This Woman Forever

Chapter 17

The ride home is silent. I expect if I was even remotely with it, I’d sense it’s uncomfortable, but I’m not. Nowhere close. I never once considered how I would actually feel to have it confirmed Ava’s carrying my child. Our child. Not really. I think I probably imagined, but never truly considered the reality of it. And hearing her say the words I’m pregnant? It’s like a deluge of emotions have drowned me—every emotion imaginable. The most prolific?

Disbelief.

I’m confused when we walk in and find Cathy. Then my mind reboots, and I remember it’s early afternoon. Ava should be at work. I should be killing time waiting for six o’clock when I can follow her back to our bubble. But today, we’re here, and I honestly can’t remember anything before her heartbreaking call. I shake my head and look down at my hands. My keys and Ava’s bag in one, Ava’s hand in the other.

I release my hold of her, feeling her look up at me, and set my keys on the table.

“Is everything okay?” Cathy asks, the caution in her tone screaming. I must look like I’ve seen a ghost. I feel oddly vacant, like I’m not sure how I’m supposed to react, feel, or be, all the emotions swirling around, mixing things up. I look at Ava’s bag in my grasp again, frowning as I pass it to her. “Boy?” Cathy prompts.

“Everything is fine,” I reply, though I know it doesn’t appear so, and despite not being able to look at Ava, I know she won’t seem okay either. “Ava’s not feeling too well.” My hand lifts of its own volition and encourages her toward the stairs. I need a moment alone. I never dreamt I would ever feel like that when Ava’s around me. Never alone.

She resists my light push into her back, her worried eyes looking back at me as she accepts her bag. “Are you coming?” she asks, but I still can’t look at her. I’m scared about what I’ll see. My wife. A liar. She knowingly set out to hurt me. It just doesn’t compute.

“I’ll be up in a minute,” I say, my throat rough and quiet. “Go.” She’s hesitant and unsure, but she slowly walks away, having a brief moment with Cathy. I don’t know what to say. All I can hear is my inner mind telling me this isn’t true. That I’ve heard things. That Ava’s not pregnant, that she’s going to scream at me at any moment that she hates me, that I want a baby more than I want her. I know that’s crossed her mind before. I know she’s wondered why I stole her pills.

And I know I should give her some context and work hard to make her see I’ve not done this on a whim.

I frown to myself as she takes the stairs, constantly looking back at me.

“Jesse, for the love of God,” Cathy says. “Will you please speak?”

Blinking, I give Cathy my eyes. She recoils. “I’m fine,” I say robotically. “Really.”

“Well, you don’t look it, boy.” She comes to me, placing a palm on my forehead. “You said Ava was unwell. It’s you who looks it.”

I take her hand and force a smile. “I’m okay.”

Her old face wrinkles, looking doubtful. “I put your peanut butter in the fridge.”

“Take the rest of the day off.”

She nods, but it’s reluctant, unfastening her apron and going to the kitchen as I slip our keys onto the table by the door. She appears moments later with her carpet bag. “Are you sure, boy? I could stay. Cook for you and Ava.”

“I’ve got it.” I put an arm around her shoulders and walk her to the door. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Okay. Okay, boy.” She reaches up with her lips to kiss my cheek, making me dip so she can reach. “Be well, now.”

I see her out and face the penthouse. What the fuck is going on in my head? I just don’t know what to say to Ava. I realize I asked for this. But the process from then to now, everything that has happened in between, it’s got me good. She left me because I took her pills. And now I realize, she left me because I had achieved what I set out to do.

Secure our future. Or, as Ava would say, trap her.

But does she feel trapped now? And is that why she left? She got drunk, knowing she was carrying our baby. Unacceptable. But she was at a loss. I’ve been there. Am hardly in a position to judge.

Fuck.

I cover my face with my hands and drag them down, exhaling, my mind bending.

What should I do?

Scream, shout, yell?

No.

I call Peterson and tell him Ava’s come home because she’s unwell, hanging up before he can think to question me, then I take the stairs slowly and enter the bedroom. She’s sitting on the bed, looking lost and nervous. It’s exactly how I feel myself. Lost for words and nervous about how this is going to pan out. So I will do what I need to do to bring us both together and put us back in our bubble. She’s carrying our baby. She’s holding our future within her. Everything up to this point doesn’t matter. She’s always been precious to me—my redeemer and my ruin. Now she’s beyond that. She is literally holding my life in her hands.

I go into the bathroom and take a moment to look around the space where we first came together. How far gone is she? How many weeks? I turn on the tap and pour some bath soak in, taking extra towels off the shelf and putting them on the warmer before placing the sponge on the side of the enormous tub. Will we need to move? Getting a pram and all other kinds of baby paraphernalia up to the penthouse daily will be a pain. I sweep my hand under the tap, testing the water. Too cold. I adjust the tap, making it warmer. She’ll have to start taking it easy. No more ten-hour work days. I whip up the water to stimulate more bubbles. And what will people think? The wedding was just over a week ago. I laugh to myself. I couldn’t give two fucks, but I give endless fucks that Ava will care. Her mother, her father, her brother. What about outside space? We’ll need a garden with a child.

I still, staring at the frothing water. The Manor. So much outside space, a whole fucking park on the grounds. And yet still wasted. I reach into my inside pocket and pull out my phone, punching a text out to John.

Let’s meet them and talk.

