Chapter 23
twenty-three
HUNTER
“Surprise.” Her voice is soft, uncertain, but still holds that hint of playful sarcasm, exactly the way I remember.
My mother’s words from the drive up the coast echo in my head—pregnant, bed rest, struggling—but nothing could have prepared me for the reality of seeing Elaina like this.
Everything else about her is exactly as I remember—the hitch of her chin when she’s nervous, the way her fingers fidget with her sweater, the defiance in her eyes, even when she’s clearly caught off guard—but she’s so hugely pregnant, it would almost be funny if I didn’t love this tiny woman who looks like she’s about to be overwhelmed by the size of her own belly.
Fuck, I love her.
I love her so much, and I’m so damned scared I’m going to fuck this up again.
I curl my hands into fists as waves of emotion rush through me—joy, fear, wonder, more fear, dread, hope, and a hint of pride that is fucking ridiculous. Pride has no place in this equation. But the primal voice in my lizard brain doesn’t give a shit. It’s pretty damned pleased to see the evidence of all those nights of coming buried deep inside his woman right in front of him.
I’m ridiculous.
And ashamed.
And so happy to see her that I have to remind myself that she hates me.
Surely, she hates me…right?
I force my gaze from her belly back to her face, trying to get a read on what she’s thinking about this “surprise,” but she has her guard up. She’s clearly nervous, but more than that…
“Well?” She arches a challenging brow.
“Well,” I croak, then clear my throat.
Before I can figure out what to say next, she demands, “Why are you here?”
“I think you know,” I say softly.
One hand moves to hover protectively over her stomach. “I don’t know what Maya told you, but I’m fine. Everything is under control.” She shrugs. “Except that I’m going to strangle my best friend for ratting me out…as soon as I can walk more than fifteen feet without my doctor threatening hospitalization.”
“She was only doing what she thought was best for you and the baby.”
“Babies,” she corrects, sending my brows shooting toward my hairline.
I blink. “What?”
“Babies,” she repeats, amusement flickering across her features. “There are two of them. I’m having twin girls. Maya didn’t tell you that part?”
I swallow with an audible noise that makes Elaina chuckle.
“Yeah, that was my reaction at first, too,” she observes dryly. “But you get used to it. I already have two infant cars seats for the hospital and two bedside sleeper bassinets for when they first come home. And obviously tons of diapers and sleepers.” She hitches her chin up. “So, as you can see, everything is fine. No need for anyone to come riding to the rescue, least of all you.”
“I’m their father,” I say, the words feeling foreign and strange in my mouth. But they’re true. And as their father, I have as much of a responsibility to care for and provide for these children as Elaina does.
She snorts. “You were the sperm donor. As far as I’m concerned, your work here is done. Feel free to vanish into the ether. It’s fine. I honestly don’t mind. I’d prefer it, in fact.”
“We have a contract,” I remind her. “And I’m not the kind of man who goes back on a promise, especially when it’s in writing.”
She exhales as she turns to shuffle away from me, muttering something beneath her breath that I can’t make out.
“What was that?” I ask.
“I said I don’t want your money,” she says, easing down onto a bright blue chaise lounge and swinging her feet up.
As she leans back, her belly pokes forward even more, emphasizing just how obscenely huge she is. I’m honestly starting to worry that she’s not as okay as she’s pretending to be. Maya said she was “struggling” after all, and her petite frame clearly wasn’t built for this kind of pregnancy.
“You’ve been seeing your doctor regularly?” I ask, studying her as I cross the room. “And she thinks you’re…all right?”
“Yes, and yes. I’m fine,” she says, casually enough that I almost believe it.
Almost…
“Then why are you on bed rest?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s not really bed rest. It’s restricted activity. I can still take a shower and waddle around the apartment and cook a meal or whatever. I just can’t remain upright for long periods of time or make it to the laundromat or the grocery store. I have an incompetent cervix.” Evidently reading my blank look, she explains, “It means my cervix was starting to open too soon, putting me at risk of preterm labor. Probably because there are two of them in there. Twin pregnancies have a higher risk of complications, in general. But aside from my deadbeat cervix, I’m in fabulous health.”
