I listen to the interview progress with half an ear, until I feel a strong bump directly beneath my palm, then I’m not listening at all. My attention is one hundred percent riveted to what’s happening in her stomach.
Several sharp jabs hit the underside of my hand and right before my eyes, I watch her basketball of a stomach roll and shift, bulging and sinking in this crazy ass dance that has my heart trying to beat clear out of my chest.
I have never seen anything like it. To imagine a whole person inside there, moving around, is mind-blowing. I have a million things that want to burst from my mouth right now—namely, a shout of pure elation—but I keep it bottled up, afraid that if I make even the slightest sound, she’ll boot me out the door.
I’m not stupid. I know I fucked up pretty bad. But I’m here, and she’s here, and this is happening, and I’m hoping to fucking God that she still feels something for me.
“Just one more chance,” I hear myself whisper as I move down the bed and curl my arms around her belly, holding our son the only way possible. “I know you hate me right now, and you have every reason to, but please don’t send me away. Please tell me we can still fix this.”
The plea shutters out of me and I’m shocked to realize that I’m crying. Like real fucking tears. My fingers swipe at the moisture coating my cheeks and I stare at them, dumbfounded because I can’t recall the last time I cried.
I’ve broken bones and smiled through the pain.
Feeling something soft touch my hand, I look up to see Vista’s fingers curling around mine. Her face is obscured by the phone, but what I can see of her is set aglow. I don’t know if she’s responding to my whispered plea or the video. I don’t even know what it means, but that single touch gives me a shred of hope.
Afraid to move, afraid that if I do it will break the spell and she’ll take her hand away, I hold as still as possible. The only thing that moves is my head, because I can’t help myself from kissing her hard stomach, from running my lips tenderly across it. It’s so unbelievable that we made an entire person together. The love I feel for both of them can’t be described.
I listen closely as she gets to the part where Jimmy asks me if I want to say anything. Her hand squeezes in mine as we listen to my words together.
“You were right, princess. It’s you and me. So don’t lock that door just yet. Make sure you leave a light on.”
The video jumps ahead to the rest of the interview and Vista presses the button on the side of the phone to shut it off, taking the light with it. The room is dark and full of shadows now, but I can still make out her general form. Setting the phone down on the blankets beside her, she asks softly, “Keep a light on?”
There’s confusion and a touch of humor in her tone, and I feel what some might describe as a bashful smile curl the corners of my mouth. “Yeah, well, I never claimed to be a poet.”
There’s a long pause and I hold my breath, bracing myself for whatever she has to say.
“When was the interview?”
“Tonight. Well, last night, I guess. I lost track of my days on the flight. I left as soon as the interview was done.”
“You flew all the way from California?”
I nod against her stomach, realizing the way that I’m curled around her, with her hand in mine, is about as intimate as two people can get without having sex.
“What did you mean by the light thing?”
Shit, I knew I should have been clearer. That’s what I get for trying to be clever. Groaning at my own idiocy, I explain. “It was just my way of saying that I was on my way and to wait up for me. I guess I fucked that all up, huh?” I grimace, glad for the darkness. If she could see my face now—“Hey!” The room is suddenly brighter than the sun, forcing my eyes into narrow slits.
“You trying to get back at me for leaving by burning my eyes out of their sockets, woman?” I complain, rubbing them furiously. It takes some time, but they eventually adjust to the light.
When I can focus, I see Vista is laying there, nestled in a mound of pillows, staring at me with this unreadable expression. I can’t tell if she’s happy or if she’s about to rip my balls off and serve them to me for dinner.
A slow smile breaks out and, using the hand that’s holding mine, she pulls herself up to sit. The action forces me to sit back on my knees, bringing us inches apart.
“Sorry,” she says with a smile that tells me she is anything but that. “I was just keeping a light on for you.”
My jaw drops and I study her for any indication that she’s pulling my leg. Maybe this is just her way of punishing me, getting my hopes up before she drops me on my ass. But when I look into those soft brown eyes, all I see is sincerity.
“Am I hearing you right?”
“Depends on what you think you’re hearing.”
“I think I just heard you say that you forgive me and that you can’t live another second without me.”
Rolling her bottom lip between her teeth, Vista replies, “I think you might be right.”
My heart fucking soars. With a growl, I lunge, tackling her back onto the mattress. Her stomach means I can’t climb on top of her like I want to, but that’s not going to keep me from sucking on those plump lips.
Cupping the side of her neck, I pull her to me and take her mouth with force, plunging my tongue inside and swirling it with hers. She tastes like a dream, one I never want to wake up from. When her fingers tunnel into my hair, her lips and tongue dancing eagerly with mine, it’s nearly impossible to restrain myself.
I tell her I love her between each kiss, tell her how fucking sorry I am for being such a son of a bitch, and she kisses me back eagerly, telling me without words that she forgives me. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it, but I’ll take it, because without her my life means nothing.
Drawing back slightly, Vista presses a delicate hand against my chest and peers up at me with a vulnerability I’ve never seen before. “Tell me this isn’t a dream,” she says breathlessly.
“If it is,” I tell her as I settle in beside her and wrap her up tight in my arms so that we’re facing one another, “then I don’t wanna wake up.”
EPILOGUE
One year later…
“Rotate your shoulder. Now come forward. Back. Again. Good!” I help Keyon, one of my best clients and arguably the football world’s best player, lower the weights back to the floor. He’s a big guy, towering over me by a good half foot. He hasn’t been injured—yet—and he’s hoping that by coming to me, he’ll lessen his chances of gaining any serious injuries on the field.
Smart man.
Shaking out his long limbs, Keyon strides over to the bench where he laid his towel and picks it up, swabbing the light sheen of sweat from his flawless ebony skin. “Great workout, boss.”
“I keep telling you, Keyon, I’m not your boss.” I laugh, earning a wide, toothy grin. “Are you ready for the game Sunday?” He’s the star running back for a team that is, according to Levi, headed for the Super Bowl this season.
“The other team isn’t going to know what hit ‘em,” he boasts. “Hey, are you and your husband planning to make it out?”
I promised him that Levi and I would make at least one of his games. It’s a thing I like to do to show my clients that I’m invested in them as a sort of thank you for investing in me. Marquis Rehabilitation wouldn’t be the overnight success it is today without them.
“I’ll have to talk to Levi, but I’m pretty sure we can.”
“Great, then I’ll make sure to leave a couple tickets for you at the front.”
I thank him and as he walks out, I see my gorgeous husband walk in. Levi looks damn fine in his Tuesday best—a pair of tight black jeans and black riding jacket worn over a black Henley. His beard is freshly trimmed and his sexy as sin smile is in full effect. Chase is strapped securely to his chest like a little papoose, fast asleep.