17. Sloane
Sloane
T here’s nothing quite like Christmas in New York. It’s the one time of the year when New Yorkers don’t mind each other. We all slow down—marginally—and every day there’s something new to discover. The light show in front of Macy’s. The windows at Saks. The Christmas tree at Rockefeller.
The air is crisp but not yet bitterly cold. Here and there, when the buildings block the wind, the warm scent of roasting peanuts replaces the chill.
The sounds don’t change much—car horns and the engines of the vehicles stuck in gridlock—but the atmosphere is overtaken by a sense of possibility. A sense of wonder.
This afternoon, I duck out of work early for my twelve-week appointment with my ob-gyn and wander down the sidewalk, soaking it all in.
My mood brightened, I take the elevator up to the doctor’s office, excited to see our little bear again.
The instant the elevator opens into the lobby of my doctor’s office, I get a whiff of Sully’s cologne.
Maybe I’m so attuned to it because pregnancy has heightened my sense of smell.
Or maybe it’s because the man has burrowed himself beneath my skin.
Either way, it’s like I’m trained to seek him out .
I kind of despise it. Being so aware of him makes it very hard to keep my wits about me. And hard to remember that we’re co-parenting only. Dancing with Sully the other night, laying my head against his chest and allowing him to press his lips to my forehead, had me keyed up all night.
It must be the pregnancy. Add how starved for human affection I am, that even a brush of his lips sets me off.
That’s a lie. I can’t blame my hormonal state for everything. In reality, it’s Sully. It’s always been Sully.
The hour we spent on the bench might have been one of my favorite hours of the last year. And I’ve replayed the words he uttered with such complete devotion in his eyes again and again.
There is not a moment when I would rather be anywhere other than by your side.
The craziest thing about that night is that I believe him. Sully wanted to be there with me. He wants to be here for me. My heart races as I acknowledge that fact.
Now, he strides toward me, eating up the distance between us quickly, his lips kicking up on one side.
“I wish you had let me pick you up at the office.” He holds his arms out like it’s second nature to sweep me into them.
But before he makes contact, he pulls up short. “You must be freezing from the walk.”
I wave my gloved hands. “The fresh air felt good. And it seemed silly to have you drive past this building to get me, only to turn around and come right back.”
A low growl rumbles between us as he shakes his head. “When will you realize that there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you?”
In the past, I would have pushed back. I would have lamented the last few years and how little he was there for me.
After the other night, though, I trust that what he’s saying is true.
I have to trust that this isn’t just a phase for him. That he’s making changes to be a better parent.
So instead of my usual snark, I simply smile. “Thanks. ”
His eyes, more blue than gray today, widen in surprise, but he quickly schools his expression and nods. “Shall we check in?”
After I’ve confirmed that the office has my new insurance on file—not the policy Murphy and Machon offers—we sit in the waiting room side by side.
“I don’t like that they’re paying for this,” he grumbles, his forearms resting on his knees.
Amused, I eye him. “You act as if Will himself is paying for my pregnancy.”
His scowl deepens. Yup, hit the nail on the head with that one. “It’s unnecessary. We’re married and this is our child, and my firm provides family insurance. Why would you need your own?”
I don’t even acknowledge the question. He knows why. Because we were getting divorced. And yes, the settlement Brian drew up for us includes medical insurance unless I remarry, but I didn’t want to be reliant on Sully anymore, so I made sure to opt into the benefit when I started my new job.
I didn’t want any of my decisions, including whether I remarry in the future, to be dictated by this man.
I shake my head. Right now, I can’t focus on any of that.
The idea of being with someone else, let alone marrying someone else, is ludicrous.
It’s hard to remember how I ever thought I could move on from Sully.
Obviously even then I was lying to myself.
That was proven by my recklessness the night I had unprotected sex with my husband back in September.
A flash of that night hits me, and my core clenches in response. I clamp my thighs together, mentally berating myself, hoping like hell Sully can’t sense that little spike in desire.
“Sloane Murphy.” The nurse’s call couldn’t have come at a better time.
