I think we should end our engagement,” she says.
My heart f**king stops.
Emily
He looks like I just punched him. “Oh, my God,” I breathe out. I walk to him and try to take him into my arms.
He sets me back from him, his face a storm cloud of fury. “What?” he asks.
“Oh, that came out wrong,” I say.
He squeezes my upper arms tightly, so tight that it makes me squirm a little. But what makes me even more nervous is the look in his eyes. Logan can be intense, but this is different. This is reserved only for me. “It better have come out wrong,” he bites out.
He dropped a shopping bag on the floor when he grabbed me, and I stare down at it like a fool. It looks just like the one I just shoved into the couch cushions. “What’s that?” I ask, pointing to it like it’s a snake that’s about to bite me.
“Why do you want to end our engagement?” he asks. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the peg by the door. “What the f**k are you thinking, Em?” He’s shaking, and I suddenly realize what I’ve just done.
“Oh, I didn’t mean break up, Logan,” I say. A frantic giggle busts from my lips.
“I am not amused,” he says.
I wring my hands. “I just meant…maybe we could…maybe we could get married. Like soon.”
We talk about getting married all the time, but it’s just not something either of us has felt a great desire to do. I don’t want the pomp and circumstance, and he would just as soon avoid the crowd. So, we wait.
“Why?” he asks.
I walk to the sofa and get my bag that looks just like his. I hand it to him. He opens it and deflates like a balloon. Then he starts to laugh. When Logan laughs, there’s a part inside me that splits open with sheer happiness. My insides start to freaking glow when he’s happy. I know that sounds stupid, but it’s the truth.
He picks his bag up and hands it to me. I open the white paper sack and look inside. Then I grin, too. He laughs, grabs me to him, and spins me around. “I f**king love you so much,” he says by my ear.
“How did you know?” I ask.
“I know your body, Em,” he says softly. He cups my breast in his hand and sweeps across the suddenly turgid tip. “Your boobs are bigger, and you didn’t eat the pie.” He laughs.
“And I’m late,” I admit.
“How late?” he asks.
“Like a month and a half.”
“Thought so.” He grins like a fool. He jerks a thumb toward the bathroom. “Go pee on the f**king stick, Em,” he says. He starts opening one of the boxes and motions for me to follow him to the bathroom. He won’t even leave the room while I pee on the stupid stick. He stays. I lay it on the counter, my heart lighter than it has ever been. I wash my hands and look in the mirror to brush my hair back from my face. I chew on my fingernails and wait.
Logan steps up behind me and looks at me in the mirror, and I can remember the first time he looked at me like this. We were in a bathroom at a restaurant and he had just kissed me for the first time. He looked into my eyes in our reflection, and I was gone. He had just shown me the tattoo that unlocked my world, and I was his. I haven’t looked back since.
“Are you afraid?” he asks as he sweeps my hair to the side and kisses my neck.
“I was,” I admit. He watches my lips in the mirror. “But not anymore. Now that you’re here, I’m fine.” He’s the peace in my soul. He’s all I need. I lay a hand on my belly. And there might be another little piece of him and me together.
He picks up the stick and looks down at it. He stares at it for a second and then looks up at me. His eyes fill with tears, and he blinks them back. Then he nods. It’s a quick jerk. Just one. I fall against him and sob into his shoulder.
“You and me, Em. We’re going to have a baby,” he says softly.
He hitches me up with his hands on my bottom and I wrap my legs around his waist. Logan carries me to the bedroom and pulls my shirt over my head. He unhooks my bra with deft fingers and lays me down. He hovers over me, pulling my pants down over my feet and then my panties, until I’m na**d and exposed.
I don’t move because my heart is swelling and my blood is thumping. When he’s na**d, he comes back to me, but he doesn’t kiss my face. He bends and kisses my belly. He lifts me and moves me higher in the bed, where he can hover over me. “Me and you, Em,” he says again, his fingers tickling over my belly.
My tummy is still flat. This is too new for it to show, but I am moved by how reverently and tenderly he touches me. He lays a flat palm on my belly, and I cover his hand with mine.
“What if our baby is like me, Logan?” I ask. My voice suddenly cracks. “I’ll never be able to read her a bedtime story.”
He takes my hand and clutches it to his heart. “But I can.” He takes in a deep breath through his nose with his eyes closed, and then his blue eyes stare directly into mine. “I didn’t even have a voice until I met you, Em,” he says. “You gave me that. Let me use it. I’ll read to him. I’ll read until my throat hurts.”
“But what will I do?”