Breathing in, I bite down on my lip, feeling my whole universe pivoting again. I felt the same way the day Ava O’Shea walked into my office. “Fuck.” I delete the message. She’s in the next room, alone, unsure, and I’m in here trying to wrap my head around something I wanted all along. I turn off the tap and go back into the bedroom, my heart breaking when she looks up at me. She’s holding her breath. Pensive, unsure. So fucking guilty.

Easing her to her feet, I silently undress her, smiling mildly at the watch on her wrist as I remove it, then her necklace, finishing with her underwear. I dip, pick her up, and take her to the tub, lowering her in slowly. “Is the water okay?” I remain fully dressed outside the tub, removing my jacket, and rolling up my sleeves under her watchful, confused eyes.

“It’s fine.” She studies me as I wet a sponge and start washing her.

“Aren’t you getting in?” she asks.

“Let me look after you.” I can’t get in. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing right now, so I’m just following my instinct. Looking after her.

And, apparently, Ava isn’t okay with that. She turns in the water, feeling at my blank face, cupping my cheeks. “I need you closer than this.” They’re the golden words. “Please.”

I can see so much remorse in her brown eyes. So much worry. She can’t possibly think I’d leave her. Like she left me. I look at the sponge in my hand. At my fist wrapped around it, my wedding ring shining. How long has she been pregnant? Have I caused any damage pounding into her like a jack hammer? I sigh. Did I honestly think this would settle me, because I can feel anxiety creeping in.

Get closer to her.

The sponge hits the water with a wet slap as I rise and unbutton my shirt. Has Ava done any damage with her Friday night escapades? I drop the white material to the bathroom floor and bend, removing my shoes. I, more than anyone, know how fragile life is. This little person growing inside of my wife is depending on us to protect them. Fucking, drinking. I push my trousers off with my boxers, feeling Ava watching me go through the motions.

Shifting forward to make space for me behind her, she watches as I lower into the water and settles when I encase her with my arms, pulling her back to my chest. I don’t get the overwhelming rush of calm by having her attached to me like I normally do. My heartbeats don’t get stronger. It’s fucking odd, as if a higher power won’t allow me to absorb this news or truly grasp what is happening right now.

Ava settles for only a few seconds before she’s moving again, breaking away and putting herself on my lap. Facing me. Facing this. It’s a gesture to assure me she’s not burying her head anymore. Her hands feel for mine, our fingers threading and feeling, my mind a mash-up of absolutely nothing and absolutely everything.

“Why did you lie to me, Ava?” I ask, studying my wedding ring as she slowly spins it.

“I was scared,” she whispers, peeking up at me. “I’m still scared.”

“Of me,” I say quietly. “You’re scared of me.” I can’t blame her. I’m scared of me too.

“I’m scared of how you’ll be.” Her voice has become strong but remains soft. She doesn’t know it, but I appreciate her honesty. It’s not often Ava speaks her truths unless forced to.

“You mean even more crazy?”

She nods mildly, her chest expanding. Taking in courage? “It wasn’t even definite, and you were treating me like a priceless object.”

That’s because she is priceless. But there’s more to it. I narrow my eyes on our joined hands, wondering. “You also think I might love our child more than you,” I say, feeling her reaction through her body and nothing else.

“Would you?” Her question is laced with uncertainty, and it breaks my heart. Why wouldn’t she think that? After everything I’ve done to get us to this point, of course that thought would linger. I’m a thirty-eight-year-old man who, prior to Ava, had one priority.

Me. Only me.

Because I’d lost everyone I loved. I didn’t look after myself. Didn’t care for myself. Hated myself.

But as Ava’s husband? I’m a work in progress, granted, but I’m better with Ava. It’s fact. And my best years were as Rosie’s daddy. I have this amazing opportunity to have my own family. A unit for me to care for, provide for, love. Of course I’m going to be protective of it. Passionate. But for Ava to think I could love something more than her? Crazy. She’s the crux of the goodness in me. The reason for me to breathe, and the whole reason for me to love again. She’s my fucking hero.

Reaching for her hand, I bring it to my chest and place it in the center. “Do you feel that?” I ask, smiling gently as she watches with interest and curiosity. “It was made to love you, Ava.” Her eyes blink a few times, her throat pulsing with a swallow. Don’t cry, baby. I’m barely holding it together. But I have to say this. I need her to know my love is not conditional. That if she could never give me kids, it wouldn’t change how I feel about her. I’d be devasted, of course, but as I’ve thought before, Ava’s my beginning and my end. Whatever comes in between is simply part of the journey. This is about love. Peace. “For too long it was useless, redundant, not required.” Dead. “Now it’s gone into overdrive,” I whisper, smiling softly when her lip starts to wobble. She’s hearing me. Listening. Understanding. “It swells with happiness when I look at you.” I push her palm into my chest harder. “It splinters with pain when we fight.” She looks as overwhelmed as I feel right now. “And it beats wildly when I make love to you,” I add, now squeezing her hand. “Maybe I go overboard with my love, but that’s never going to change. I’ll love you this fiercely until the day I die, baby. Children or not.”

Her shoulders fold in, her torso shrinking with an exhale. “I never want to be without your fierce love.”

Well, that’s handy, because it’s endless. I pull her close, as close as I can get her. Her watery eyes dart across my face. I’ve seen need in my wife before. But now? It’s powerful. “You won’t be. I’ll never stop loving you hard. It’ll only get harder because every day that passes with you is another day of memories with you. Memories I’ll treasure, not memories I want to forget. My mind is being filled with beautiful images of us, and they are replacing a history that lingers. They’re chasing away my past, Ava. I need them. I need you.”

“You have me.” She’s half swooning, half taken aback, her touch on my shoulders gentle but firm.