I stand and shuffle across the room with Sully on my heels.
Once she’s left us in the exam room with instructions for me to change, awkwardness creeps in.
For a moment, Sully and I stare at one another.
It’s nothing like the way we interacted during my first pregnancy.
Back then, I wouldn’t have thought twice about undressing in front of him.
Hell, more than once, I tried to convince him to get me off before the doctor appeared.
Back then, we were fearless. Head-over-heels in love. Disasters for one another.
For most of our time together, there wasn’t a moment when I wondered if my husband was attracted to me. I liked undressing in front of him. Even after T.J. was born and my body had changed. Because Sully always made it clear how much he loved every inch of me.
He thumbs over his shoulder and clears his throat. “I could give you privacy if you’d like.”
We’re so painfully considerate of one another’s feelings now. So aware and careful. It’s like a punch to the stomach. I can’t imagine keeping up the act for the rest of the pregnancy. We’re sharing a damn bedroom, for fuck’s sake.
I shrug. “Or you could sit and relax.” I hold back the and enjoy the show , though I think my lifted brows say the words for me.
Throat bobbing, he nods. “Yeah, okay.” He settles in the chair beside the exam table, but when he looks up again, I swear to God the fire in his eyes is hot enough to incinerate my clothes and do the work for me.
If there was ever a question about whether my husband is still attracted to me, I have my answer now.
I shimmy my dress up my thighs and remove my stockings first. When I straighten, Sully is holding out a hand to take them.
I drape them over his palm, and when our hands brush, his touch echoes through my body.
I have to force myself to breathe evenly as he folds them and then sets them on his thigh.
I’m frozen in place, watching him, until he looks up, and when his eyes meet mine, they simmer with heat and expectation. Like he knew I was waiting for his attention before I continued to undress.
I turn away from him, my voice raspy as I ask, “Can you unzip me?”
“Come here.” His command makes my knees go weak.
I shuffle backward until I think I’m close enough. Sully must disagree, because he pushes his chair forward, causing it to scrape loudly in the small room. He drapes my hair over one shoulder, then slides the zipper down slowly.
Once he’s stopped, I swear I feel the ghost of a kiss against my lower back. Not a physical touch. More like he breathes me in. His lips so close I can almost feel their dampness.
I push the sleeve off one shoulder and then the other, but before the dress can fall to the floor, he catches it and holds out a hand, a silent offer to steady me while I step out of it. I shuffle around to face him so I can take the garment, inadvertently lining my breasts up with his face.
His tongue slips out, moistening his lips. “Are you cold?” he murmurs, his focus fixed on the pointed nipples beneath the lace of my bra.
Did I intentionally pick out a matching set? Maybe. Did I go with black and sexy on purpose? I’ll never admit it.
“I think we both know I’m not,” I breathe out.
Then, because I like the way he’s looking at me, because I’m feeling bold under his lust-filled gaze, I thumb the waistband of my lace panties and push them down.
Sully’s thighs are spread wide, and he makes no effort to hide his erection.
“Christ,” he mutters, rubbing a palm over his mouth as he drinks me in, lingering on the spot between my legs.
He digs his fingers into the fabric of his trousers, as if it takes effort to keep them there.
I can’t help but push him just a little more.
“I need help with the bra,” I tell him as I turn.
He stops me, his hands firm on my bare hips now. I swear to God, we moan in unison at the contact. “I can get it from here.”
My heart lodges itself in my throat.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I’m such an idiot. Until now, I hadn’t considered how it would feel to be naked in his arms again. I’ve been so focused on teasing him, on putting on a damn show, that I forgot how he affects me.
And he’s running with it. As if reminding me that I’m his wife, ensuring I understand just how comfortable he is in this situation, he runs both hands up my waist and slides them around my back so he can unclip my bra.
As he does so, he tips his chin up, giving me a front-row seat to his reaction when my bra falls, exposing my heavy breasts.
My nipples practically bow to meet his lips, and the way his blue eyes darken with longing has a needy cry creeping up my throat.
