A small laugh sputtered from my lips. “This isn’t a choice between vanilla or chocolate ice cream, or whether I should ride with my spurs or without them. He’s an entire human.” My gaze fell to my stomach and Beckham’s hand resting on it. His fingers tightened in my hair. “What if I mess him up?”
A shake of his head had me lifting mine. “You won’t.”
“And if I do?”
“Then we’ll fix it.”
His answer was so sure, as if he wasn’t at all freaking out about the fact that I was supposed to push this baby out of me in a few months, come home, and raise him. I focused on that fact, and not how he’d used the wordwe.
“I don’t even have a permanent place to raise him,” I admitted, shame coating the statement.
“Yes, you do.”
The finality in his tone had me meeting his gaze again. “You have answers for everything, don’t you?”
A heavy breath left his lips. “I try, Parker.”
My hand cupped his cheek. “I know.” I edged closer to be sure he was really hearing me when I said, “I appreciate you.”
Seconds passed before, finally, he dipped his chin. His eyes darted to my mouth and then he stepped away from me. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. He can feel it.”
My lashes fluttered as his words processed. It felt like I’d been hit with a hundred-mile-per-hour wind and spun upside down. “You’ve been reading baby books, haven’t you?”
His cheeks flushed. “If the internet counts as books, sure.”
My lips twitched with all the words I wanted to say but shouldn’t. “You don’t have to do research for me…”
A crease formed in the center of his forehead. “I’ll always take care of you, Parker. You know that.”
“I know.” And that was why this was so hard. Because the longer I stayed here, pregnant and alone, the more he’d help. The further involved he’d get. The harder it’d be to walk away when this game of pretend was all said and done. I’d been here for weeks, and we still hadn’t talked about before—when the two of us parted and we thought we were done for good.
Was it too much to bring up?
Would we implode and truly be ruined forever if we did?
Our past held so much of us together, and it was too much to think of right now. Too heavy a topic when I already couldn’t handle the reality at hand. I was barely holding myself together with a frayed string and dwindling strength. All I heard growing up was how strong other mothers were. How they sacrificed for their family. Letting my emotions get in the way would only show how weak I really was, and if there was anything I wanted this baby to know, it was that his mother would always be there to face any storm.
So I took a deep breath. Ran my hands over my clothes. And set my shoulders back. “We have to get to work.”
For the past four hours, Beckham has made excuse after excuse on things he needed from the office. A pen. A notepad. Water. Erasers—at least three of those now. He came in four times asking me to reconfirm what they needed to work on with the old Dodge Charger sitting in the garage. As if brake pads and an oil change were that hard to remember.
At this point, I nearly expected it was him every time that door opened, so when the hinges squeaked for what had to be the twentieth time today, I grumbled, “What is it this time?”
“Bad day?”
Wyatt’s voice had me snapping my head up from the paperwork laid out in front of me.
“Shit. Sorry. I thought you were—” I shook my head. He didn’t need to know I was being snarky with Beckham. Sure, he probably noticed his multiple disappearances, but the last thing I needed was for our drama to be the talk of the town.
“Trouble in paradise?” Wyatt wiped his grease-stained hands on a dirty rag before plopping into the chair across from me.
I set the pen down. “Everything’s dandy.”
He sucked in air through his teeth. “See, I knowwomen. Got a lot of ‘em that come in here with car problems and pretend it ain’t pissin’ ‘em off. That right there”—he aimed a finger my way—“ain’t dandy.”
I reclined in the chair with a sigh. “And what? You want me to confess all mycar problems”—I used air quotes around the phrase—“to you?”
He held his hands out in aduhgesture. “Hit me with it.”