“Don’t ever leave me again.” I don’t mean for it to come out as an order, and yet it does. So I soften my demand with a kiss. “It hurt so badly.” I’m hauled up, her strength surprising, my big body wrapped in her dainty arms tightly.

“I’m crazy in love with you,” she whispers in my ear, making me smile. “Fiercely too. That’s never going to stop, not ever.” These are the words I needed to hear from Ava ever since she walked out on me—on our marriage—hours after we said vows. I can taste her forgiveness. I can taste our forever. Her lips on my ear makes my body shudder and my dick finally join the moment. Down, boy. “End of,” she adds.

End of. She’s so cute. “Good.” I find her mouth and kiss her deeply for the first time in what feels like years. “My heart is swelling,” I mumble as I lay us back down, Ava sprawled all over me, her breasts slipping over my skin. With all my might, I try to push the blood back, not wanting this to turn sexual, if only to prove that we can communicate without sex, even if neither of us are talking right now. It’s perfect. Utterly perfect.

I open my eyes, maintaining my tongue’s soft strokes through her mouth, wanting to see just how lost she is. So lost, completely in this kiss as I trace light hands across her back, humming my contentment, nipping at her lip before plunging into her mouth again.

And we go until my tongue aches and my cock aches harder. “Let me bathe you,” I whisper, slowing my mouth, Ava following my pace until our kiss comes to a natural stop.

“But I’m comfy,” she grumbles, burrowing deep into my neck.

“We can be comfy in bed, and you can fall asleep in my arms where you’re supposed to be.” Let’s keep up this closeness.

“It’s not even mid-af—” She stills against me for a brief second before she’s flying up in a panic. “I’ve not gone back to work,” she blurts, reality crashing into her.

For Christ’s sake. Work? She thinks of work now? I take her wrist and pull her back down. “I’ve taken care of it,” I say. “Unravel your knickers, lady.”

“When?” It’s not fair, but it bugs the shit out of me that my wife is answerable to another man. And I don’t care how chauvinistic that makes me sound.

“When I brought you home.” I put her between my legs and start soaking the sponge and squeezing it across her back. Would she agree to let me do this every day? Bathe her and wash her? Do all the things for her? Her tummy will grow, her mobility will suffer. I remember when Mum was expecting Amalie. Jake and I were only six, but I remember it vividly. She struggled, first with sickness—the reason for Ava’s aversion to my dick in her mouth recently is now confirmed beyond all doubt—her ankles got puffy, she was so tired, and getting up and down the stairs became a two-person job. She’s going to really need me. And I can’t wait.

“What did you tell him?” she asks, calm and accepting.

“That you’re ill.” But he’ll soon have the truth.

“He’ll be sacking me soon.” Ava’s head hangs heavily. Her words were without the despondency I would have expected. Is she now considering the merits of working for herself too? I can only hope. The seed was planted long ago. I thought it was dead in the ground, but perhaps...

I chew on my lip, discarding the sponge. Can she still be Little Miss Independent when she’s carrying our baby? Because surely I have some say in where my baby goes. Somehow, I don’t think Ava will agree, even after today when she’s been openly passionate about needing me. Which, come to think of it, is why? Why now, after all these weeks, has Ava come to her senses, opened up, and confessed she’s pregnant? What happened to instigate such an emotional confession? I don’t know, but whatever it was, I’m grateful. “Come on,” I say, sure I might rub her away with this sponge if I wash her anymore. I stand up and reach under her arms, lifting her to her feet and stepping out. She has a small ironic smile on her face as I pick her up and place her on the bath mat, quickly wrapping her in a towel. I ignore the smile. I can feel the cause between my legs, growing, yelling for some attention. It’s not happening yet, but when it does, it will be gentle. And another cause for a debate. I have a feeling there will be many discussions in the coming weeks while we navigate exactly how this is going to work. How we get through this pregnancy without me suffering a cardiac arrest or Ava killing me in frustration. But she can’t kill me. She needs me. I roll my eyes to myself. She needs me. Maybe today, but as soon as I make a... request, that need will vanish and defiance will bounce back. It’s going to be fun.

But first, I need to do something.

It’s been a roller coaster, and I feel like it’s just slowed down long enough for me to take a breath and brace myself for the loops on the horizon. I lift Ava onto the counter and peck her lips. “Stay there.”

“Where are you going?” she calls, her frown following me out of the room.

“Just wait.” I shudder, chills catching my wet skin as I hurry across the bedroom and enter the dressing room. I scratch around in drawers and behind clothes. Nothing. Where the hell are they? I moved them to here a couple of weeks ago. Definitely. Cathy found them in the laundry room, so I moved them to a cupboard in the kitchen, then moved them to the dressing room. “Ah.” I go to the end wardrobe where my suits hang and get on my knees, feeling at the back. “Bingo.” I pull out the paper bag and go back to the bathroom.

“What’s that?” Ava asks, eyeing the bag cautiously. I’m nervous. How can I explain what I need her to do?

I gnaw on my lip, opening the bag and holding it out for her to look, and she reluctantly peeks inside. “You don’t believe me?” she blurts, injured, holding her towel closer protectively.

I knew she’d draw the most negative conclusion. It’s a habit of hers. “Of course I do.” But she’s done one test. Just one. And I didn’t see it. Forgive me, but the past few weeks have been a seesaw of is she? isn’t she? and after everything, I’m feeling like I want to see it for myself. Need to.

