Chapter 16 - Parker
PARKER
Driving an hour to an appointment to check on the baby wasn’t ideal, but I hadn’t wanted to run into anyone at the clinic in Bell Buckle and have to explain everything.
People in small towns were nosy, even if they didn’t try to be.
And with my social media presence, plus having grown up in this town, it was inevitable they’d have all sorts of questions.
Beckham may not have kept up with my profiles, but with eight hundred thousand followers—a majority likely being from the west—someone in Bell Buckle was bound to know what I did for a living.
It was nearly dark now, a light drizzle having started on my way home.
Even after all these years, I still knew these roads like the back of my hand.
I navigated them with ease until I pulled onto Beckham’s property and killed the engine.
I hurried inside, raising my arms over my head to protect myself from the rain as best I could.
Twisting the handle, I was thankful the front door was unlocked as I slipped in and shut it behind me. With my back to the door, I found Beckham sitting on the couch, stiff as a board.
“Hey,” I breathed, shoving my slightly damp hair off my forehead. The strands would definitely frizz.
“Hey.” Beckham stood, hands on his hips and lips rolling together like he was working up the courage to ask something. He sent a brief look to the ceiling like it’d give him strength, then met my gaze. “Where’d you go?”
A breath rushed from my lungs, thankful that was all. I shoved off the door, moving to the sink in the kitchen to wash my hands. “I had a doctor’s appointment.”
After scrubbing and drying them, I turned to find him staring.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, sounding hurt.
“I didn’t know if you’d care,” I responded hesitantly.
His eyes nearly bulged from their sockets before he ran a hand over his mustache and down his jaw. He spun, then paced a little before freezing again. “What would ever make you think I didn’t care about your appointments?”
Truthfully, I felt like a burden walking back into his life, pregnant with another man’s baby. “Looping you into the appointments felt like too much.”
He chuckled. A dry, humorless sound. “‘Too much’?”
I opened my mouth. Snapped it shut.
“You drove yourself?” he questioned.
I nodded. “Who else would have driven me?”
He blinked rapidly, dragging another rough hand down his chin. Before I could see if those were tears building, he took off down the hall.
His bedroom door shut quietly, and a muffled thud followed. I couldn’t tell if he wanted space, but I also didn’t want to leave him alone with whatever feelings my appointment had stirred up. Was he that upset I hadn’t invited him?
I kicked my shoes off and padded down the hall, stopping at his bedroom. My fingers wrapped around the knob, stilling for a moment before I slowly turned it and cracked open the door.
Beckham’s back was to me, his hands gripping his hair punishingly. On his bed sat his baseball hat, squished and forgotten.
“Beckham?” I whispered.
His head shook back and forth. “I’m sorry, Park.” His swallow was audible, his back muscles flexing through his shirt as he dropped his hands to his sides. “It’s not you, it’s just—”
I opened the door the rest of the way and walked until my belly pressed against his back. My arms wrapped around his torso, pulling him to me. He froze as I rested my cheek against him.
“Don’t be sorry.” Apologetic was the last thing I wanted him to feel when it came to me. I should be the one apologizing.
“You shouldn’t be in here right now,” he whispered.
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” I replied.
After one long minute of worrying he’d force me out, Beckham twisted in my hold until his chest was to me and wrapped his arms tightly around my shoulders.
I melted into him as he hunched his back and buried his face in my hair. A sob wracked his body, taking me by surprise and ripping my world in two.
My hand moved on instinct, smoothing over his hair as his tears soaked the shoulder of my shirt. His sobs could create an ocean in this room and I’d still hold onto him. If Beckham was hurting, there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d ever let go.
Both our knees buckled and we lowered to the floor. My legs fit perfectly over his to where I was straddling him, and he nuzzled his face deeper into the crook of my neck. Hot tears ran down my chest, staining my skin with his pain.
I wanted so badly for him to talk to me. To tell me what was hurting him so I could fix it. But that wasn’t fair of me to ask when I wasn’t being completely transparent with him.
