Chapter 22 – Skylar
SKYLAR
Iwake to the unfamiliar feel of Aston’s sheets against my skin.
Silky cotton that smells of cedar and something distinctly him.
The room is dim, the curtains drawn, and I flop on my back, thinking of how I ended up here.
The morning sickness. Him coming into the bathroom to help me.
His unexpected gentleness as he carried me up here, and then his subsequent apology for last night.
My fists rub at my eyes, bleary and disoriented. I have no clue what time it is, but I feel better. Well, physically at least. My head is still a disaster, but I think that’s going to be my baseline for the next… well, likely years. I snort out a choked laugh.
Christ.
I roll over in bed and bury my face in his pillow.
It feels weird to be in his sheets where he slept.
And unfortunately, it’s kind of hot too.
I’m not sure if this makes me a creeper or not, but I take a deep inhale, and immediately flashes from last night flicker through my head.
His apology this morning shouldn’t make it better, but like almost everything with him, somehow it does.
The moment I start to hate him again, he takes a bat and bashes my animosity away.
I need to take that apology for what it was and nothing more.
He doesn’t regret marrying me, and he doesn’t regret what we did last night.
Great. All good. I’ll accept his olive branch in whatever this thing is between us and ignore the something electric and dangerous that hums through my body when I think beyond that.
Eight weeks ago, I was a nurse with a crappy boyfriend. Now I’m pregnant, living and working with Aston, and married to him.
I roll over to find my phone resting on the nightstand. I didn’t hear Aston bring it in for me. It’s after noon. I hope they didn’t go to the movies without me. I’d feel terrible since I promised Zoey.
Slowly I pull myself up and out of bed, my limbs tight as I give a stretch, my toes curling against the area rug over the hardwood floors. I stuff my phone in my pocket and open the door, immediately hearing sound downstairs.
“When are we going?” Zoey whines.
“In two hours, Zo-Zo. Be patient. And please keep your voice down, or you’ll wake Skylar.”
“But why is she sleeping? It’s lunchtime.”
“She wasn’t feeling well this morning, remember?”
A smile quirks my lips, and I pad down the stairs only to practically bump into Aston, who’s coming up them. His eyes widen, and he moves one step down, creating some space between us.
“You’re up,” he says, his voice even. He’s wearing a faded Boston Rebels T-shirt, gray sweatpants, and a backward hat, leaving some of the longer pieces of his light hair sticking out the back beneath the brim. Holy shit. I think I just came again. “Feeling better?”
“Much,” I answer, crossing my arms over my chest because I took off my bra before I fell asleep in his bed, and my nipples are definitely saluting him. Come to think of it, my bra is likely still on his floor. “Thanks for lending me your bed.”
“It’s your bed now, remember? Speaking of, did you want to do that now? Switch rooms?”
“Oh. Um. Sure,” I chirp brightly, and wow, is this tense.
“Great. I’ll help you move your stuff. I don’t want you lifting anything heavy.”
“Let’s do it.” I mentally smack my forehead. Did I just say that?
He follows me into my bedroom and grabs my two already packed suitcases and drags them down to his room. Or I guess it’s my room now. That’ll take some adjustment.
For the next hour, the two of us go back and forth, dancing awkwardly around each other as we move our stuff from one room to the other. Every time we pass each other in the hall, I’m hyperaware of the space between us and how careful we are to avoid even so much as a glancing touch.
“How many purses and pairs of shoes do you have?” he asks as he grabs a box from my bed that I filled and walks it down the hall.
“Hey,” I snap. “Never comment on a woman’s shoes or bags. How many hats do you own?”
“I collect them.”
“Same,” I throw back at him.
“Good thing the primary has the walk-in. You’re going to need it.”
I flip him off, and he laughs, but since he’s holding my shoes and bags, I follow him into the master, where he sets them down on the bed.
“I changed the sheets for you.” He juts his chin toward the king-sized bed. The guestroom has a queen, and I hadn’t gotten that far yet.
“Thank you. Sorry. I wasn’t as generous.”
He shrugs. “It’s fine. I can do it.” He glances down at the box on the bed and then up to the pillows. “I should finish moving my things. I think I only have one more run, though.”
“Yeah. Same.”
Neither of us moves, and the air between us suddenly feels charged, thick with everything we’re not saying. With all the things stuck between us that seem to get shoved into a corner or we pretend aren’t there.
