Chapter 55 Beatrice
BEATRICE
Everett’s parents are the kind of parents every child dreams of. Or at least, they’re the kind I dream of. They love unconditionally. And really, that’s all any kid can ask for.
I have no doubt that they’d love Everett just as hard if he were a professional hockey player or worked part-time at Walmart.
His successes don’t equate to the amount of love and support they give him.
If only I knew what that felt like.
Every time I passed a test or did well at something, I’d be buzzing to go home and tell Mom. She always made a big deal of it, but only if it was something she deemed worthy.
I soon learned that an A in art or gym class, or anything that didn’t align with her future plans, would be dismissed.
It took me a while to notice, I was a kid after all, but once I did, I learned not to share some of my best achievements with her.
It hurt to start with, but I soon became numb to it, and after a while, I stopped celebrating altogether.
What was the point when only some things were worthy?
The second I moved out, I made a point of changing that. It didn’t matter how little the win was, or how insignificant the reward was. I made sure to celebrate every single one of my successes.
Something tells me that Clark and Alison make a point of celebrating every single success.
Watching their eyes fill with happy tears after Everett told them the news made me instantly love them.
Their first reaction wasn’t to question us, to ask if it was too soon, if we knew what we were doing, or any other negative comment that I just know would come out of my own mother’s mouth. Instead, they were just excited, wanting to know all the dates, how I was feeling and if I needed anything.
I had no idea until they asked that final question, but it turned out what I needed was some unconditional parental love.
I’ve convinced myself for years now that I don’t need it. That I’m okay alone. But experiencing it for the first time since I lost Dad was more overwhelming than I ever expected.
I held my tears off for as long as possible, but ultimately, they fell, and once they started, they wouldn’t stop.
Alison understood. She explained that she was the same when she was pregnant with Everett. She also told me that she was completely different with Parker, and that’s why she’s already convinced we’re having a boy.
It hit me in that moment that we could find out next week at our next ultrasound.
I’m torn, though. There’s so much excitement about not knowing. About waiting until the very last moment to discover if you’re going to be a boy mom or girl mom. But also, how much fun will it be, planning and shopping for blue or pink?
It’s something Everett and I really need to make a decision about.
We spent almost an hour on the video call, and before we hung up, Alison and I exchanged numbers. I didn’t dive into my family situation with them; that’s a conversation for another time, but I think she may have suspected that I needed someone.
Sure, I have Sienna and the rest of the girls, but none of them have been pregnant or had a baby. They can be there for me with this, but none of them have any answers or can tell me about their experiences in a way a mom can.
My stomach flutters with excitement that I could get that from Alison.
It would certainly make the next few months a little easier, even more so once our little one is here.
I’m not sure if I’ve ever even held a newborn baby, let alone done any of the other things I’ll be expected to do once they arrive.
Fear of what’s to come rocks through me as I stand looking at the pile of clothes I’ve thrown onto the bed.
Nothing fits.
My tunics barely zip. My jeans are hopeless, and almost every outfit I brought here, thinking it might last a little longer, is too tight.
Tears burn my eyes as I stare at some of my favorite items. Some I’ve had for years; others are more recent finds. Many of them came from the thrift shop a little down the street from the salon. But it doesn’t matter if they cost me hundreds of bucks or just a few; all of them are unwearable.
There is one last option hanging in the closet. It’s the dress Sienna brought me to wear for my first, hell, my first and only date with Everett.
I don’t know why we haven’t been out again. Up until a second go, it wasn’t something I’d ever considered. But now, standing here, the thought of him choosing not to take me out again has pain cutting through my chest.
I loved our first date. But maybe I’m the only one who did. Or did our getting photographed scare him off for a second?
I know this is all a lot. Fucking hell, I’m living through it all just as much as he is. But I’m not the one in the spotlight, the man everyone expects to be with a different woman every night, not getting comfortable with one and starting a family.
What if he changes his mind before we make this public?
My heart starts to race as my fears really take hold.
Trying to push them aside, I tug the dress from the hanger and pull it on.
But…
The wail that rips from my throat when the zipper doesn’t even come close is utterly ridiculous. I’m aware of this, but at the same time, I’m unable to stop it.
I collapse on the bed and curl up on top of all the clothes I can no longer wear.
Linc and Parker’s engagement party is only days away, and I don’t have a bra that fits properly, let alone a dress worthy of the kind of event they’re going to throw.
The only good thing about my breakdown is that I’m in the apartment alone.
I let myself have my moment before I push myself to sit up, wipe my eyes, and look around at the discarded clothes.
“ARGH,” I scream, my curled fists slamming against the mattress on either side of me. And it’s in that exact moment that Everett appears in my doorway.
My breath catches as embarrassment burns my cheeks before blooming across the rest of me.
His brows pinch as he takes in the war zone that is his guestroom before his eyes finally land on me.
Unable to hold them, I drop my gaze to my lap.
