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He leaves, and it’s not until the door is closed behind him that I realize I didn’t want him to go, though even once he does, my feet don’t carry me inside.
Brady’s words from earlier come back and begin to loop in my mind.
He was right, it has been a hell of a year. Longer than that in my case.
If that much could change in twelve months plus time, who knows what the hell could happen in a single season, and fall is fast approaching.
I wonder what life will look like come winter.
Nothingcould have prepared me for the answer to that question.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Payton
Before,November
“Nate helped setup the nursery, and Lolli and I washed all his little clothes a couple of weeks ago. Everything is ready for him, but he seems perfectly happy squashing my lungs.”
Deaton links his hand in mine, chuckling softly. “Pretty soon, he’ll be here, and you’ll be wishing for a night of peaceful sleep,” he teases.
I smile, running my free palm up and down my belly. “That’s the same thing Vivian said.” I look up into his brown eyes. “You would like her and her husband. They’re nothing like our families. They’re kind and loving, and they go out of their way just to be a part of his life.” A pinch of sadness makes itselfknown, but I shake it off. “I wish you could have met Mason’s mom and dad. They’re good to me. Always checking on me.”
“I’m glad you have them,” he whispers. “Your new friends, too.”
Warmth washes over me, and I close my eyes, snuggling closer to him. “I don’t know what I would do without them.”
“What would you do withouthim?”
A frown builds, and I look up.
Deaton smiles down at me, but something rings, and he looks to the side a moment before coming back. “I have to go now, Payton.”
“Wait—”
The chirp of my phone wakes me, and I squeeze my eyes closed, wishing my dream could have lasted a little longer, but they never do. I always wake up too soon.
Sighing, I pick up my phone and clear the dumb weather notification that popped up. The time catches my attention—it’s nearly ten in the morning already. Mason and I stayed up way too late again watching old VHS tapes and arguing over who played the best Batman. Clearly it was Christian Bale.
“Shit.”
The low hiss comes from the kitchen, and I grin, the slight tinge of burnt toast teasing my nostrils. Thank God for the third trimester; no more obsessive vomiting over the subtlest of smells. I scoot to the edge of the cushion, using my arms to help hoist me off the seat.
It’s sad how much effort it takes to stand right now, but I guess that’s to be expected when you’re fifty-plus pounds heavier than normal.
There’s a soreness to the pads of my feet as I make my way into the kitchen, and when I come around the corner, I can’t stop the laugh that escapes.
Mason’s head jerks up, the action causing him to wince.
“You look?—”
“Sexy? Rugged? Like a total man’s man?” he supplies.
“Adorable.”
Mason glares, but it’s playful, and I move closer, swiping the flour off his chin.
He grins down at me. “Good morning, Pretty Little.”