“Then why do you have a paper bag with...” She takes it and upends it, sending the boxes falling into the sink. She then proceeds to count them while I watch on. I could have told her how many are there. Sixteen. “Why do you have eight pregnancy tests?” she asks.

I lift my shoulders on a half-hearted shrug and push the box she’s holding aside. “There are two in a box.”

“Sixteen?”

“Sometimes they don’t work properly.” I’ve heard stories before, women who have had false positives and false negatives. Again, I’m taking no chances. I’ll also be arranging a scan tomorrow. “They’re just backups.” I get one out and hold it up. “You have to pee on this bit here,” I say, pointing to the end. “Look.”

“I did one at the doctor’s, Jesse,” she moans, exasperated. “I know how they work. Why won’t you take my word for it?”

“I do take your word for it,” I assure her. The pregnancy test’s word, however, I don’t trust, which is ironic because my wife is the one in this situation who’s been misleading.

And you haven’t?

I still, holding back my scowl. I should have known Jake would have something to say during this conversation.

Fuck off.

No.

“I need to see it for myself,” I say to Ava’s indignant face. She can’t protest and she knows it, but rather than tell her what she knows and risk her sass coming out to play, I give her a cute smile and wide, hopeful eyes.

“How long have you had these?” she asks, softening.

Yeah, not telling her that. Her open palm hovers between us, and I grin at it.

“Give,” she orders.

I’m thrilled. Delighted. The dynamics are going exactly the right way already. She huffs and puffs about it, but she slips off the vanity unit and goes to the toilet. I throw a towel around my waist.

“Some privacy, please?” she says.

Absolutely not.I know her body on the deepest level. It’s about to go deeper, so she’d better get used to it. “I’m staying.”

“I’m not peeing on a stick in front of you. No way, Ward.”

Yes, way, and to demonstrate how passionate I am about her peeing on the stick while I’m in the room, I sit myself on the floor. “Move me.” I cock a cocky brow and don’t bother covering myself when the towel slips open.

“I’ll use another bathroom.” She moves past me, and I reach for her ankle, stopping her. “Jesse,” she yelps, trying and failing to walk on, my impressive, heavy frame hanging on to her.

“Humor me, baby,” I plead. “Please.”

Ava looks back, sighs, and sags. “Can you at least turn around?”

Is she shy? “No.” I stand and pull my towel away. Ava blinks, her attention captured and, hopefully, she’s distracted from her issue, which isn’t even an issue. I fucked her up the arse the second time I fucked her, for the love of God, which happened to be on the same day I fucked her for the very first time. And now she’s shy?

Let the battle commence. “Does this make you feel better?” I ask, arms out, showcasing myself for my wife to enjoy. And she really enjoys.

“No.” She sighs dreamily, head tilted. “That just distracts me.”

Mission accomplished. Now let’s get on with this. I want to celebrate. Tell the world.

Tell Ava about me?

My eyes narrow without telling them to. For someone who supposedly wants me to be happy, Jake ain’t half trying his best to piss all over my bonfire.

“You wield that physique unfairly,” Ava grumbles, trying and failing to hide the lust in her eyes. I’m here for it, but before we get to celebration sex, we have sticks to pee on.

“Of course I do,” I reply on a cheeky smile, eyeing her towel-covered body. “It’s one of my best assets.” I grab Ava’s towel and whip it away, inhaling my appreciation. Fuck me, it gets me every time. Made for me. All of it. Every handful, curve, and dip. “It comes a close second to this one.” And soon all of this one will be growing. More to love. More for me to take care of. I bet she can’t wait. “Just perfect.”

“You won’t say that when I’m fat and swollen.” Pouting, she peeks down at her perfect body. “And if you say there will be more of me to love, I might divorce you.” Her towel is quickly missing from my hands and covering my best asset again. Really?

“Don’t say the word divorce.” I walk her to the toilet and position her ready to sit. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll eat for two too.” Two jars of peanut butter a day instead of one.

“Promise you won’t leave me when I’m unable to reach your cock with my mouth because my belly is in the way.”

Laughter rises and bursts out loudly. “I promise, baby,” I say around my amusement. We’ll find a way, and hopefully Ava gets past this aversion she’s developed recently to my dick being in her mouth. “Now, let’s pee on some sticks.”

She shifts the towel and sits, and I grin as I crouch, her playfully narrowed eyes following me down. “Do you want to stick your hand in the loo again?” she asks around a smile. “I could mark you officially.”

Another bark of laughter erupts and makes me lose my balance, my arse hitting the floor with a thud. She’s on fire with the humor, and it’s fucking wonderful. My muscles are mush, hampering my attempts to get up. “Ava, baby.” I chuckle, planting my hands onto the floor, fighting my way up. “I love you so fucking much.” I hear the steady flow of her peeing, her hand between her legs. So romantic. I lean up and kiss away her wrinkled, mortified face.

“There,” she declares, pulling her hand out from between her legs and holding the stick up. I quickly take it, not fazed in the least, and reach for another, putting it in her hand. “What?” she asks.

“I told you”—I ignore her questioning face—“sometimes they don’t work.” I push the stick toward her, hoping she’s not completely empty. “Quick.”

She groans, exasperated, but does as she’s bid, her face straining to squeeze out more pee. She hands it over, and I hand her another. “Jesse.” She laughs. “Come on.”

“One more,” I say, helping her along, removing the cap.

