It’s the most earth-shattering moment of my life when he starts to move his hips, a gentle thrust up, never slowing the motion of his thumb. My head tumbles back, a low, throaty moan catching the air. He rocks into me, and I clench my eyes shut, an attempt to stop the threatening tears from escaping down my cheeks.
My heart is splitting in half.
My body silently sobbing as he takes me, holds me, whispers dirty and sweet words into my ear and mouth.
There is no more me without him, and why did it take me this long to realize I had the perfect man all along? I’ve been so afraid of making a mistake, but that’s all I’ve done. One after the other.
His hands cup my face, trying to force my eyes to his, but I can’t. If I look at him right now, when he’s being this tender with me, I’ll lose it completely. As it is, I’m already trembling, barely hanging on. His thumbs brush my cheeks and I know they’re stained with tears again.
“Shhh,” he breathes against them. Warm lips kissing the wetness away as he speeds up his thrusts. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
I clutch him tighter, my forehead falling to his. Don’t let go. Don’t ever let me go.
I could love this man. I could love him forever and never grow tired of it. Eternity isn’t nearly long enough to spend with Carter Fritz.
I used to believe in that. In forever.
I used to have faith.
But how many times can someone lose faith and trust and love before it’s rattled, its foundation cracked? I just know I can’t let go of him now.
Carter tells me I’m beautiful. How sexy I am. How he’s thought about nothing else all night but being buried inside of me. My eyes flash open and he’s right there, right in front of me, watching me as if he was waiting for this very moment all along.
I cry out, overwhelmed and overpowered by him, my orgasm unexpectedly rushing over me. A guttural groan erupts from his chest, his arms encircling my back, crushing me into the hard grip of his body. The muscular planes of his chest. His face hits the groove of my neck, and he lets go, coming right here along with me.
Inhaling, I catch the heavenly scent of his skin and cologne. Home. They’ll imprint themselves on my brain along with this moment, locked in my memories, never to escape.
Being with him… it’s everything.
I blink my eyes open at the feel of his hands across my forehead and through my hair. I could tell him now. I should have told him before. But the breathtaking smile that lights up his face steals my breath along with my nerve and then in the next second, he’s lifting me up, carrying me down the hall to his bedroom, wrapping me up in his arms.
Tomorrow, I think.
I’ll tell him tomorrow.
I just need one more night like this with him before I ruin it all.
30
I don’t even have to open my eyes to immediately recognize two things. One, it’s not even dawn yet. Two, Grace is not in the bed beside me. I frown in disappointment, more than just a little tired of the patience game she’s forcing us to play.
On the one hand, I get it. On the other, I’m ready to scream in her face, I love you, so get the fuck over it and accept it already.
Rolling out of bed, I check the bathroom before padding down the hallway into the darkness of the kitchen and then over to the family room. The mess of junk food from last night is gone and I wonder how long she’s been awake or if she ever went to sleep when I did. I had fun last night with Kaplan and Luca, but much of my evening was spent nursing a couple of drinks while they either hit on women or women hit on us.
I don’t want women.
I want one woman.
But something was different with her when I came home. For as much as the woman loves to pack away food and sugar, she doesn’t typically binge out like that unless she’s stressed or upset about something. Then there were the tears while we were making love. And yes, I know I just used that term and it’s kinda corny and I hate the way it sounds, but whatever.
That’s what it was.
I was inside her and I love her, so yeah.
But why was she crying and why isn’t she in my bed this morning? Is she planning on leaving me? Ending this?
With a sudden surge of rising panic, I quicken my steps, heading down the hall to her bedroom. The door is closed, and I knock softly. When there is no response, I open it to find the blankets in disarray, but no Grace.
The exercise room, office, media room, all empty. It isn’t until I reach one of the empty bedrooms that I find her, standing in the dark, pressed against the window, staring out at the muted sky, still thick with night. She’s dressed in a T-shirt and yoga pants, her blonde hair hanging loosely down her back.
“Grace?”
She doesn’t even stir, but I know she hears me. I cross the room, wanting to take her into my arms but holding myself back. If she’s going to eviscerate me, I’d rather not be touching her while she does it.
“What are you doing in here?” I continue when she doesn’t so much as acknowledge me. Her eyes are lost, unfocused, and for a beat, a different surge of panic hits me, jacking my heart rate up. “Sweetheart, can you respond? Are you having a seizure?”
Honestly, I have no idea if she is able to respond when she’s having a FAS. I know she explained to me that she’s completely conscious during them, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s able to tell me what’s happening either.
I reach out, going to touch her face when she shifts to me, her eyes falling to my bare chest. She holds there for a beat and then meeting my eyes whispers, “Carter, I’m pregnant.”
It takes me entirely five seconds longer than it should to comprehend the meaning of those words. And even when I think I understand them, I don’t. She couldn’t have said what I think she just said.
“What?” That’s how brilliant I am. “You said…”
“Yes.”
“No. You said you’re—”
“Pregnant. Yes.”
Tremors overtake my limbs, and suddenly I need to sit down. Only there is no furniture in this room. Nothing. My heartbeats turn hysterical and my hand flies out, clutching the window frame.
“How?” Another winner.
Blue eyes still locked on mine immediately grow glassy with tears. One. Two. Three. They start coming. My mind is yelling at me to do something. To grab her. To hold her. To kiss her. To wipe away her pain and promise her the world. But I can’t turn those thoughts into action.
All I can do is stare at her, utterly mystified.
“Are you sure?”
She shakes her head. “I got dizzy yesterday and I didn’t want to tell you about it.”
“You got dizzy? Why wouldn’t you want me to know?”
“Carter. You have to stop throwing my words back at me in the form of a question and let me talk or I’ll never be able to get this out.”
“Fine. You’re right. Talk.”
“I got dizzy, and I was worried something was going on. I don’t typically get dizzy. Not even before a seizure. I texted Margot and we did some tests, and did you know they gave me Dilantin when I was seizing?”
I blink at her like I’m staring into the sun. It’s like she’s speaking to me in Urdu and I’m using Google to translate. Nothing right now is making sense to me and I’m still five seconds behind before I can catch up.