Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“No.” She shakes her head. “I know they’re going to break me open, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that. I know they exist. I know you wanted me, and that our own miscommunication also played a big role in what kept us apart. I want to read them, but I don’t know if I’m ready yet.”
“They’re yours, and they’ll be there when you’re ready, and if you’re never ready, that’s okay, too. We’re looking forward, not backward, and we have so much happiness in front of us, baby. It’s okay to never read them and to let the past stay where it belongs—behind us.”
“It’s just so hard to feel so deliriously happy and so sad at the same time.”
My heart hurts for her. I hate to see her sad. I understand, and I’m pissed, too, but for me, I got my girl back. She’s going to be my wife, and we’re having our first baby. I’m on cloud nine, even knowing we were sabotaged by her mom.
I do feel like her mother meant well. Kathy Moran loved her daughters fiercely, and I think that love led her to make a choice she knew was wrong but didn’t know how to come back from without her daughter hating her. Should she have done it? No, but she did, and we’re still here, in love, and living the rest of our lives together.
“I wish I could carry this for you,” I tell her, gripping her thighs lightly.
“You are, Copeland. You’re just as much a part of this as I am, and you can cuss her, say whatever you’re feeling.”
Her words crack something open in my chest. I swallow, my throat tight. If I don’t choose my words carefully, they’ll come out too big, too raw to survive the air between us.
“I feel love, Ells. So much love for you, and for our baby.” My voice shakes, and I don’t bother trying to steady it. I splay my hand across her abdomen. It’s warm and solid beneath my palm, impossibly real. She’s not showing, but there’s a piece of me—a piece of us—and our love growing inside her. “I feel like I can breathe for the first time in years.”
It’s strange, realizing how long I’ve been living on standby. Through the pain of missing her, of not having her in my life. Being with her now is a gift, one I’ve wanted for so damn long but had thought our time had passed.
“I’m terrified,” I admit quietly, because if we’re doing this honestly, then all of it deserves to be said. “Of messing it up. Of not being enough. Of losing you again. Both of you. But even that fear feels like a promise. It doesn’t crush me. It just reminds me how much I care. It reminds me of how much more I have to lose this time around. I got my family, you and our baby, and I can’t lose that. I won’t survive it.”
I let out a soft laugh. “I feel like I’m finally standing exactly where I’m supposed to be. I longed for you for so long, and started to wonder if I made it all up in my head, and then I came back to town, and one look at you, and every feeling, every moment I remember was real.”
I lean closer, my forehead resting against her thigh. Being close to her grounds me. Finally, I look up, meeting her blue eyes. “I’m here,” I say, meaning it in every way possible. “With you. With our babies. You and our kids will never go a day without knowing what you mean to me.”
“Babies? Copeland James, are you trying to wish twins on me?” she asks, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
I smile, the heaviness of the moment lifting. “I could get behind some twins, but yeah, whether we have them one at a time or multiple at a time, I see babies in our future, Ells.”
“I want that, too.” Her smile is watery.
I stand to my full height and offer her my hand. She takes it and allows me to help her to her feet. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late for our appointment.”
“Technically, it’s my appointment,” she teases, grabbing her phone from her desk and dropping it into her purse.
“And you’re my wife, and that’s my baby in your belly, so it’s our appointment.”
“Is that how it works?” she asks, blue eyes bright as she smiles up at me.
“That’s how it works with us. If other men don’t know how good they have it, and don’t think that way, I feel sorry for them.”
“You’re one of a kind, Copeland James.”
“Right back at ya, Mrs. James.”
“Not yet,” she singsongs, stepping out of her office and leaving me to trail behind her.
“Close enough,” I say, catching up with her and entwining our fingers.