The life wecould havecreated.
Everything thatcould havebeen.
I wasn’t wrong about everything I felt on the day I first saw her; that she,we, uscould’ve been somethingso goodtogether that it would mute and block out the turmoil of all the rest of the shit in my life. Because right now, we’re wrapped up in the middle of Archer’s empty,immaculateapartment, a glaring indicator that something is very wrong, but holding her like this makes all of that fade to nothing, and I’m left with nothing but a sense of serene goodness.
I wrap one arm tightly around the center of her back, holding her flush against me and allowing myself to mold against her as I sweep my tongue across hers. I suddenly feel famished; like I’ve beenstarvingwithout her; like I could consume her and swallow her whole. One of my hands cups the line of her jaw, and the quietest moan slips from her mouth into mine.
“Christ, Elle,” I can’t help murmuring against her lips, holding her even closer as she frames my face with her hands.
Her tongue probes deeper, and my dick is hard asfuck, and I suddenly wonder—even without all the complexities of this; never mind the fact that we’re in Archer’s apartment and that would just be fuckingweird—if you can even have sexat allduring a pregnancy.
But apparently, I don’t need to worry about the answer to that question.
“Oh God, oh no,” Elle suddenly murmurs against my mouth.
The moment is over, and I lower my forehead to hers in defeat.
She releases my face and slips her hands down the sides of my neck to flatten her palms against my chest. “I’m sorry.”
If she’s not letting all the way go, I’m not going to either, and I keep my hands on the base of her spine. “I wish you didn’t feel like that’s something you have to be sorry for.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be doing this.”
Why NOT, I want to shout.
Instead, I let her go—again—and take a step backward. Her hands linger on my chest before slipping away as I put space between us, and then she brings them to hold her small bump in a way that is reflexively protective and motherly.
I don’t think I could love her more, and I wonder if there’s ever going to be a time in my life when I can tell her that.
“I guess, um…” Elle starts to say, meeting my eyes. “I guess you should go to the police. I’ll put a hold on his treatment, but I’ll make a note that we’ll start back up again as soon as he turns up.”
I arch one eyebrow. “I gather that you’re not totally convinced that he’s a lost cause.”
“He’s not, Colin,” she says gently. “He’s fighting an uphill battle, and just because he tripped and fell, it doesn’t mean we’re going to give up on him. I am in this for as long as you will allow me to be.”
Her last sentence is a mother fucking trigger, and I can feel the words barreling out of my throat before I can stop them. “Oh yeah? And what aboutthis?”
Her eyes are still locked on mine, and she knows exactly what I’m talking about. “We’ll figure something out, Colin. I’m not a heartless bitch who’s going to keep you from having a relationship with your daughter.”
It takes about a half-second of digesting her words before my entire posture and countenance melts.
Daughter.
As in, a little, tiny, mini-Elle, who might have blonde curls and blue eyes, or dark waves and green eyes.
Like a magical, high-speed slideshow, everything that could be flashes before my eyes.
A little girl in pink pajamas sitting at a kitchen table on a Saturday morning, eating pancakes and swinging her tiny sock-feet from the chair.
That same little girl with a backpack and a bow in her hair, grinning a gap-toothed smile while she poses for a picture on her first day of school.
That same little girl in a nice, suburban neighborhood, helmet tugged down over her frizzy, braided pigtails while she squeals in excitement over taking off on her bike for the first time.
That same little girl, a bit older now, dressed in a cap and gown, flouncing exuberantly down a staircase in a loving home on the day she graduates from high school.
That same little girl, a bit older still, wearing a white gown, holding the crook of my arm as we prepare to take a long walk down an aisle that leads to her future that is full of love and hope and possibilities.
It’s like living an entire life in the span of two seconds, and I can’t think of anything to say, but apparently everything is written all over my face.
