Page 103 of Everything But Mine

My instinct to recoil shoots sharp through my spine. I try to pull back from her hold, but she strokes my skin, reminding me it’s her.

“I don’t want sex to be about anything else,” I say defensively. Then quieter, because the truth is sitting painfully close to the surface now, “Not unless I’m having it with you.”

Amanda’s mouth curves softly. “Well,” she drawls, warmth threading through the word. “I like that you feel that way about what we could be.” She leans in and touches her forehead to mine, rolling against it. “We’re still a ways away, but if we get there, we’ll discover each other.”

I soak in her touch, the ghost of her breath over my nose and lips. “You’re not leaving over this?”

The answer screams loudly in every inch of me she’s touching, but I need to hear her say it anyway.

She shakes her head and touches her lips to mine. It’s barely a brush, nothing like earlier today, but a reassurance. We got there before; we will get there again if we both want to.

“Do you have anything else you want to get off your chest?”

It feels… anticlimactic. She should be mad or frustrated. Instead, she’s kneeling in front of me, holding on to me while I keep handing her harder and harder truths to carry. My chest aches with the weight of everything I wish I could undo, and I find myself going inward again.

“Eric,” she whispers, and my thoughts still. “The baby is kicking.”

I blink hard while pain and every wrong choice I’ve made surge up at once, fighting for control of me. For a second, they nearly win, but I force myself to push through it instead of retreating into it. My breath catches unevenly, and my gaze drops instinctively to the curve of her belly.

“Do you want to feel?”

My whole body shifts, craving the contact. I press my trembling palm to the lower right side of her stomach and slide it under her shirt, skin on skin. The baby kicks again, and my fingers jump.

“Does it hurt?” I ask as I pull her from the floor to the edge of the bed, the length of her thigh pressed against mine.

She shakes her head and lies back, holding my hand to her, until she’s propped against the pillows. The baby moves with her, and I chase the flutter underneath her skin. The boy is the size of a corn on the cob, and his kicks are light but ripple inside her and me. I know it can’t be, but I believe he’s telling me I’m already part of his story.

Amanda whispers. “Can I sleep here tonight?”

“Sure.” I scoot up, readying to leave her but struggling to let go. “This mattress is better. You should have taken it weeks ago.”

She shakes her head and cups my face. “I want to sleep next to you. Can I?”

I swallow and remember her words. I’ve also kept her at arm’s length in my own way. Every time she thinks I’ve rejected her, it was my own belief that I can’t be enough leading me. I tighten my grasp on her and nod. I have to be done with it. Amanda shifts, I lean in, and the baby inside moves against my stomach. I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but we’ve become a unit of three.

I drop my head in her neck and breathe in, whisper into her ear. “I scared you tonight, didn’t I?”

She avoids my eyes but nods.

“I’m sorry, Amanda.” I lick my lips, some strands of her hair stick to my skin, but I don’t pull away. “I should ha⁠—”

“I was jealous and⁠—”

I shake my head against her neck, opening my mouth.

“Listen a minute. I hated having that fear. After the past three months, I didn’t want to think it… It’s there, though, you get me?”

I nod. It’s so much like every self-deprecating thought I carry.

“What I was really worried about, what made it hard to breathe… I was petrified you’d hurt yourself.”

She buries her finger in my hair, and I burrow into her neck. It’s tempting to lose myself to the train of thoughts to the never-ending list of disappointments I’ve checked with her. When her fingertips find my scalp and dig into it, I soak it in. “I don’t want to do that again. Scare you, trigger you.”

“I know how Diego found you.”

Her heart beats against me, and my throat bobs against the crook of her neck.

“I hate that you know.”