“Your cervix isn’t a deadbeat,” I say, relieved that this doesn’t seem to be something too serious. “I think your cervix is doing a great job, considering all the stress it’s under.”
“Thanks,” she murmurs, the skin tightening around her eyes. “So, now that you’re sure I’m not going to have a heart attack or something, are we going to do this, or not?”
“Do what?”
“Fight,” she says. “Hurl accusations. Argue about who’s the bigger jerk—me for keeping a crazy secret or you for being such a bastard when you came home from the hospital that morning that I would rather die in a hole than ask you for so much as a tissue to wipe my snotty nose, let alone support with a pregnancy you made it crystal fucking clear you wanted no part of?”
My jaw clenches. “I don’t want to fight. And…I don’t want you to die in a hole. I really don’t.”
“You acted like you wanted me to die in a hole,” she says, delivering another direct hit to my gut.
Because she’s right. I was cruel.
I was also hurt in a way I’d never been hurt by anyone before, because I loved her so fucking much, but still…
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. Ever. I’ve never wanted that, not even that morning.”
“Then what do you want?” she asks, her guard still all the way up.
You , I think. I want to pull you into my arms and hold you. I want to promise you that I’ll make up for letting you down. I want the last eight months to disappear, so I can be there for you every step of the way. I want … you.
Always you.
No one but you.
Aloud, I say, “I want to help. And to honor our contract. Just let me know what you need, and I’ll make it happen.”
“I told you, I’m fine. I don’t need?—”
“Stop.” The word comes out sharper than intended. I’m not mad at her, not at all. I’m mad at me. “I’m sorry,” I say, softening my tone. “I’m just… I’m not here to threaten you or hurt you, I promise. You don’t have to play tough. You’re on bed rest with twins. You’re bringing two babies home to a tiny apartment on the second floor with no elevator and?—”
“And I’ll be fine,” she cuts in. “This apartment isn’t tiny. It’s a perfectly lovely size, and plenty big enough for me and two little kiddos. Not all of us live in penthouses, you know. But we still have wonderful, worthy, fulfilling lives.”
“I understand that, but you won’t be able to carry both car seats up the stairs after childbirth,” I say. “Even if you only had one baby, you wouldn’t, let alone two. There’s a weight restriction on how much you can lift until you’re fully healed.”
She frowns. “How do you know that?”
“I had to defend my generous parental leave policy for fathers to the shareholders at my old company,” I say. “They didn’t think fathers needed a full week of paid leave or the option to take six weeks additional leave unpaid. I had to bring in experts to explain why mothers need their partners’ support after giving birth, especially if there are complications.”
She grunts, clearly unimpressed. “That would only be described as ‘generous’ in the U.S. Other countries have way better leave policies for fathers. And mothers.”
I tip my head in acknowledgement. “But I do business here . I was doing the best I could.”
“Did you know that almost everyone in the world is financially closer to being homeless than being a billionaire?” she asks. “Like, even a multi-multi-millionaire. Even if a person has say, fifty million dollars, they are still closer to being homeless than they are to being you.”
Brows lifting again, I ask, “And?”
“And, that’s gross. You are grossly rich.”
I sigh. “We’re back to this again?”
“We are. I never liked the billionaire thing. I told you that from the start.”
“Well, I currently give twenty percent of my income to charitable organizations,” I say. “I can up that to forty percent, if it would make me less offensive.”
“That would be better, but you’re still gross.” She sniffs. “And the amount of money you offered me in that contract is grossly small. The more I thought about it in the context of how much you have to give, the more I realized how little you actually thought your baby was worth. How little you thought I was worth.” She holds up a warning finger my way. “Before you start offering more, I already told you I don’t want your stupid money. That’s not what this is about. It’s about how precious and priceless these children are, and how much respect they deserve from everyone in their lives. They deserve to feel important and valuable.”
