Chapter 10 Speaking To The Dead, Because They Have to Listen
SPEAKING TO THE DEAD, BECAUSE THEY HAVE TO LISTEN
LEXI
“Hey, Dad. Long time no talk.”
The itchy grass tickles my skin as I lean against his headstone. The glare of the familiar motorcycle’s headlight across the cemetery should annoy me. Unfortunately, all it actually does is settle the unease from my earlier appointment.
I knew the baby was his. Okay, well, I didn’t know for sure, but the likelihood that I was months along instead of weeks was improbable. It’s a blessing and a curse.
“So, I have some news and I need to tell someone before I implode. I’m having a baby. Well, at least I think I’m having a baby.”
The reality of that statement hasn’t fully set in. I’ve been ignoring it. Disassociating from the news until my appointment earlier.
“I know, I know. I’m nowhere near ready to have a kid, but it’s kinda too late for that.”
I bark out a defeated laugh that mixes with the fresh tears gliding down my cheeks.
“Maybe I should take care of it. The doctor said it’s an option. Not here in Texas, of course. Who finds out they’re pregnant and decides before six weeks, anyway? I’d have to travel out of state, but I think Harlow would come with me if I asked her.”
Dragging my knees into my chest and wrapping my arms around them tight, I draw in a stunted breath.
“I don’t know what to do. You should be here, Dad.
I know you’d be so mad at me, but I’d gladly take your quiet anger.
Because even though you wouldn’t have the words to express your thoughts—ironic for a lawyer.
” Another burst of laughter breaks free from my chest. “You’d really be mad at the situation and not me.
There are so many bad decisions I’ve made since you’ve been gone.
You’d probably be pissed about those, too. But I did them for you.”
The sob rips from my throat, and the onslaught of tears blurs my vision like a fogged-up bathroom mirror. I tighten my grip around my knees and furiously wipe my eyes against my rough jeans.
“But what if this is the only piece of him I ever get?” I choke.
“I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me for what I did.
He sure as hell doesn’t look at me the way he used to, and how can I blame him?
What I did is unforgivable. I broke his trust. I shattered the amazing thing we had, even if we were young.
It was real and I threw it away—threw him away—like we were nothing. ”
Steadying my breath, I try to get my emotions under control. I haven’t cried over the news yet, and I think this is what I needed to process what I truly want.
“He’s here.”
My eyes cast up across the field to the strong form patiently waiting behind my car. He’s too far and his sunglasses are still on, so I can’t tell if he’s looking at me. But the unnatural heat against my skin tells me it’s highly probable.
“I don’t know what he wants from me, and I’m scared.
Scared to let myself hope that maybe it’s because he’s forgiven me.
Scared because what if it’s some sick scheme to torture me?
Because it is torture, having him around, in my space, always over my shoulder.
Maybe it’s time to be blunt about it. Maybe this time I’ll let him in on the plan instead of hiding it from him and running. ”
An errant breeze blows through the headstones and rustles my hair. I let myself believe it’s him answering me back, letting me know he’s here, and always is.
“Yeah, Dad, I think that’s the right call too.”
Pierce’s sure footfalls crunch the gravel behind me all the way up to the front door. He doesn’t say a word, just waits like an unwavering shadow by my side, as I type the code into the lock and push the door open.
A calm assurance fell over me on the drive back from the cemetery. I think in the back of my mind, I always knew what I was going to do. Perhaps if the doctor had given me different news, the switch in my brain would have flipped, and I’d be choosing differently, but that’s not the case.
I just hope this doesn’t destroy any last shred of possibility for a peaceful future between us.
“We need to talk.” I finally manage to get out as I plop on the sofa and pull my feet under me. Automatically grabbing for my favorite blanket, that’s thrown over the back of the couch, I drag it over my lap for protection.
I expect him to sit across the room in the empty chair, giving me some semblance of space.
He doesn’t. His tall frame squeezes between my knees, choosing to sit between them on the small coffee table right in front of me instead.
It leaves only mere inches between our bodies, and the closeness sucks the oxygen from my lungs.
It’s fine. I’m fine. Who needs oxygen anyway?
“So, let’s talk,” his husky voice purrs.
“I’m keeping the baby.”
His gaze sharpens, those dark orbs homing in on my face, while he nods, but stays quiet.
Why isn’t he saying anything?
“I just thought you should know,” I continue.
His rough sun-kissed skin pulls tights against his knuckles when he balls his hands into fists. The movement is telling.
I flinch hard, scrambling back across the couch until there’s nowhere left to run. Curling into myself, I tuck my head down and shield my face with my arms, hiding behind the only barrier I have.
“Fuck, Princess, no.”
His soft touch soothes the hair back from my face, and I peek up from behind my arm. “I’m sorry,” I squeak, a sob caught heavy in my throat.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Lexi. I would never lay my hands on you like that.”
“But you’re mad.”
“And? You think anger gives a man the right to put his hands on you? I could be furious with you. Filled with so much rage, my body was quaking with it, and I would never, in a million years, take that out on you. Do you understand me?”
His steady hand in my hair leaves as quickly as his words from his lips, and he pulls back a beat, giving me space.
He has every right to be angry with me for so many things.
This is just another one on the long list of ways I’ve fucked up our lives.
Because it won’t just be my life that’s affected by this choice.
Keeping our baby will change everything.
“I don’t expect you to stay,” I whisper, holding back the dam of tears that want nothing more than to burst free. Now that I’ve let some fall, they don’t seem to want to stop.
“I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care if it’s that asshole’s bab—”
“Wait, what!? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Listen, Lex, I know we have a messed-up history, but I don’t care that it’s Evan’s. We can keep that from people if it makes things easier for you. It’ll certainly keep his parents from shoving their upturned noses in your business.”
“Stop!”
Now it’s his turn to flinch back at the sharp command in my voice.
“Lexi, I…”
“Will you shut up and let me talk?” I cut in, eyes locked on his. “You think this is Evan’s baby?”
“Well, yeah. Unless you’re telling me you’ve somehow been seeing someone else since he vanished, and I missed it.”
The laughter bubbles up from deep in my belly before bursting from my chest in a breathless wave. I can’t stop. I’m gasping through it, and the tears return, but this time for a far better reason.
Pierce has gone quiet, probably wondering if I’ve finally lost my damn mind, but I don’t care.
All this time, he’s been completely clueless.
When he stormed out of that doctor’s office, instead of putting two and two together and getting four… he somehow landed on negative five.
And this is the man I’m having a baby with?
He’s always been a little slow to catch up, but he more than makes up for it with what he can do with his hands.
Oh, God. Now I’m thinking about his hands. And all the things they’ve done to me.
“Earth to Lexi.” He snaps his fingers in front of my face, pulling me back from the haze.
I blink, dragging myself out of the delirium, and meet his confused stare.
“Explain, Princess.”
That one fucking word in his husky tone sends a shiver sliding down my spine.
“I haven’t been with Evan in months. Like, months before he disappeared. Things between us were... complicated. You know what? That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that there was no one else after him. No one—except you.”
I watch the realization spark behind his eyes like a match catching flame.
He finally gets it.
“You mean…?”
“Yeah. I thought it was pretty damn obvious. Guess not.”
“So, what does that make us?”
“Co-parents? I mean… I kinda hope one day we can be friends again.”
“Friends?” His brow arches, and there’s a teasing note in his voice.
I hold my hand out between us. “Friends.”
His strong fingers wrap around mine, warm and familiar, but instead of the firm shake I expect, his thumb traces a slow, deliberate path across the sensitive skin of my wrist.
“For now,” he says, low and certain.