I lift my gaze to her, and she looks uncertain, as if she doesn’t know whether to be worried or happy. “Come here.” Unable to hold back my smile, I pick her up and lift her into the air, smacking a kiss on her abs, then I toss her down on the bed. She squeals and bursts out laughing as I fall on her.
“You’re a crazy man! You’re the only man I know who throws his pregnant girlfriend onto a bed!” she cries.
“I’m the only man,” I correct her, “as far as I know. There’s only one man in your world, and it’s me.”
“All right, but don’t tell my dad I agreed so easily . . .” she whispers, rubbing my shoulders, gold eyes shining on me. I want this baby to have those eyes. That perfect smile.
“Brooke Dumas pregnant with my baby,” I tell her. In case she didn’t see the f**king test, now she f**king knows she’s pregnant by me.
She grins happily, and that pure little grin feels like a kiss all along my pulsing cock. “My head is reeling. Kiss me.”
I drop my head and trail my tongue in to mate with hers, then I drag the back of one finger across her cheek. “Make it look like you,” I whisper.
“You’re the one who gave this to me,” she counters.
“No, you’re giving this to me.”
“All right, we’re both such giving souls.”
She laughs, and I laugh with her and roll to my side, gathering her in my arms so I can kiss her all over. “You’re mine now, from the top of your pretty dark head to the soles of your little feet.” I caress her face and kiss her eyelids, and I’m so f**king delighted, I swear things are actually moving in my chest. “Don’t even think about leaving me again or I’ll come after you and so help me god, I’m going to tie you to where I am, and where I sleep, and where I eat. Do you hear me, Brooke Dumas?”
She nods breathlessly. “There isn’t a single part of me that doesn’t know I’m yours.”
She seizes my hand and spreads it over the curve of her breast, right over her heart.
I clench her breast possessively so she remembers its mine, and I bend my head and kiss her. “I’m so crazy about you,” I rasp, and I drag my hand down her lovely curves and pet her.
PRESENT
SEATTLE
Gah!”
The only sound in the silent church comes from one of the front rows, and it is followed by soft laughter nearby.
“Rem, that boy is priceless. He already feels like he’s the shit and he’s not even one,” Pete murmurs behind me.
I glance at my son and he’s slapping Josephine now, saying, “Gah!” every time he hits her. Brooke says he’ll be just like me, but I hope he’ll be better than me.
The doors of the church swing open, and I straighten and stand in place, like I’m supposed to, the anticipation slowly gnawing at me. I rub my thumb along my ring when a figure in white steps forward—and my lungs empty in a whoosh. Fuck me, look at her. Only Brooke does this to me. The noise inside me stills and I feel whole and content, at peace, the instant my eyes lock on hers. And she’s so f**king beautiful in that dress my collar suddenly chokes me.
Music starts playing. My bride’s music.
When she starts walking toward me, I feel like every step makes me grow inside my suit the way only she can make me, and I’m about ten sizes too large now and burning beneath the fabric. She didn’t hide her face behind a veil. Every step, I see her smile. Her huge, wide, I-fucking-love-you-Remington-Tate smile.
This is my woman pledging her life to me.
This is me, pledging my life to her.
My eyes run over her face, and it’s the same face I look for every morning in my bed, and every moment I’m in the ring, and every second in between. She’s that girl, with the marshmallow mouth that looks soft and inviting, and those eyes, gold as a lioness’s, and yet she tells me she’s no longer a girl. She’s a woman now. A mother. A wife. My wife.
The dress covers her completely, tight around her top and spreading wide at the skirt. She looks so f**king beautiful I want to mate her, take her, right now, slammed by thoughts of grabbing her into my arms, ripping off the dress’s buttons and her panties, then spreading her open so I can claim my wife, every sigh of hers, every inch of skin.
I’m so f**king ready for this, I step off the platform to receive her a couple of steps earlier and I lock gazes with her father when I approach. He’s unsmiling, his eyes wet, but there’s no antagonism in his stare. “She’s all yours,” he tells me thickly.
I’ve already slipped my hand to her small one when I nod and murmur, “Thank you,” then I bring her up with me to the altar. She stands trembling in excitement at my side, and I duck my head and lean over, brushing my nose against hers so she tips her head back to look at me. Our stares hold.
“Ready?” I ask when we hear the priest begin the ceremony.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony . . .”
PAST
BAD NEWS
Sometimes I wonder if it’s me.
If there’s something about me that repels the good. And the pure. Or if I’m just not meant to have a family.
Brooke is having trouble keeping our baby, and now we’re flying in silence to Seattle.
I carried her to the plane; no Pete, no Riley, no Coach, no Diane flying with us. I want her all for me. All for f**king me.
I can’t even talk.
I can’t even f**king think.
“I know, Remy, I know.” She runs her fingers through my hair and looks at me, as tormented as I feel. “We’re going to be all right, all three of us.”
“That’s the point of all this,” I whisper, reminding myself as well as her.
“And like you say, we’ve got this. We really do.”
“Damn right we do.”
“You’ll be back before we even have time to feel sad or miss each other too much.”