She folds her arms over her stomach, blinking faster as she fixes her gaze on the wall over my shoulder. “And I deserve to feel important and valuable. I want to raise my kids with someone who feels the same way. A person who wants to funnel the majority of his time and his love and yes, his money, into his family, because that’s what matters most to him. And that’s not you. Clearly.”
She swipes at her cheeks as her shoulders begin to shake, the sight of her breaking down banishing my fear.
Fuck fear.
I have to do whatever it takes to prove to her that I feel the same way, before it’s too late.
“You aren’t just valuable and important,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “You’re irreplaceable, Elaina. You’re fucking irreplaceable, and I’m so fucking sorry.”
She gulps and her glassy eyes go wide.
She’s clearly shocked.
I can’t tell if it’s happy shock or just…shocked shock, but there’s no turning back now. It’s time to lay it all on the line.
“You’re clever and funny and sexy as hell,” I continue, throat loosening as I speak. It feels good to say these things, good to tell the truth after months of pretending I wasn’t missing her every damned day. “You’re insightful and hard-working and driven, but you’re also kind and generous, and one of the most honorable people I know.”
Her bottom lip trembles. “I am honorable. I have a code, Hunter, and part of that is keeping my promises no matter what. That’s the only reason that I didn’t tell you about the surgery. And yes, I should have probably walked back the promise once I realized what a big deal it was, but your mother was dying . Do you know how hard it is to tell a dying woman ‘no, lady, sorry, I can’t keep your secret?’ Super hard.” Fresh tears roll down her cheeks as she adds, “Super crazy hard. Even when you know the secret could hurt the man you love. I never meant to hurt anyone, least of all you, I just… I didn’t know what to do, and I fucked up. And I’m sorry, okay? I really am.”
I cross the last of the distance between us in two big steps, kneeling beside the lounge.
I try to take her hand, but she pulls away, shaking her head. “No, I can’t. I can’t do this. I have to stay strong. I’m going to be a mom to two tiny, helpless human beings any day now. I can’t afford to mess with you. I can’t afford to be broken again.”
“Then let me mess with you ,” I say, my heart writhing like a wounded animal with pain and regret. “Let me do all the work. Let me take care of you and support you and…love you.” My voice breaks on the last words, but I force myself to keep going. “Let me love you until you aren’t broken. Until you know I can be the man you need me to be. Until you trust me enough to maybe…love me back again someday.”
Her tears fall faster. “I hate you,” she mumbles, swiping them away.
“I know. I’m sorry, love,” I say, resting a gentle hand on her thigh. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Her next sob becomes a hiccup. “I’m sorry, too. I hate you, but I should have told you about the babies. I just didn’t think you’d c-care. I didn’t think you liked me anymore, let alone loved me.”
“I’m so sorry.” I gather her into my arms, so breathlessly grateful when she lets me. I stroke a gentle hand over her hair as she sniffles against my sweater. “So sorry. I was an idiot. A selfish, stupid idiot. And so scared I should be ashamed of myself.”
“Well, of course you were scared,” she says between sobs. “You thought you might lose your mom, and I know how much she means to you.”
I cradle her closer, chest aching as she wraps her arms around me. I pull in a breath, forcing myself to speak my thoughts—and fears—aloud. “Yes, I was scared of losing her. But deep down, I think I was more scared of you not being who I thought you were.”
She pulls back, frowning.
“I was scared that you might have lied about more than the surgery,” I explain. “That everything between us was a lie, and I’d walked into a trap that was going to destroy me. Because losing who I thought you were, and what I thought we had…it felt like an annihilation. Like something I might not survive.”
Understanding softens her features. A beat later, she nods. “I get that. I felt the same way. All the way up here on the train and…for a long time after. I won’t lie, Hunter, you not being who I thought you were destroyed me for a while.”
I wince, hating that I did that to her. To us. “I’m so sorry.”
She sighs, but she doesn’t look like she hates me. And she’s stopped crying. “We’re too much alike. It’s a problem.”
I nod as I drop my gaze, misery churning like acid in my core, until she adds, “But maybe a problem we could work on in therapy?”