So for now, I’d hold him. Wipe the tears from his cheeks and fix his hair.
Once his body stopped jerking from the sobs and his sniffles became further apart, I leaned back slightly, setting my hands on his cheeks and lifting his head.
His bloodshot eyes and glistening cheeks had me fighting back my own tears.
“Never go alone again,” he pleaded in a broken whisper.
“I won’t,” I promised.
I brushed his cheek with my thumb, wishing like hell I could read his mind.
“I’ll drive you.”
I nodded. “To every single one.”
His eyes fell to my lips, and they parted on their own accord. His focus shifted between my mouth and my eyes like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to stare at me forever or close the distance.
Both options scared me, but not because I didn’t want Beckham. I couldn’t put this baby on him and force him to be a dad to some other man’s child.
I wanted him to talk about his feelings and tell me what was going on, but I also didn’t want to dig him a deeper hole than he already seemed to be disappearing into, so I asked the first thing that popped into my mind to attempt to brighten his mood.
“Do you want to see the sonogram?”
His brows pinched together before he realized what I was asking, then he nodded. “Of course.”
I lifted slightly, tugging the photo from the back pocket of my maternity jeans. I flipped it around so he could see, and when his attention shifted to it, I nearly passed out.
Weight had never been so visibly lifted from a man’s shoulders. Eyes had never lit up as brightly as the sun rising in the morning. Hearts had never beat as vividly as mine did now.
Showing him this photo of my son might have been a massive mistake. It didn’t distract us from our proximity, not in the least. All it did was make me want to tuck this little paper into his wallet and ride him until the sun came up and the cows started mooing.
New tears welled in his eyes and he quickly wiped them away with the back of his hand before they could drop.
His throat bobbed over and over before he met my melting gaze.
I feared I might turn into a puddle, right here and now, and all I had to blame was the past and these damn pregnancy hormones.
“This is your son,” he stated, pure awe in his voice.
I nodded.
Then he simply took my breath away when he lifted his free hand and glanced at my belly. “Is it okay if I…?”
I nodded again, never feeling the phrase loss of words more than I did right now.
His large, callused palm met the fabric of my shirt and the warmth of him seeped right through it, penetrating my stretched skin and working its way to my heart. My pulse wasn’t racing. It wasn’t slow, either. On Beckham’s lap, with the feel of him touching me, I was calm. Content.
Falling.
His hand moved slowly, tracing my small bump like it was the most precious work of art he’d ever seen. With his soft touch combined with that pure look of adoration, I feared I’d need to put a lock and key over the organ in my chest.
He sniffled, then shook his head. “Sorry.”
I wiped another falling tear away with my thumb. “Don’t be sorry.”
His eyes fell to my hand before he met my stare again. “Did your appointment go okay?”
“He’s healthy as can be. I’m twenty weeks now.”
His eyes widened. “Don’t you get your anatomy scan at twenty weeks?” He’d clearly been doing his research.
I dipped my chin, guilt hitting me like a bullet. “I did today.”
He let out a quiet curse, and without thinking, I set both hands on his cheeks. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“It’s hard not to when you’re doing these things alone, Park.”
“I’m not alone.” My hand covered his over my belly. “I have him. And now I’ll have you there with me, too.”
My two boys.
I was tearing myself to pieces with that thought, sending a wrecking ball through the rational part of my brain, as if I wanted instinct to take over and let me land in his arms.
Would it be so bad?
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, quieting my voice and letting my hand on his cheek slide back between us. I didn’t want the topic of my baby to dominate our space when he was clearly struggling and needed someone to talk to.
He seemed to contemplate it as he chewed the inside of his cheek before landing on, “Not today.”
I nodded past the closing of my throat. Maybe he didn’t feel the same as I did. Maybe he didn’t want us to go back to how we used to be.
And that was my answer as to why it’d be so bad.
To hear Beckham reject me…
I didn’t think I’d survive.