“For God’s sake.” She whips it from my hand and gets to work as I pop the caps back on the others, wondering if I can squeeze another out of her. By the sound of her dripping pee and her pink cheeks from the strain, I’m thinking not. “That’s it,” she says, watching me, probably concluding—correctly—what I’m thinking. Okay, I’ll flex, since she’s flexing too. I’ll save the other tests for another time. She gives me test number three and wipes herself, and I go to the vanity unit and lay each one next to each other, tweaking them, making sure they’re level and straight. My eyes run across each one over and over again, as I pout, watching carefully. How long does this take? How accurate is it? Scan. I should sort out a scan. I’ll do that tomorrow. How many weeks are we? A book. I need a book that’s going to help me help Ava. I’ll order one. And a midwife. We should see a midwife. Maybe I’ll hire one full-time.

How long do these damn tests take to show a result?

I scan them again, bent over, watching closely for any change in the little window.

“Are you okay there?” Ava asks.

“I think they’re broken.” I register her next to me, looking at me, not the tests. She’d better drink some water. “We should do some more.” I move about an inch before my arm jars, Ava pulling me back.

“It’s been thirty seconds,” she says over an amused chuckle. Seconds? It feels like I’ve been bent over this unit for an hour. “Here, wash your hands.” She guides my hands under the tap, turning it on and rubbing at them. I keep my eyes on the tests. Is that a letter I can see? I crane my neck, scowling when I note it’s a shadow.

“It’s been longer than that.” For fuck’s sake, they’re definitely broken. “Much longer.”

“No, it hasn’t. Stop being neurotic.” She releases me and mirrors my bent frame, and I look out the corner of my eye, well aware she’s making fun of me.

She grins. It’s beautiful. She’s about to have it confirmed beyond all doubt that she is carrying my child, and she’s grinning. I don’t know what’s changed, but I’m fucking grateful. “I’m not neurotic.”

“Of course you’re not.” Her dark hair falls over her shoulders, skimming her nipples. How the hell am I still standing here and not carrying her to the bed?

“Are you taking the piss out of me, lady?”

“Not at all.” Her lips twitch. “My Lord.”

She’s got that right. Her Lord, her God, her everything.

What the fuck is wrong with these tests?

This is ridiculous. If she’s pregnant, the baby will be here before these fucking tests tell us she’s on her way. I inhale subtly. She? Would I get the privilege of having a little girl again? Would I?—

My thoughts pause when I notice a change in the window of the first test. I lean in more, blink my eyes so I don’t have to blink them again anytime soon. Is that a P?

I feel every muscle and limb stiffen, my lungs inflating, my breath held. Is that an R? I quickly check the other two tests. More letters. Fucking hell. I stare, my eyes burning, not daring to blink, as a whole word slowly forms before my eyes.

Pregnant.

I snap my eyes to the second.

Pregnant.

My heart bucks, and I quickly check the last test.

Pregnant.

Jesus.

Pregnant, pregnant, pregnant.

We’re pregnant.

My whole body starts to shake, and I absolutely cannot control it. Pregnant. Swallowing, struggling for air, I turn my wide eyes onto Ava. She’s still bent over too. Smiling mildly, watching me process what I’m seeing.

Pregnant.

“Hi, Daddy,” she breathes, her lip definitely wobbling. Like my body.

Daddy.

“Fuck... me.” I asked for this. Prayed for this. Manipulated everything for this to happen. And now it has? “I can’t breathe.” Or stand. My legs fail me, and I crumble to the floor, breathless, full of so many more emotions, I’m not sure where to start sorting them out.

“Are you okay?” Ava’s quiet, unsure question wakes me from my trance, and I look at her. I don’t see just Ava, though. I see... my family. I see a second chance. I see an opportunity to make right what went so horribly wrong.

I see the chance to make Rosie proud. But it fucking kills me that my little girl won’t be here to see me return to the man she made me before I lost myself.

The emotions suddenly unravel and overpower me, and my eyes well, a mixture of pure elation and sadness devastating me, but for Ava, I must be happy. Stable. Fucking hell. I smile through my grief and get up before she sees my tears, grabbing her and hauling her into my body, hiding my face in her neck, holding her tightly.

“What’s the matter with you?” she gasps, taken aback, as I walk into the bedroom and put her on the bed, removing her towel—skin on skin, I need skin on skin—and laying myself on her lower body, my face level with her stomach. Fuck, I can’t get ahold of these fucking tears.

Understandable, Daddy.

You’ve got this, bro.

Shit.

I stare down at Ava’s stomach, marveling at the wonder of life growing. Life created by me. It’s hard to accept, hard to swallow, when I’ve spent years thinking I’m only capable of taking life. Ruining it. I gaze up at my wife—how fucking lucky I am to call her that—and am greeted by a mixture of contentment and concern. “I love you,” I say softly. I’m not only speaking to Ava. I’m speaking to Rosie. To Jake. “So much.”

We know.

Ava’s hands work through my wet hair, her body settling. “I know.”

I have to kiss her stomach. Feel it. And, God, it feels incredible. It’s a new addition to my need list. This. Every day. “And I love you too.” My baby who I’m yet to meet. I kiss my way all over Ava’s belly, excited that with each day her tummy grows, it’ll need another kiss to cover it in kisses. I might need to quit work. I’m not sure she’ll appreciate me following her around with my mouth attached to her, fetching everything she needs fetching, carrying everything she needs carrying, including her. Driving her, feeding her. The list of responsibilities is endless.

I work my mouth over Ava’s boobs until my face is level with hers and I’m once again taking in this beautiful, sassy young woman and trying to comprehend that she is mine. “I’ll try to be better,” I say as she smiles up at me. “With you, I mean. I’ll try not to smother you and make you crazy.”