I look up, searching her face, hope surging as her lips curve the smallest bit.
“I mean, therapy is good,” she continues. “Or so I hear.”
“Therapy is very good,” I agree. “We can find someone to come to the house. Two times a week, or three if that feels better.”
Her smile inches wider. “Two sounds good to start. We don’t want to go too hard.”
“I do,” I say. “I want to do whatever it takes, Elaina. I mean that. Whatever it takes to prove to you that I can be the kind of man you deserve. It’s all on the table. All my time and my money and every piece of my heart because you and our girls deserve nothing less.”
She bites her bottom lip, tears rising in her eyes again as she whispers, “Our girls… You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed of hearing you say that. Saying it just like that. Like you want to love them. That’s all I want, Hunter. Fuck the money.” She makes a visible effort to regain control before she adds, “And fuck us, honestly, if it comes to that. I would be lying if I said I haven’t been dreaming of you saying all those romantic things to me, and secretly hoping that we might find a way back to each other, but…” Her hands return to her belly, her palms resting lovingly on top. “But these two come first. Even if we can’t make it work, as long as you’re doing your best to be a loving force in their lives, I will be so happy. And so proud of you.”
Holding her gaze, I reach out, resting my palm below hers. “I promise. No matter what happens, I will do everything in my power to be a good father to them. And a good co-parent to you.”
Her lips tremble into a smile. “I can tell you mean it.”
I nod, tears stinging into my eyes. “I do. More than I’ve ever meant anything. But…I’m also a selfish son of a bitch.”
She arches a brow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I want you back. For keeps. I want—” I break off with a sharp inhalation as something hard shoves into my palm. “Was that…”
She grins. “Baby A? Yeah. She’s feisty as hell.”
I smile, awe blooming in my chest as the hard nub presses forward again, changing the shape of Elaina’s stomach. “Is she kicking?”
“Stretching, I think,” she says, her fingers tracing the nub through the tight cotton shirt she wears under her cardigan. “But I’m pretty sure that’s her foot. And Baby B’s head is down here.” She guides my hand to her lower right side, where I can actually feel the softly rounded shape of our daughter’s skull.
“Is she safe?” I ask, my heart beating faster. “Shouldn’t there be more fluid to protect her in there?”
“She’s fine.” Elaina exhales a soft laugh. “They’re just running out of room. The doctor wants me to try to make it to the end of next week before we induce, but I don’t know if the girls are going to go for that. They’re already squeezed in tight.” She winces as Baby A stretches again, then swings her legs over the side of the chaise. “And that was a kick to my bladder. Sorry, I have to go. I pee every fifteen minutes these days. It’s my number one hobby.”
I stand and reach down to help her up. “Don’t apologize. Just tell me what I can do. Do you need help to the bathroom?”
She looks up at me as she takes my hand, clearly amused. “No, I’m good. I can still use the toilet by myself.” She rises with a grunt. “But if you wanted to order pizza, I wouldn’t complain. I started thinking about pizza when I was planning to hide from you in the pizza parlor, and it summoned a craving for pepperoni with extra black olives.”
“Done,” I say, releasing her hand. I watch her amble slowly across the room for a beat before calling after her, “And Elaina?”
She turns back to me.
“I’m glad you didn’t hide from me,” I say.
A hopeful smile curves her lips. “Me, too. I think—” She breaks off, frowning for a moment before her eyes fly wide. “Shit. Oh God, shit!” I have no idea what’s happening until she glances down. I follow her gaze, watching as a dark stain spreads quickly across the crotch of her brown leggings.
I’m about to assure her that it’s no big deal—she’ll have to do a lot worse than pee herself to scare me off—when she lifts saucer-round eyes to mine and bleats, “My water broke. That was my water breaking, Hunter. Shit!”
Blinking faster, I try to remain calm as I ask, “Okay, so that means we should?—”
“That means we’re having some babies,” she says, fear and excitement mixing in her expression. “And that we should head to the hospital. Now.”