My legs are still unsteady as I walk to my office. The sketchbook feels heavier than it should when I pick it up, like it's weighted with all the little pieces of me and things I've never said out loud.
Back in the bedroom, she's sitting up with the sheet tucked loosely around her waist, not bothering to cover her tits. The sight nearly distracts me from what I was doing. Her hair’s a disaster, her neck and collarbone marked by my mouth, her lipsswollen from my kisses. She looks thoroughly fucked, and I want to do it all over again.
But first I need to show her this piece of me.
I sit on the edge of the bed, holding the sketchbook just out of her reach. "It's not finished," I warn her because for some reason, showing her this means a whole hell of a lot to me, and I don’t know what I’ll do if she laughs or gives me shit like she usually does.
Or if she blows it off.
She takes it from me with careful hands, opening to the page I've been working on. Her body goes still as she studies it.
"This is..." Her finger traces the outline of the trees, then moves to the constellation above. "For our son?"
I nod, feeling exposed in a way that has nothing to do with being naked. I don’t bother to tell her it’s for her, too. “Thought I'd brew it when he's born. Just a small batch."
"Dawn Breaker IPA," she reads aloud, then the line beneath it: "Crafted for the newest James."
Her voice catches on my last name, and something twists in my chest. I want her to have it, too.
"It's just an idea," I say, the words coming out gruffer than intended. "If you don't?—"
"It's beautiful." She looks up at me, and the emotion in her eyes hits me hard. "It's perfect, Kasen."
Something unclenches inside me, a knot of tension I didn't even realize I was carrying. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." She sets the book carefully on the nightstand and reaches for me, pulling me back down beside her. Her fingers trace one of my tattoos, following the line of ink up my arm. "I didn't know you could draw like that."
I shrug, heat creeping up my neck. "Just beer labels and little doodles. It’s not a big deal."
"No." She grabs my chin, making me look at her. "This is more than that. This is art, Kasen. You're talented."
I don't know what to do with praise like that, so I just pull her against me, burying my face in her neck where I can hide from those eyes that see too much.
We lie tangled together, her fingers tracing the lines of ink down my arm like she likes to do. My hand settles on her belly, and I wonder how long it’ll be until I can feel him moving around in there.
"I'm scared," I say finally, the words rough against her skin. "About being a father."
She pulls back, surprise flashing across her face. "You are?"
"Yeah." I swallow past the tightness in my throat. "My dad... he bailed on us. After my mom died. Just checked out completely." The admission feels like glass in my mouth, but I push through it. "I don't know how to be a good father. I don't have shit to model it on."
Her hand comes up to cradle my jaw, her thumb brushing against my stubble. "You raised Clover."
"That's different."
"Is it?" Her eyes hold mine, unflinching. "You stepped up when she needed you. Put her first. Built a life for both of you." Her fingers tighten on my face like she's trying to push the truth into me. "That sounds exactly like what a good father does."
Her certainty makes my chest feel too tight. "I can't fuck this up, Pink. Not with him."
"You won't." She says it like it's a fact, immovable as stone. "We won't."
I press my forehead against hers, breathing her in. "When did you start believing in us?"
The corner of her mouth lifts. "Probably around the time you drove across town at two in the morning for pickles and chocolate syrup without a single complaint."
I laugh, the sound rusty but real. "That's all it took? Not my devastating good looks or mind-blowing skills in bed?"
"Definitely the pickles," she says, her eyes lighting up in that way that kills me. "Though the other stuff isn't terrible."
