Chapter 12 #2
“Then let’s get you fed, woman.” I help her prop up with the extra pillows and set the tray of food on her lap.
Then, I do my best to keep her awake long enough to eat by scrolling through the streaming choices on the TV on the bureau, looking for something to watch that doesn’t charge an extra fee on top of the fee they’re already paying.
It’s harder than it sounds, and fifteen minutes later, I’m starting to doubt anything is included in their subscription.
“It’s a racket,” Clover says, pointing her final pear slice at the screen. “Everything is a racket now. It’s enshittification.”
I arch a brow. “Enshittification?”
“Yeah. I read about it the other day. It’s the gradually increasing shittiness of everything as the capitalist system squeezes every last drop of profit from the already struggling lower class.
Which is us.” She slips the fruit between her lips and chews, still favoring her wounded cheek.
“Well, me, anyway. Maybe not you. But it still sucks for you, too. It’s why nothing works right, and they want to make us pay to watch dumb commercials on their dumb streaming services that we’re already paying for, which is dumb, and I hate it. ”
I nod. “It is dumb.”
She shoots me a guilty look, swallowing before she confesses, “I didn’t read about it, Blue. I watched a TikTok. I lied. I don’t have time to read. I work too much. Probably also because of enshittification.”
“That’s all right.” I wait for her to wipe her fingers before collecting the empty tray. “We all lie about things like that.”
“I’m still a good person?”
“You are,” I confirm. “Very good.”
She slides lower on her pillow, her lids drooping. “Wake me up to brush my teeth later, okay? I’m too…tired right now.”
“Will do,” I promise. “I’ll wake you up for teeth brushing and your last dose of meds.”
“Okay,” she murmurs sleepily. “But not pee. I’m not going to pee anymore. I’ve decided. I’m done with that.”
“Sounds good,” I agree, pulling the blanket up around her.
When her breathing grows long and even, I pad out of the room, closing the door softly behind me.
Back in the hall, the anxiety I’ve been holding at a distance descends full-force again. I can hear Beatrice puttering in the kitchen and start that way, but for some reason, my feet refuse to keep going.
Sweat breaking out along my spine, I pull my cell from my back pocket and scroll to my messages one last time.
Still nothing from Bea, not so much as a confirmation that the texts have been received, though I saw for myself that they popped through to her phone yesterday in her hospital room.
But she has that setting turned off. So, do I. Who wants people to know exactly when you’ve seen a message? Not me. It’s an invasion of privacy, and I like my privacy.
So does Beatrice.
It’s one of the many things we have in common, just like our love of music, dark, cozy bars, and summer nights spent wandering by the river, listening to the bayou sing in the distance.
Every place I’ve lived has its own song, but New Orleans is special.
I truly love it here, but it wasn’t the same when she was gone.
Nothing was…
She took the magic of the city with her, and I might never get it back again.
But standing here spiraling about it won’t change anything.
Willing myself to stay in the moment, I start down the hall, reaching the open-concept living room, library, and eat-in kitchen just as Beatrice sets a salad bowl on the island.
She startles when she sees me, her breath rushing out with a shaky laugh.
“Hey! There you are. Just finished the salad. So…that’s ready.
When people are ready for salad.” Her hands return to her crutches as she maneuvers around the island.
“Do you think Clover might want some now? Before the lasagna?”
“She’s asleep,” I say, frozen by the couch, not sure whether to move in or wait for Beatrice to decide how close she wants to be.
She nods, stopping a few feet away. “Makes sense. She looked beat.”
“Her body’s working hard to heal. And some of the meds don’t agree with her.”
She nods again. “Yeah. Good. I mean, not good that she’s exhausted and the meds are messing with her head, but healing is good. Really good.” She winces, nibbling at her bottom lip before muttering something I can’t make out.
“What was that?” I ask.
“I was just wondering how many times I said ‘good’ in that sentence.” She exhales another breathy laugh, her gaze locked on the back of the couch. “I didn’t think this would be so hard, but…it is. Everything feels hard right now.”
“It does,” I agree.
“So, I guess I’ll just jump right in and…
” She trails off, her throat working. Finally, she looks up, her gaze crashing into mine with an intensity that makes it harder to breathe.
“I read them. All of them. Over and over again. So many times. I could probably recite some of them to you verbatim if you want.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting the urge to apologize. “Sorry” doesn’t mean much when you don’t know what you’re apologizing for, but she’s clearly upset.
Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears as she adds, “They were wonderful.”
I exhale a ragged breath. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she confirms, sending a wave of relief hitching through my chest. “Exactly what I wanted to hear.” She pauses, frowning as she adds, “I mean, not exactly what I wanted to hear. I obviously didn’t want to hear that you have a shitty relationship with your father that messed you up more than you thought it had until you found out you were going to be a father. That wasn’t great.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure how much to share. I wasn’t making excuses, I promise. I just wanted you to know that it wasn’t—”
“No, I didn’t mean that,” Bea cuts in. “I know you weren’t. I just meant that I was sad to hear that you’re estranged from your dad. That sounds painful, and I don’t like thinking about you in pain.”
“I don’t like thinking about you in pain, either. And I hated myself for making you suffer.”
Her lips wobble into a smile. “You didn’t. I mean, yes, I was sad at first, but in the end, Scotland was good for me. Really good. I grew up so much while I was there. That’s probably a dumb thing for a twenty-nine-year-old woman to say, but I still had some growing up to do.”
“We always have growing to do. No matter how old we are.” My shoulders creep closer to my ears. “I did some growing up, too.”
“I could tell,” she murmurs. “It was there in your messages. And when I saw you on TV in Scotland. I could see it. In your face.”
My brows lift. “You saw the opening game?”
“Yeah. I saw the game, and I saw you get hit. That’s why I came home.”
My chest tightens. “Really?” I whisper, not sure what’s coming next, but keenly aware of the potential energy gathering between us, until it’s as thick as the humid October air outside.
Before I can think of what else to say, to do, she drops her crutches and reaches for me.
My arms are around her before the metal hits the floor.
I pull her close, cupping my hands under her ass to lift her higher on my chest, the way I did that night in April, but the fit is so much different now. The firm curve of her belly slides over mine as we kiss, the heft of it shocking.
There’s nothing soft about this part of her.
Her stomach is dense, solid, and I’m suddenly struck by how heavy it must be. How much she’s carrying. How much she’s been carrying—not just the weight of doing this alone, but the actual physical weight.
“I’m sorry, Bea,” I murmur against her lips, but I’m not sure she hears me.
She’s too busy kissing me like she’s as starved for this as I am. Her fingers dig into my scalp, pulling at my hair, the stinging friction sending another jolt of need rocketing through my core.
Soon, I’m so hard I can barely think, barely breathe.
But that’s the way it is with Beatrice. I’m a man who prides himself on his self-control, but one touch from this woman, and I’m like an addict shaking for a fix.
I want her so fucking badly. I more than want her, more than need her.
As our tongues slide and stroke, the taste of her is medicine. Sacrament.
She’s the only thing that can heal the ache in me, body and soul.
“The way you taste,” she pants against my lips. “I love the way you taste. Nothing tastes as good as you.”
I moan my agreement as I drive a hand into her hair, molding my fingers to the curve of the bone beneath.
I angle her face, tilting her head back so I can stroke my tongue deeper, harder.
A sound of approval vibrates low in her throat as she meets me thrust for thrust, assuring me she needs me like this, too.
Like nothing she’s ever—
I flinch, thoughts scattering as something hard thump-thumps against my ribs. The sharp, staccato jab is so intense that I pull back, blinking down at her. “Was that…”
“The baby? Yeah,” she says with a breathy laugh. “She’s crazy strong.”
She tries to guide my lips back to hers, but I cup her cheek, maintaining the distance as I search her flushed face. “Is she okay? Is this okay? Are we hurting her? Should I put you down, or—”
“Only if you’re putting me down on the couch so you can get your pants off,” she says, the words delivering a different kind of kick.
This one goes straight to my cock, where I’m already leaking for her, so desperate to be buried in her tight little body, it’s hard to form words.
“It’s safe?” I croak, carrying her toward the sofa in the center of the room.
“Of course, it’s safe.” Her teeth dig into her bottom lip for a beat before she adds in a huskier voice, “My midwife in Scotland actually said orgasms are great for the baby.”
“So, I have no choice, then.” I lower her onto the cushions. “I have to make you come your brains out. For the baby.”
Her lips curve in a wicked grin. “You sure as hell do.”
She pulls me close, claiming her territory with her lips, her tongue, her teeth.
Fuck, her teeth…