“I like you smothering me.”

Oh good. So my lips stuck to her all day will be fine? Following her around doing all the things so she doesn’t have to will be fine?

“It’s the unreasonableness that we need to work on,” she adds.

Can my lips stuck to her be considered unreasonable?

“Give me specifics.” Because I need to know my limits. I don’t want to argue. I want pure bliss. Constantly. So Ava needs to be straight with me, and I need to listen. I don’t want to stress her out. Definitely not.

This might be harder than I think.

“You want to know exactly what drives me crazy?” she asks. She’s holding on to a laugh. She’s laughing because I need it spelled out?

Well, she just said she likes me smothering her. I don’t know what the line is between acceptable and unacceptable, so she needs to elaborate. I can’t promise I’ll accept without question, but I need to have a measure so negotiations can commence. “Yes, tell me. I can’t try to control it if I don’t know exactly what bothers you.” I push my lips to hers before she can laugh at me.

“You treated me too gently,” she says, and I still, hitching a brow at her. She noticed that? Idiot. Of course she noticed that. “When you thought I was pregnant, you stopped being fierce in the bedroom, and I didn’t like it. I want my dominant Jesse back.”

“What the hell have I done to you?”

“You’re addictive.” She shrugs, nonchalant. “And lately I’ve been having Jesse withdrawal.”

Oh? “I’ve taken you hard lately.”

“Yes, but only when you thought I wasn’t pregnant, and when you thought I was, I had to provoke you into it. I want shock and awe.”

Fucking hell.How much shock and how much awe? Because I’m pretty sure her body can’t sustain the levels we’re used to. Besides, we have plenty of different degrees of fucking. Not all need to be hard. In fact, since I met Ava, I’ve become rather fond of the more... placid sex. “Don’t you like sleepy sex?” She always demands it.

My cheeks are suddenly squished in her hands, her smile small and fond. “You won’t hurt it, you know.”

“It?” I parrot. “Let’s get one thing straight, lady. We will not be calling my baby ‘it’.”

“It’s hardly a baby at the moment.”

It is definitely a baby. Our baby. “What is it, then?”

“Well.” She pouts, thinking, and it’s adorable even if I don’t agree. “It’s probably more like a peanut.”

A peanut? Well, we all know peanuts are one of my most favorite things. That’s that settled then. Ava’s smile falls. Realization hits.

“Oh no, Ward.” She chuckles.

“What?” I give our peanut a little nuzzle with my nose. “It’s perfect.”

“I am not referring to our baby as peanut, end of.”

Sodefiant. It’s time for some convincing. Eyeing her hip, I move in, seizing it and massaging teasingly, making her buck and yell. “Stop!” she gasps.

What the fuck am I doing? My clenched fingers are mere inches from her fragile tummy. “Shit.” I release her quickly and rub the area, and Ava yells, throwing me a furious scowl.

“What are you doing?” she asks, and for a moment I think she’s pissy because I just practically squeezed our peanut to death. Fucking hell, I can’t be trusted with life at all.

But then I realize. She’s not angry because of that. This is what she’s talking about. Acceptable levels of fretting and fussing.

Oh.

“See,” she says, arms thrown up in disbelief. “That is what I mean.” Yes, darling, I just this second figured that out. “If you don’t reinstate some of your normal behavior soon, I’ll be moving to my mum and dad’s for the rest of this pregnancy.”

I blink, stunned. Is she threatening to leave me again? Ten minutes after we’ve just found out we’re pregnant? What the fuck is she on? Other than hormones, I mean.

“I mean it, Ward,” she barks, furious. “All of the fierceness, the rough, the countdowns, and fuckings of various degrees, I want them back.” She gathers breath. She’s not done? “And I want them now.”

Yes, I hear you, because you’re fucking shouting.And now she’s breathless. Stressed. Don’t tell me that’s good for the baby. And don’t tell me I’m the cause. Fuck, this is going to be a tricky ship to captain. “Calmed down yet?”

She snorts, in disbelief, I think. I should release a few snorts myself, because she’s fucking unbelievable. She wants me to fuck her. All this because she wants me to ram my big cock into her begging pussy. I grin on the inside. Oh, how you crave me, lady. I love it. But she’s going to have to control herself for a while, and I’m going to have to get creative if I’m going to keep my wife happy and my baby safe.

“That depends on whether any of this is sinking into this thick skull of yours.” She pulls my hair.

“Ouch.” I chuckle, both at her and at me. Look at us. Listen to us. We’re fucking perfect.

I roll over to my back and put my wily wife’s legs on either side of my hips, getting us comfortable, me against the pillows, Ava against my thighs. Soon, like this, I’ll be able to stick my tongue out and lick her tummy. Can’t wait.

I consider her fresh, young face, and I wonder how I can ever love her more. But I know I can, because each day that passes, she gives me more. Teaches me more. “Do you remember when I found you at the bar, when I showed you how to dance?” I ask.

She settles into my legs, laying her hands over mine on her knees. “That was the night I realized I’d fallen in love with you.”

“I know because you told me.” It was so fucking frustrating, but it was the way it was supposed to be. It was how our story was supposed to be told. “You were drunk, but you still said it.” And I will never forget that moment. Or her face.

Because I took a picture.

“Hmm,” she hums, stroking over my hands, casual. “Must have been the dancing.”

“I know.” And the body contact, the feel of me against her, the fact she missed me terribly. “I’m good.”

“You’re arrogant.”

