The silence between us stretches for miles. I would speak, but I don’t want to say the wrong thing, so I wait for Baz.
His unease is evitable. “Stevie, I . . .” He trails off, digging his fingers into the strands of his neatly pulled back hair. A piece falls in front of his face, and when he looks at me, really looks at me, I see Baz. I see the eyes that caught my sprinting spirit. The eyes that bridled a wild stallion’s untamable heart. I see warmth and affection and humanity.
I see Baz.
“Don’t,” I cut in, my emotions firing on all cylinders.
“Stevie, I need to explain.”
“No,weneed to talk.”
“How much do you hate me?” he spontaneously asks. The look on his face is desolate. Desperate. He thinks I hate him? Well, maybe I should. He did try to kill me, twice. But I don’t. Not in the least bit.
“I don’t hate you, Baz. Not at all.”
His expression morphs into confusion. “I tried to kill you. I handcuffed you to a bed. I . . .” He swallows hard.
“Insisted on pleasuring me?” I help him reword our little encounter in the kitchen. “You think none of those things ever happened to me before? Or worse?”
His expression drops. Dejection turning into sadness. “That’s not me.”
“Maybe not all of you, but it’s a part of you. I don’t mind your dark side. We both have one. You’re pretty sick with a butterfly knife. Sort of turned me on.” I curl my lips up into a vampish smile.
“I have a past. It’s no secret.” His hard tone is resentful.
“No, it’s not a secret, not anymore. But I need more insight into that past. Into who you are,” I press. “Baz. We both have to come clean. This isn’t just about us anymore.” That last statement seems to jog his memory.
“Oh, shit, Stevie. Did I hurt you? Did I hurt . . .” His voice trails off again.
“Our baby?” I help out with the phrasing. Put the situation into perspective. “Do you remember anything from the last three weeks?”
Baz crouches to the floor so we are eyelevel and fractionally inches closer.
“Bits and pieces. When I go off my meds for an extended period of time, I can have blackouts.” He isn’t looking at me while he speaks. Well, not at my face. He’s transfixed on my lower body and the blanket that’s cocooning me.
“Was I mean?” He lifts his hand and cautiously peels back a piece of the blanket. I let him as we continue to talk.
“You were an asshole.” I’m blunt, and he cringes. “At first.” I help him remove the heavy layers from my abdomen. “Then you were sort of sweet in your own crazy way.”
His green gaze jumps from my body to my eyes as if asking permission to touch me. I nod, lifting the ratty white T-shirt to expose my belly. “Bringing me ginger ale and crackers ‘cause I couldn’t eat anything else. Making me soup, too.” He places a warm palm right above the rolled portion of his underwear, and when our skin collides, shock and awe sweep over his face. And love, too, I think. I think he instantly falls in love with the little person growing inside me, the exact same way I did. It’s as electric as a lightning bolt.
He drops down and plants a lingering kiss below my navel, and I have to stop the tears from falling. If I could have wished for a reaction from Baz, this would be it. Pure joy. I place a hand on his head as he presses his ear against my stomach.
“What are you doing?”
“Seeing if I can hear anything?” He looks up at me with one eye.
“What do you expect to hear?”
“His heartbeat?”
“Doubtful.” I laugh. “Maybe some grumbles. He’s always hungry.”
Baz sit’s up. “How do you know it’s a boy?” I wonder if he realizes we’ve already had this conversation?
I shrug. “Just a feeling.”
His squints his eyes. “I’m not convinced.”
