Page 51 of Hateful Lies

Here come the tears.

I manage to hold it in long enough to get through them singing and me blowing out the candles. I’m trying so hard to stay composed that I don’t even make a wish like they tell me to.

As the cake is being cut, and everyone is distracted, I step outside for a moment to pull myself together. It doesn’t take long for Dylan to follow to make sure I’m okay.

“Was this all too much?” He asks.

“Are you kidding? This has been perfect. All of it. How the hell did you manage to pull all of this together?”

“I didn’t do it by myself. I had the epic party planning skills of Suzanne Lawson.”

“Ah. Makes sense. I’ll have to remember to thank her too.”

“Where did you find that mini Barbie Dream House, Sparky? That thing is super old now.”

He grins. “You can find everything on eBay. Are you sure nothing is wrong?”

“I’m good. All of this has been great.”

He raises his eyebrows. “But?”

How can he always tell?

“All of this is amazing, and I’m feeling more comfortable. But every time I just try to be really happy, there’s this nagging little voice in my head that tells me it’s short-lived. I’m scared it’ll all be ripped away.”

“Leah, this right here.” He points between the two of us. “This isn’t going anywhere. I’m not your dad. I will never walk out. And if you’re stuck with me, you’re stuck with my family.”

Hearing him say the words put my mind at ease—just for now. As he gives me a hug, I find myself considering giving this thing between us a real shot. What if I said let’s have a serious relationship? Would saying the words really change much between us?

Against every instinct I have, I find myself wondering how much longer will he actually stick around if I keep holding him at a distance—especially when I know I’m falling in love with him.

forty-two

Taking a Big Step

Leah

One month later…

30 weeks pregnant.

“Okay, Dylan. Just stop. Get up here,” I say.

He comes up from between my legs. “What’s wrong? Am I not doing something right?”

“No. Your tongue is amazing as usual. It’s all me.”

He lays next to me with his head propped on his hand. “Talk to me, gorgeous.”

“I’m just having trouble focusing. Men are easy—you stroke their cock enough, and boom, they come. It’s a physical thing. With women, it’s more mental. If my head isn’t in it, I can’t cross the finish line.”

“So, it’s some sort of mental block?” He asks.

“I guess you can put it like that.”

“Let’s figure it out. What’s going on in that big beautiful brain of yours?”

“I don’t even know where to begin.”