Parker’s resolve wanes, his long sigh kissing the hairs on my head. A small nod of concession follows. “Okay.”
We make our way inside, giving Walden a few minutes of attention before Parker slips into the shower and I retreat to his bedroom. Sifting through his drawer of t-shirts, unfolded and in disarray, I pluck one out and decide to use it as a nightshirt.
Butterflies scatter low in my belly as my bare feet traipse to his unmade bedside, and I slink beneath the cool sheets. I mold into the covers, inhaling his familiar scent.
Earthy woods and musky raindrops. Hints of cedar and pine. It’s not cologne—Parker isn’t one for appearances—so, it must be his soap or fabric softener.
A smile lifts with warmth.
Will our baby be a boy, smelling of a Colorado mountainside?
Or a girl? Citrus and sunshine?
Will he build and carve, or will she bake and smile?
Enchanting thoughts skip across my brain, dousing me in daydreams. A baby. I’ve wanted children since I was a child myself, from little toy dolls to babysitting the neighborhood kids. Charlie and I had a life plan, a plan that was cut short, cruelly severing my visions of ever becoming a mother. Months went by where I was plagued with vivid memories of that water running red in the shower, blood trickling down my thighs, my body purging all final remnants of hope.
Hope.
Parker said once that hope was for the weak.
It was my very first day at those meetings, and his words burned me. They rattled me straight to the core.
But maybe he was right—hope is for the weak. The frail and the struggling.
The breakable.
Hope is the glue.
And there is no shame in that. There is no shame in weakness, in wanting more, in failure or defeat. Without those moments of weakness, we would never truly appreciate the beauty of our strength.
Hope is the stepping stone for grief and suffering, and then it’s up to us to do the rest. To fill in our dark holes, stitch our wounds, and make our way to the other side.
A wistful smile still paints my face when Parker steps into the bedroom twenty minutes later, his hair damp and mussed, adorning a light gray t-shirt and boxer briefs. He lingers, his eyes skimming over me through the lamp-lit space, flickering with thoughtful emotion.
I sit up, gently patting the empty space beside me. “Hi.”
His own smile twitches on his mouth. He wavers for a brief moment, like he’s taking it all in, then paces forward. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to this.”
“Seeing me in your bed?” I grin.
“Seeing you in my bed, my space, my fucking clothes.” Parker climbs onto the mattress, prowling towards me, his arm draping over my torso and pulling me close. He trails a rough hand up and down my midsection, drinking in the sight of me in his t-shirt, and settles it on my stomach. He finishes in a low breath, “Everywhere.”
Inhaling sharply, I meet his gaze. “I feel you everywhere, too,” I whisper back, placing my hand atop his as he unknowingly palms my belly. “You’re inside me.”
His eyes flare with heat. “Fuck, I really want to be.”
“You are.” When Parker tries to move his hand downward, I halt his efforts, keeping it low on my abdomen. “You’re inside me right now.”
A frown appears between his brows when he realizes I’m trying to tell him something. “Like, in your heart and shit? Is this a girly metaphor?”
My smile blossoms wide, a chuckle slipping out. “No. It’s a fact. You’re literally inside me.”
“Shit, Melody, maybe I swallowed too much sewer water, but I’m not—” Parker cuts himself off, going still. He blinks once. Twice. His attention goes straight to our joined hands, resting on top of my stomach, and when his focus flicks back to my face, the revelation is clear. It’s striking. “Are you telling me you’re fucking pregnant?”
Tears shoot to my eyes, and all I can do is nod.
“Jesus Christ…” Parker scrubs a hand over his face, holding his jaw as he reins in a breath. A silent, heavy beat passes between us, the air charged and thick, his eyes closing tight. When his eyelids ping back open, jade irises are glistening with emotion and disbelief. “We’re going to be parents?”
My head bobs with fervor, my chin trembling. “Yes,” I reply, only a gasp. “Your sister told me at the hospital. They ran a blood test.”
“Fuck. Holy fuck.”
Parker launches at me, his one hand still clasped over my belly, while the other tangles in my hair, fisting the long strands as his face hovers above me. My core clenches at the indescribable expression on his face, the awe, the love. He lets out something like a moan as he holds me tight, and I lift up to kiss his lips. “Parker, I love you.”
Another desperate, virile sound escapes him as he tenses on top of me. “Jesus, you’re fucking killing me right now.”
“I love you,” I say again, coiling my legs around his hips while my hands cradle his face. “I love you so much, Parker Denison. You. All of your scars, your shadows, and your perfect, perfect heart. I’m not giving up on you. Not now, not ever.”
He smashes his lips to mine, starved and crazed, clutching me like I’m his most prized possession—his whole purpose. Lifting to his knees, he pulls me with him, then falls back to the headboard in a sitting position until I’m straddling his lap. “I can’t believe you love me. I can’t believe you’re mine.” His words spill out ragged, his hands climbing my back, fingers gripping me at the nape of my neck. “I can’t believe I put a baby in you.”
“Believe it,” I whisper. “Believe me.”
“God, I fucking love you.”
Parker kisses me again with unbridled hunger, our tongues dueling to the beats of our hearts. He tears the shirt off my body, throwing it to the floor beside us, then dives forward, taking my breast in his mouth. My back arches with pleasure, our intimacy spiraling into sheer desire. I grab fistfuls of his hair, a breathy moan mingling with his. Thick hardness presses into my inner thigh, and I grind into him, wetness pooling between my legs. “Are you sure you’re not too sore?”
He sucks my nipple into his mouth, biting gently. “I’m sore as fuck, but there’s no way in hell I’m ending this night without being inside you.”
My head drops back when he nicks me again, then trails his tongue up my chest to my throat, pulling the skin between his teeth. On instinct, I reach over to the bedside lamp to switch it off, but Parker steals my wrist before I can.
He shakes his head. “No.”
Inhaling a sharp breath, I watch as he gathers the fabric of his t-shirt, then pulls it up over his head, tossing it next to mine. His body sits bare before me, seventy-nine scars on display, and I fall in love with every single one. I trace my fingertips along the puckered marks, smooth and soft, feeling him stiffen as his fingertips bite into my hipbones.
Parker hisses when I lean down to pepper kisses along his torso, my tongue poking out to lave along the expanse of scars. He cradles the back of my skull in his hands, arching into my roaming mouth with a soft groan. “You ruin me, Melody,” he murmurs, weaving his fingers through my wild hair. “You shatter my walls. You vaporize my darkness, overthrow my demons. You destroy every goddamn misaligned belief I’ve carried with me all my life.”