Not a single inch of him is actually touching me now. Not his lips, not his hands, and certainly not his tongue. And yet I feel him all over.
The rap of knuckles against the door startles me. With shaky hands, I reach for the gown the nurse left out for me. Then I hustle to the examination table.
Flustered doesn’t begin to describe how I feel as Sully calls to the doctor to let her know I’m ready. As I will my heart to settle, I worry she can smell the arousal in the air. Shit. Can she feel the sexual tension still threatening to suffocate me?
“How are you feeling?” she asks casually, oblivious to what she interrupted.
As she settles on the stool beside the table, she scans my chart on her tablet.
Even if my first pregnancy had been a cakewalk, my age alone would make me high risk.
Add the preeclampsia I suffered, which resulted in over a month on bed rest, and an emergent delivery to the mix, and it’s hard not to be cautious.
“I feel good,” I say strongly, as if I can will the sensation to stick with me through the next six months. I’m a stubborn person. If there was even the slightest chance I could control the uncontrollable, I’d figure out how. My goal is to get to full term, but with my history, it’s unlikely.
“Any dizziness or weakness in your extremities?”
I hold out my hands and wiggle my fingers. “All good.”
She smiles. “Good. Your blood work looks great, so all we have left is to see how baby is measuring.” She rolls away and brings the sonogram machine closer. “Dad, do you want to stand on the other side of Mom so you can see better?”
Sully glances at me, seeking approval, and my heart trips over itself.
This shouldn’t be so hard. I wanted another baby for so long.
I want to enjoy this with him. I hold out my hand, and he breaks into the biggest smile I’ve seen from him in years.
He sets my clothes on the chair and rounds the table, taking my offered hand in both of his and squeezing.
As if it’s second nature, he leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead.
It’s so devastatingly sweet. Achingly tender.
Before I can lose myself in the moment, before I can spiral about what this all means, the doctor says, “It’s going to be cold.”
Then she slides the transducer over my belly, and a loud static noise fills the space.
She presses down, and the black screen is replaced with the image of our baby.
Though, I saw my little gummy bear the last time I was here, today the baby’s features are more prominent.
Arms and legs, still so small but fully formed, and the most beautiful whooshing sound, strong and steady.
Sully hisses above me, snagging my attention. And damn am I glad I looked. He’s never looked more handsome than he does now, with his lips tipped up and the skin around his eyes crinkled, creating the most delicious creases, as if putting an emphasis on his joy.
He bows his head and catches my eyes, seeking out my reaction just as I sought out his. His eyes are a brilliant blue when they meet mine. This color is one I only see when he’s emotional, and by the way his eyes fill with tears, there’s no denying just how powerfully this moment has hit him.
“You did good, sweetheart. So fucking good,” he rasps as he looks at our baby again.
My heart expands in my chest, like his words have filled me with helium.
I was nervous about this part. For so long, Sully didn’t want another baby, and though he’s told me he’s happy about this pregnancy, a niggling doubt has clung to me since the day I told him.
This reaction is all I need to be certain that he hasn’t just been humoring me. He really does want this.
When the doctor assures us that the baby looks perfectly healthy, I cling to her words, knowing I’ll be rolling them around in my head often over the next few months.
She reminds us of the symptoms of preeclampsia, and we discuss precautions.
As she hands me a towel to swipe away the goop on my belly, she says, “Did you want to know the sex? We have the results in your blood work.”
I glance at Sully, my mind going blank, and in return, he gives me a soft smile. “I’d really like to include T.J. when we find out. Is that okay with you?”
Tears well in my eyes so quickly that I have to look away before they spill. I nod, unable to get the words out.
“Then we’ll wait,” the doctor says cheerfully. “Schedule your anatomy scan on your way out, and we’ll see you in four weeks.”
I smile gratefully. “That sounds perfect.”
The day itself is perfect, in fact.
That is until Sully and I enter the apartment in Jersey again and find ourselves engulfed in chaos.
He steps in front of me, as if he needs to shield me from the mayhem. “What in the bloody hell are you doing?”