She loves my arrogance, even if it’s a front as wide as the Atlantic. “It would seem that I’m a little brighter than my beautiful wife.” I slide my hands down her legs to her ankles, smiling at her deep intake of breath to sustain my soft strokes.

“You’re really arrogant.”

“No.” I shake my head. “Not this time. This time, I’m just honest.” She cocks her head, and I smile at her curiosity. “You see,” I go on, killing that curiosity. “I realized that I was in love with you before then.” Way before then. In fact, I think if I really consider the events from the day she walked into my office and my life, I fell in love with her on the spot.

“Does that make you cleverer than me?” she asks.

“Yes, it does.” Because self-awareness wins. Listening to your heart wins, and considering mine was pretty much dead, I’m winning. “The whole time you were running, I was so frustrated. I was thinking there must’ve been something wrong with you.” Like... was she blind? Could she not see me? “You know, because you wouldn’t submit to me.”

Why does she look so pleased with herself, like she’s achieved what no woman has achieved by resisting me? But as I knew it wouldn’t, her self-control didn’t last long. “Like the others did,” she asks, and I nod. “It was only because I knew I’d get hurt. Even though I didn’t know you, it was obvious you”—her lips straighten, her eyes scanning mine—“were experienced.”

Isn’t it interesting? She’s talking about sex. I’m talking about love.

I skate my hands up the backs of her legs. I think we’re breaking records. This is the longest time we’ve been naked without being asleep and haven’t had sex. And I’m good with it. Not that I’d say no. “When I left you for those four days?—”

“Don’t.” Her contentment falls, sadness dropping into her eyes, and I feel terrible. But I need her to hear this. “Please don’t talk about that.”

“Just let me explain something,” I beg. “It’s important.” I release her legs and get her closer. So close, she could blink and her lashes would brush mine. “I was so confused by what I was feeling,” I explain. “It took that time away from you to piece together exactly what it was. I couldn’t work out why I was behaving like a madman. I really did think I was going fucking crazy, Ava.” Turns out, I realized I was in love. And that explained everything. Because to me, to love is to lose. And I couldn’t lose again. My heart wouldn’t take it.

Ava stares at me, struck. I get it. I was struck for days after she walked into my office and my life.

“I spent days three and four reliving every single moment with you,” I explain. Day one and two were spent getting over one of the worst hangovers I’ve ever had, and not only because of the drink. “I replayed them repeatedly until I was torturing myself, so I came to find you. Then you fucking ran again.”

She looks apologetic, and she has no reason to. This is on me. I know that. Accept that. And I’ve paid for that. “Ava, the night you told me you loved me, everything became so fucking clear, but at the same time it was a massive blur.” Still is. And the guilt was unbearable. “I wanted you to love me, but I knew you didn’t really know me. I knew there was stuff that would make you run again, but I also knew that I belonged to you, and it scared me to fucking death to think that once you started unravelling it all, you’d be off again.” Justification. I seem to be a master at it. And I’m still playing that game. Justifying why I’ve not told her about Rosie or Jake. Yes, there’s shame. But there’s also so much fucking pain. As strong as it’s always been. I don’t know if I can face saying the words out loud. Don’t know if I can face Ava’s reaction. Or sustain the doubt my past might cast. “I couldn’t risk it, not after it took me so long to find you.” I take a gulp of courage and say what we both know but haven’t really discussed. Because she left me just as I feared. “I took your pills that night.” And many times after that. But she doesn’t need confirmation of what came after in that department. Because... she knows. And right now, her face, blank but soft, tells me she understands that level of crazy.

I kiss her, because I just have to. Kiss her endlessly. “I sat there all night and watched you sleeping, and all I thought about was every reason for you not to want me.” It was one of the longest nights of my life. “I knew it was wrong to take them, but I saw it as collateral. That’s how desperate I was.”

She’s smiling. I have no clue why, but I’m grateful. “So you don’t want a baby?” she asks. “You just want to keep me?”

Why is she asking such stupid questions? I look at her. Like really look at her. She’s pure bliss. My dark-haired, dark-eyed, olive-skinned piece of heaven, wrapped up in a banging body with a side of sass and a huge heart. A heart, thank God, that’s kind and a mind that’s understanding. Her perfect nose wrinkles, her eyes willing me on, her lip curving at the corner. Go on, baby. Smile for me. And it breaks, her eyes bursting with happiness that I could never measure. She loves that I love her so hard.

“I want everything in the world with you, baby,” I whisper, returning her smile. A smile only Ava can draw from me. “And I want it all yesterday.”

She nods, albeit mildly. “Thank you for my watch,” she says quietly. I know she’s not only thanking me for that. And for me, the watch is not just a symbol of how much I love her. How much I want to give her, share with her. It’s a symbol of time. And what I have left is all hers. And our peanut’s.

“You’re more than welcome.” I press gently into Ava’s lips, before I move in and kiss them like I adore her. Because I do. And now that we’ve talked, we’ll talk.

I moan and roll us, getting Ava beneath me, and nudge her legs apart with my knees so she’s wide open to me, my mouth still adoring her, her hands all over my back. “Going to ask me to wear a condom?” I mumble around her lips, moving across her cheek to her ear, feeling her hips lifting invitingly.

“Ha... ha,” she practically moans, her hands slipping down to my arse and applying pressure.

“Do you want me inside you?”

“Don’t ask stupid fucking questions.”

“Mouth.” I swivel, entering her slowly on a gush of air, instantly dizzy with pleasure, and Ava mumbles some incoherent words, probably curses, her short fingernails sinking into my flesh. “Fuck,” I hiss, pulling back and looking down at her. “Give me those eyes.”

