I roll my eyes. “Whatever,” I say, half under my breath, expecting him to either shove his tongue down my throat to shut me up or spin me around to spank me, but he does neither.
He looks down my body at my belly, running his hand over it before dragging it slowly up my body. He cups my breasts, something he’s been doing a lot of lately given how large they’ve become.
He rubs his nose against mine, leaning down to kiss me softly. His tongue darts out for just a second, touching my lips.
“What’s wrong?” I lift his face so I can look in his eyes. He looks like he’s tormented.
“I have these urges,” he says, refusing to look at me. He focuses on his hands, which fall back down to my swollen belly.
“Urges?”
“I have this animalistic desire to dominate you.” His eyes dart to mine, his pupils dark and dilated. A shiver runs up my spine at the way his eyes devour me. He leans in, his lips at my ear.
“I want to fuck you hard. I want to use your beautiful body. I want to be rough with you.” He pinches my nipple and the pleasure shoots straight to the juncture at the top of my thighs.
“Then fuck me—hard,” I say as I shove my hands into his hair and kiss him passionately. My tongue swirls into his mouth, eliciting a deep moan from his chest as his hands roam my body.
He presses himself against me, his tongue taking over my mouth like he’s fucking me with it. He pulls away suddenly, breathing hard as he stares at my belly again.
“I promise I won’t break. You won’t hurt us,” I say reassuringly as I grab his hand and lead him out of the nursery toward our bedroom . . . but of course, we only make it to the hallway before he has to have me. We eventually make it to our bed, but not before we stop up against another wall, the desk in his office, and a few other places.
24
Grant
Three Months Later . . .
* * *
“What do you mean your water broke?” I shout over the phone in pure panic. “You’re not due for another four weeks!”
“Grant, baby, relax. It’s okay. The baby isn’t coming right this second. But, um . . .” she hesitates and I can feel my blood pressure skyrocketing.
“But what, Leigh?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“I’m not in Denver, baby. I drove out to Grand Lake this morning.”
“What?” I shout even louder this time. The nurses on the floor stop in their tracks and stare at me.
“I fucking told you not to go, Leigh!” I try to lower my voice but my anger is preventing me. “I’m in fucking Denver!”
I know it doesn’t do any good at this point to tell her why I was right and why her being an obstinate brat who hates being told what to do has gotten us into this mess, but I do anyway.
“Grant!” she snaps. “Calm down. I’m about to have a baby, so I need to be as stress-free as possible. I know our doctor is back in Denver too, but Dr. Soreson is great and he will deliver our baby girl just fine. I just need you to get here safely, okay?”
I close my eyes, leaning my head back and pinching the bridge of my nose. I take a few deep breaths. “You’re right. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” I let out a long, shaky breath. “We’re about to be parents,” I whisper. I choke back tears but they fall anyway, my nerves starting to get jumbled.
“Just hurry. I need you here,” she says through a muffled sniff.
“I’m on my way, baby.”
After a frantic—and honestly, erratic—two-hour drive to Grand Lake, seven hours of labor, and 20 minutes of pushing, I’m holding my daughter.
“Amelia Brook Rossi.” I say her name over and over again as I run my fingertip gently over her soft cheek.
“Your mama is so strong and fierce, you know that?” I say as I glance up at Leigh, who is watching us both, her eyelids heavy.
I reach out a hand and smooth down Leigh’s hair. She reaches up and grabs it, bringing it down to her lips and kissing my fingers.
“Go to sleep, baby. I’ve got it from here.” I lean down and plant a kiss on her forehead.
“I don’t want to miss a single second of this though,” she whispers between long, slow blinks.
I take a seat on the edge of her bed, my hand resting in hers on her chest as she drifts off to sleep. I stare down at her and then back to Amelia, and my heart feels like it’s going to burst at any second.
This. This is what love feels like. An indescribable feeling of happiness, contentment, and utter fear.
“Where’s my granddaughter?” My mother’s voice awakens me. I stir, still curled around Leigh’s exhausted body in her hospital bed.
“Shhh.” I lift my finger and point to Leigh, who’s thankfully still out. I gingerly remove myself from her bed, walking over to give my mom a hug before ushering her out of the room.
“Over here,” I say as we walk down the hallway of the small country hospital to a window where Amelia and two other babies are sleeping in their incubators.
I tap softly on the window, getting the attention of the nurse, who nods and reaches for Amelia. She brings her out to us, my mother barely containing her excitement as she takes her from the nurse.
We walk back to Leigh’s room just as her parents come barreling around the corner, tears already streaking her mother’s cheeks.
“Ohhhh my,” her mother coos as my mother reveals Amelia to her. Mr. Brooks pats me on the back, holding on to my shoulder as he wordlessly nods his head at me. He’s trying not to cry, but it doesn’t last long. Soon he’s pulling me in for a hug, holding me tight.
I slip back into Leigh’s room as the grandparents ooh and aww over their granddaughter. Leigh stirs awake, glancing around the room before her eyes land on me and she registers where she is.
“Where—”
“She’s with our parents,” I say just as they step inside the room with Amelia.
Leigh instantly stretches out her arms to take her daughter, and my mom places her in them.
I lean against the windowsill as I take in the scene. It feels like it’s unfolding in slow motion: our families coming together to witness this joyous occasion. I swallow the lump in my throat as Leigh’s eyes settle over me. I wink at her and she smiles, mouthing the words I still can’t believe I get to hear from her every day for the rest of my life:
I love you.
Epilogue
Leigh-Six Months Later . . .
“You ready to do this, Mama?”
Grant kisses the top of my head as I do a once-over on the diaper bag for about the fifth time in the last hour.
“I can’t believe she’s six months old,” I say, shaking my head. I told myself I wouldn’t cry today. That’s been my constant postpartum battle every day for the last six months . . . trying not to cry at every little thing.
“Next thing you know, she’s going to be headed off to college.”
“Sweetheart, we said we weren’t going to spiral today.”
He grabs my upper arms, helping me breathe through my almost-breakdown.