“What’s going on?” he asks, confused.
“Nothing,” I mutter, angrily wiping at my cheeks because goddamn it, I’m crying again.
“Right. Okay. Are you…going out?”
“No,” I huff. “I am not going out. I can’t go out. I d-don’t…” I suck in a shuddering breath. “I don’t have anything to wear.”
“The wardrobe covering the bed says otherwise,” Everett says naively.
I’m across the room before my brain has caught up with my legs, and before I know what’s happening, my fist collides with his shoulder.
“Oh God,” I gasp, covering my face with my hands. “Oh my god. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Whoa,” he breathes. “Bea, what’s going on, sweetheart?” His voice is so soft and understanding, even though I just let loose my frustration on him, which makes me cry even harder. “Okay, okay. Come here,” he whispers before crushing me against his chest and wrapping his arms around me.
My body trembles against his, but he doesn’t loosen his grip on me until I’ve finally calmed down and am able to breathe properly again.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m having a bad day.”
“You’re allowed bad days,” he tells me.
“I’m okay,” I state before twisting out of his arms. “It’s just…” I throw my arm out, gesturing toward all the clothes. Nothing fits and I feel gross and—”
“You’re beautiful.”
A laugh bubbles out of me.
“Look at me,” I say, stepping up to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room.
My hair is wild, my face a disaster. My eyes are red and puffy, and my skin is congested. My breasts are barely contained by my bralette, and the dress…another sob erupts.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Everett states, quickly stepping up behind me.
Gently, he untangles the scrunchie from my hair and lets my two-day-old waves tumble around my shoulders. Then his fingers tuck under the straps of the dress.
“May I?” he asks.
I nod before lowering my gaze to my feet, unable to look at myself as he peels the fabric down my body and lets it pool at my feet.
This isn’t how the first time he undresses me goes. Or at least, it isn’t in my dreams.
I guess this is our harsh reality.
“Look up for me, please, sweetheart.”
I shake my head.
He sighs before dropping his forehead to my shoulder, resting it there for a moment.
“Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?”
I hesitate. Do I?
This is a man who has been with some of the world’s most beautiful women and sent them away because they weren’t good enough to hold his attention for more than a few hours.
“I’m going to tell you anyway,” he says, not waiting for my answer. “Do you want to know the first thing that drew me to you?”
As he speaks, he lifts his hand until his fingers are tucked under my chin. He lifts it until I have no choice but to look up. But I don’t look at my reflection; instead, I focus on him.
“Your eyes,” he continues. “I couldn’t tell what color they were from the ice, but I knew they had the power to wreck me.
They drew me in that first night, and I swear, they haven’t let me go since.
” His fingers slip from my chin before he paints my lips with the pad of his pointer finger.
“And then there are these. The first time I saw you smile, it knocked me on my ass.”
“Pretty sure that was the other team’s captain,” I tease.
“That’s what I let everyone think. But it was you, Bea.
I had no idea what you were smiling at, but damn, I wanted it to be because of me.
And don’t even get me started on what it was like to kiss you,” he whispers, his lips brushing my ear as he does, sending a shiver racing down my spine.
“What I wouldn’t give to do that again.”
My lips twitch at the corners, my blood heating; I’ve spent far too many hours since that night thinking about kissing him again.
His hand drops, his fingers wrapping around my throat, the ink on his fingers a stark contrast to my pale skin.
“Your skin here, right above your pulse point. So soft, so sweet.”
“Everett,” I whimper.
He groans as his hand continues moving, the other joining as he gently brushes my arms with his knuckles.
Goosebumps erupt, and my nipples pebble so hard they’re impossible to miss.
“And this,” he says, dragging my eyes to my stomach as he places both of his hands on my skin. Despite my belly starting to grow, his giant hands engulf it. “Right here is where our baby is growing.”
A lump crawls up my throat as I watch his thumb graze my skin.
“It might not have been a part of our plan, but sweetheart, it’s incredible.” His eyes lift, finding mine. “You are incredible.”
I swallow thickly, my heart racing like a runaway train in my chest as his fingers twitch just above the waistband of my panties.
“Bea,” he breathes before ducking his head and pressing his lips against my shoulder, although his dark, hungry eyes never leave mine.
My core aches, my thighs clenching to try and abate the incessant throb between them.
I need him.
I need him so badly I could cry.
What am I saying? I’m already crying.
His words. The way he’s touching me.
It’s all too much.
“Please.” The word is barely audible, but the hitch in his breath tells me he heard it.
“Sweetheart, tell me to stop,” he begs, pressing in closer behind me, allowing me to feel exactly what this is doing to him.
Our eyes continue to hold as my head and my heart battle for dominance.
But before I can say another word, he makes the decision for us.
“I…I gotta go,” he stutters roughly before he marches out of my bedroom, and, from the loud slam of the front door that vibrates through me, the apartment—leaving me cold, desperate, and vulnerable.