Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
GENEVIEVE
I blink, certain I’m imagining this.
It’s one thing for Finn to mow my lawn. To leave my favorite tea on my desk. To find subtle ways to remind me he’s still here. Still thinking of me.
It’s another for him to be in the waiting room of my doctor’s office.
I should be angry. I made him promise he wouldn’t interfere with my pregnancy. That he wouldn’t try to undertake any sort of fatherly role.
But as I take in the broad set of his shoulders, the way his t-shirt stretches over the solid lines of his chest, I can’t summon the fury I wish I felt.
All I do feel is the rush of something warm and comforting.
I’ve spent the last two weeks convincing myself any feelings I may have had were a byproduct of hormones. That the ache consuming every inch of me was nothing more than my body changing.
But now, standing here, looking at him… I was wrong.
His face is the same, yet different. Handsome, as always, but there’s something missing. The spark that’s always lived in his eyes is dimmed. Shadows cling to him, and I know without asking I put them there. The weight of that knowledge presses against my chest, hot and unbearable.
I drag in a breath and force myself to move toward the desk, trying to ignore the hammering in my chest.
The receptionist offers me a warm smile, and I tell her my name. She checks me in, then hands me a clipboard with a few papers on it. “Just fill these out, and we’ll call you back in a few minutes.”
I turn, and my gaze inevitably finds Finn’s again. He’s still watching me, his expression unreadable. Against my better judgment, I make my way toward him.
As I lower myself into the chair beside him, his scent wraps around me. That familiar mix of soap and cedar and something distinctly him. For a moment, I want to lean in, let it settle deep into my bones. But I don’t. Instead, I grip the pen tighter and focus on the paperwork, refusing to acknowledge the way my pulse thrums with awareness.
Silence stretches between us, thick with everything unsaid, his mere presence making it impossible for me to focus.
When I’m not sure how much longer I can handle the uneasy tension between us, Finn’s voice cuts through.
“How are you feeling?”
The simple question nearly undoes me. I forgot how much I missed the sound of his voice. The way it comforts me like a safety net.
“Okay,” I respond evenly, forcing myself to keep my eyes on the papers in front of me. “I thought I’d have more time before morning sickness kicked in. Apparently not.”
“Is it bad?” he asks, the concern in his tone evident.
I still don’t look at him. I can’t. If I do, I might break.
“I can keep food down, but I have no interest in eating. Except for those hard candies. I’ve been going through them like crazy.”
“I’ll get you some more,” he says softly.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know. I want to.”
I pin him with a glare. “You can’t keep doing this, Finn,” I hiss under my breath.
“What? Being your friend?”
“That’s not what you’re doing, and you know it. I told you in the beginning I wanted to do this alone. I don’t need anyone.”
“I just want to be here for you. Be present. Nothing more.”
I search his face, looking for deception. For some hidden agenda. There’s nothing except raw, unfiltered honesty.
Before I can respond, a nurse calls my name.
I leap to my feet, grateful for the escape.
“Would you like anyone to join you?” she asks, her gaze floating to Finn before landing back on me.
I glance at him, hope flickering in his eyes. He wants me to say yes. Wants to be there.
But I can’t do this. I can’t let him in. I started down this path fully prepared to do everything alone. A few weeks of amazing sex hasn’t changed that.
Forcing a smile to my lips, I return my attention to the nurse. “I’m fine on my own.”
“Of course.” I could be wrong, but it looks like she almost gives Finn an apologetic smile before returning her attention to me. “This way.”
The exam room is cold, the flimsy gown like sand paper against my skin. But despite the excitement of this new adventure I’m about to embark on, my thoughts are elsewhere.
With Finn.
No wonder my blood pressure was slightly elevated.
The doctor enters, offering a warm smile as she congratulates me on my pregnancy.
We go through my medical history, discussing risks and expectations. Then she asks me to lie back so she can check on the baby. The nurse wheels the ultrasound machine closer and it whirs to life, humming softly. The seconds stretch as I stare at the screen. Finally, there’s a flicker. A tiny, unmistakable shape.
My baby.
Except it’s not just mine. It’s ours . Finn’s and mine.
The thought steals the air from my lungs.
It wasn’t supposed to be ours. It was supposed to be mine alone. Something I fought for.
But so did Finn. He didn’t have to offer to help me, but he did. Put his own life on hold to give me this gift.
And I have no idea how to feel about that.
Emotion swells in my throat, thick and consuming. My doctor hands me a printout, and before I can think better of it, I ask for another copy.
She nods and gives me the extra print.
I dress quickly and return to the waiting room. Unsurprisingly, Finn is still here. He doesn’t speak as I pass him, but I can feel him. His presence. His patience.
He follows me outside, keeping a respectful distance as I walk across the parking lot.
When I reach my car, I hesitate, my fingers curled on the handle. Without giving myself time to change my mind, I pull the black-and-white photo from my purse. Then I turn and extend it toward him.
“Thought you’d like to have this.”
He takes it from me, his throat bobbing as he stares at the image. “Is that…?”
“It is.”
A quiet breath shudders out of him, his fingers tracing over the tiny shape. “Little bean.” When he returns his gaze to mine, his expression is raw and filled with something I can’t name.
Something I’m too scared to name.
“Thank you. For this. It means a lot.”
I nod, swallowing against the emotion clawing up my throat. It takes everything I possess not to fling my arms around him and pull him against me. To lose myself in his warmth. His presence.
His love.
Before I can, I slide into my car and drive away.
It’s not until I’m halfway back to the library that I finally remember to breathe.