“I start a twenty-four-hour shift tomorrow night,” he tells me, his gaze returning to mine. For a moment, it dips to my lips and holds there only for him to swallow and force it back up. “Zoey will be with my parents.”
“Oh. I can watch her.”
He shrugs. “She doesn’t mind. They spoil her rotten. Last night was just a rough night.”
“She didn’t do well?”
All he does is shake his head, and I let him leave it there.
“So… what happens Monday?”
“Monday we show up wearing these and casually announce that we’re married.” He holds up his left hand with his thick, platinum band on it.
I stare down at the diamonds sparkling back at me. “I can’t wear the rock to work. It’s huge, and I’ll struggle with gloves.”
He takes a small step forward, his hand on my cheek as he pushes some of my hair behind my ear. “Will you wear the band?”
I swallow and nod. “That’s the point of this, isn’t it?”
“Good.”
“Aston…” I trail off, unsure what to say. His words from this morning ring heavy in my ears.
“Can I ask… I mean, I know I shouldn’t. But…” He sighs and chuckles as he adjusts his hat on his head. “Did you enjoy it?”
I quirk an eyebrow at him. “You need your massive ego padded more?”
His lips curl up, making his blue eyes sparkle. “In this case, yes. I know you… came. But was it good? The other stuff, I mean. Before I opened my mouth and fucked it all up, that is.”
“Yes. It was good. Obviously since you’ve done what no man has done before.”
He inches in ever so slightly, and my neck cranes up to his face as he stares down at me.
“They were lazy, Skylar. Once you relaxed into me and got out of your head, it didn’t take you all that much.
And I didn’t mean for you to… fall onto me the way you did.
I hope you know that. I wasn’t trying to take advantage or push you somewhere we hadn’t discussed or you didn’t want. I’d never do that.”
I did know that. I didn’t think he was trying to take advantage of me.
He looked just as shocked by it as I was.
I look down at my hands. For some reason, him saying they were lazy makes me feel both better and worse.
Those guys, the ones who tried, always made me feel like it was my issue.
Maybe it was their frustration or annoyance over it, and that only made it worse for me.
But all they would do was rub my clit harder or whatever.
They never tried talking to me the way he did.
They never cared enough to know why I was having trouble.
“It doesn’t matter, though.”
“Right. It’s better this way,” he agrees sharply, his eyes intense. Resolute. “We both have enough complications right now.”
He’s right. I have a baby on the way, a vindictive ex to avoid, and he has a little girl still grieving her mother. Besides, I don’t want to get hurt. I want to focus on myself and what’s ahead for me.
“I’m not looking for anything,” I promise him.
“Same. It was a moment. It doesn’t have to be anything more. It can’t be anything more.”
I nod, ignoring the odd sensation that settles in my stomach at that. Probably more morning sickness. “Right. A moment.” I clear my throat. “We should finish up if we’re going to make that movie.”
I turn away from him and go for the box of my shoes, giving him my back as I put them away. I don’t even know why I brought it up again, other than I can’t stop thinking about it, and then he had to go and apologize and fuck me up more.
But it’s done. We’ve officially talked about it more than once, and it’s over.
I feel his eyes on me, the weight of everything surrounding us, and despite what we just said to each other, when I glance over my shoulder at him, I see it.
All the things we say on the surface and all the things we’re both burying.
Last night changed us, and not in a good way.
We’re playing a dangerous game pretending we can live together and work together, while maintaining a careful distance.
But I’ve made enough mistakes already, and I can’t afford another. Especially not with Aston. So, I straighten my spine and continue to put away shoes and purses, and after another second, he leaves, closing the door behind him and allowing me to finally take a breath.
Forest’s townhouse gleams in the Sunday afternoon light, all sleek surfaces and floor-to-ceiling windows that show off the Boston skyline across the harbor we sit almost directly above.
He’s only been living here for a couple of months.
A bribe from his parents if he moved back to Boston from LA and took over the Abbott Foundation, which my grandmother’s family started generations ago.
His father, Kaplan, was the CEO, but he’s a surgeon at the hospital with me, so Forest’s mother was essentially running it.
Forest always swore he’d never move back here. Boston holds demons for him, but I’m happy he did even if I’m not sure he’s quite sold yet.
“Do you actually live here?” I tease. We’re up in his crow’s nest on the third floor, and to say it’s sparsely furnished is putting it mildly.