He smiles softly. “You’ll do what I can’t. You’ll sing with him. You’ll teach the baby about music. I can never do that.” It’s true. Logan feels the beat of music, but he doesn’t get much more than that. He will never appreciate music the way a hearing person can. “We complement one another, Em,” he says. “We always have. You punched me in the face because I was being a douche, but in all reality, you took my breath away and I wanted you. I wanted every part of you.” He picks my foot up, brings it close to his mouth, and starts kissing from my ankle to the back of my knee. A shiver runs up my spine, and I raise my other foot to his other shoulder. He grins and pushes my feet toward my shoulders, sinking inside me in one slow push. If I turned my head right now, I could kiss my ankle.
He takes me in slow, lazy strokes until I whimper and wiggle under him. “What’s wrong?” he teases. He knows I hate slow and composed. He pushes inside me, my bottom turned up as high as it can go as he gives me every wonderful inch of him.
“More,” I whimper. He kisses my ankle and parts my legs, letting them fall down by his sides. I shove his shoulder and he flips us over, our bodies still connected. This is what Logan and I are – connected in the most elemental ways. We always have been. We always will be.
“Use me,” he teases. “Take me however you want.”
He folds his arms behind his head, his elbows pointed out, a lazy grin on his face. I squeeze him in my depths, and his eyes close. “What’s wrong?” I coax, rising and sinking on him in quick, fulfilling strokes.
“Too good,” he complains, as he closes his eyes. “Too tight. Too much.”
He puts his hands on my h*ps and stops me from moving, his steely grip holding me tightly. “Will you still be able to do this when your belly is all full of my kid?” he asks quietly. His thumbs trace circles on my hips.
“You mean when I get really fat?” I ask. I laugh, and he winces when I squeeze him.
“Not fat, Em,” he says. He cups my br**sts in his hands and squeezes tenderly. “Full of us,” he whispers.
“Easy,” I complain. “They’re sore.”
He looks up, his brow furrowing. “Really?” he asks, but he doesn’t stop his slow sweeps with his thumbs across the turgid peaks. “I’m sorry they hurt,” he says quietly.
He’s taking my body almost like it’s new to him. “Just be gentle,” I say.
He chuckles. “Oh, this from the woman who doesn’t like soft and slow. You really should make up your mind.”
I ride him quickly, my strokes long and true and fast, taking him deeper and deeper inside me with every surge. He reaches into my curls and does that little thing he’s so good at. He strokes my cl*tand finds a rhythm I like. My legs grow shaky, and I have to brace myself with my palms flat on his chest. “Logan,” I cry.
“Now,” he says. “Please come. I can’t hold off much longer.”
He doesn’t break eye contact with me. Just like in everything else, he watches my body, taking cues from the vibration of my throat, the hitch in my breath, the shakiness of my thighs. “Now,” I say, and my back bows with the force of my feelings for him. I come while riding him, and he pulses beneath me at the same time, grunting loudly as he fills me up.
I collapse onto his chest. His hands stroke lazily across my back, up and down and back and forth. Then he moves and rolls me beneath him. He lays his ear on my belly and looks up at me. “There’s part of us in there,” he says reverently.
I run my fingers through his hair and smile. “Yeah,” I say. “I know.” I tug his hair so he’ll look up at me. “Are you happy?” I ask.
His blue eyes are so deep and so true that I don’t doubt his sincerity at all. “Couldn’t be happier,” he says. And I believe him. I’ve always believed him, even when he couldn’t believe me. “What are you going to do about school?” he asks.
“We’ll figure it out,” I say. “We always do.”
“Yeah,” he breathes, and his eyes close, his ear pressed to my belly like he’s listening for the subtle clues that there’s life in there.
There’s life in there. Ours. Together. “Want to get married?” I blurt out.
He nods and comes up to kiss me. “Yeah,” he says with a nod. And I don’t doubt for a minute that he means it.
Pete
Reagan is going to kill me when she gets home and sees all these kids here. I knew Gonzo was coming because he called and asked if he could spend the night. He does that sometimes. I genuinely like the kid, so having him over is not a problem. But he must have called his girlfriend, who just happens to be Edward’s younger sister, a boy I met when I was in prison, and they’re on their way over too. I am pretty sure that Reagan just wanted a quiet night at home, particularly since we have to spend pretty much the whole day with my family tomorrow.
I take some grapes out of the fridge and wash them off, because Gonzo eats like no one I have ever seen. The boy has a tape-worm, it seems at times. He’s sixteen now, and he’s finally hit his growth spurt. He starts popping them into his mouth as soon as I set them on the counter. Thanks, he signs with a grin.
“How are things going with Susan?” I ask.
He blushes and swallows his grapes.
“That well, huh?” I tease. I chuck his shoulder.