She blinks them open, and the level of lust, need, want, and love staring back at me would put me on my arse if I was standing. “We’re going to be okay,” I whisper, starting a slow, steady pump of my hips, half expecting her to encourage something harder and faster. She doesn’t. Because in this moment, soft, slow, and steady wins the race.

But Ava gets there first, coming on a shallow gasp, stiffening all over, pulling my throbbing dick deep with the contractions of her muscles.

Am I’m gone, gasping, my head hanging, coming with her.

I remain on my forearms, suspended over her, pulsing, until my shoulders ache from holding myself up. Her stroking hands have slowed on my arse. Her breathing has changed. She’s fallen asleep. And this is how it should be for the rest of this pregnancy. No drama, no stress, no work pressure, just serenity. She looks so serene. Is it unreasonable to only want her to focus on this pregnancy and us? I wrinkle my nose and dip, gently kissing her cheek. Her eyes open. “Go back to sleep,” I order, pulling out of her and smiling when she snuggles down. How I want to stay with her and cuddle. But somehow, even after such a deep conversation—a deep connection and sexual release—I’m not tired. I’m energized. Second chances do that. So I leave Ava to nap—I expect there will be plenty of those in the coming months—pull on some boxers, and head downstairs, collecting some peanut butter on my way to the couch and checking my phone, seeing endless notifications. And a missed call from her brother. I laugh under my breath as I dip and lick. Fuck, I forgot about him. This will be interesting in light of the news we’ve got to share. And that’s exactly why I don’t call him back. I can’t promise I won’t blurt out that Ava’s pregnant, and I’m reasonable enough to know that that will get me a one-way ticket to the doghouse. So first I call the clinic and cancel my Friday appointment, grinning the whole time—I’m not broken—then I call John back, but before my thumb can dial, my phone rings and Dan’s name flashes up on my screen. Don’t answer.

“Fuck,” I curse.

And answer.

Do not mention your peanut, bro.

I smile.

“Hi,” Dan says when I give him nothing. “I came to your place today.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, something came up.” I settle back, taking another suck of my finger. “Why don’t we cut out the meet and you just tell me what you want?” I can’t help my hostility, but he’s the one who set the tone for our relationship.

“I want to apologize.”

My eyebrows shoot up so fast, they nearly leave my face and hit the ceiling. “What?” And what is he sorry for, I wonder, because the list is endless. Disrespecting me, disrespecting my wife, upsetting her on her wedding day, telling tales, bitching to Ava’s parents, being hostile toward my friends...

“You’re going to make me say it?”

“You haven’t actually said it. You said you wanted to say it.”

“I apologize.”

He sounds about as sorry as I am. Not sorry. “For what?” I need to shut the fuck up and accept. Get him off my back, but then there’s Kate. Sam. This guy has breezed back into town and caused a shitstorm at every turn. And now he’s sorry? I’m not buying it.

“I was worried about my sister,” he says.

And that was before this raging alcoholic barbarian got her pregnant. “And you’re not worried now?”

“She obviously loves you.”

I hum. She’s pregnant.

“Look,” he goes on. “I’d really like it if we could meet up.”

What, for coffee and a chat? She’s pregnant. I bite my tongue. It’s fucking hard. Dan and I will never be best mates, so where the fuck is this going? “You want to meet up?” I’m so fucking curious. It feels like he’s got something to share. As have I. She’s pregnant.

“Yes.”

“Right,” I say slowly. “I’m a bit busy this week. I’ll call you.” I hang up and chomp on my lip, my mind racing for a minute before my phone’s ringing again. “Ava’s pregnant,” I blurt to the room, needing to release the buildup of words before I answer to John. I’m not sure how I’m going to tell him. I know I’m in for a royal dressing down, and I’m not in the mood for that now. “Hi,” I say when I answer.

“Alive?”

“Very much alive.”

“Where did you go?”

“Just a small something to deal with.”

“Ava’s brother showed up.”

“Did you let him in? Offer him tea? A tour?”

“No, but he was quite curious about the truckload of sex furniture that showed up.”

“Oh fuck.”

“It’s fine,” John says. “I diverted him.”

“He just called me. I was supposed to meet him.”

“What for?”

“Not a fucking clue. Something’s not right.”

John hums. “I saw that Owen guy hanging around the gates when I left earlier.”

“Did you speak to him?”

“No, why would I?”

Doesn’t hurt to talk to them.John’s words. The silence stretches, me waiting for John to speak, John waiting for me. Except I’m not sure what’s the right thing to say. “John?”

“Want to talk to him?”

I inhale, chewing my lip. “Doesn’t hurt to talk, right?”

“Right.”

Is John tired of The Manor and all the drama it brings too? “Do you want to start the process?”

“Sure, I’ll start the process.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you here tomorrow?”

“Yeah. See you then.” I hang up and sink down into the couch. “We’re just talking,” I say to the empty room.

“Who is?”

I look up and see Ava at the top of the stairs in her knickers and a T-shirt. “Nothing. No one.” I get up and go to her, collecting her and attaching her to my front.

“I can walk, you know.”

“I know,” I reply, carrying her into the kitchen. I place her on the counter and dip, getting up close to her tummy. “Time to feed you.”

“What about me?” she pipes up, injured.

“I suppose I ought to feed you too.”

I get a smack on my bicep for my trouble, and I laugh, seizing her and kissing her hard. “Unravel your knickers, lady.”

She holds my face and kisses me everywhere she can. “It’s you who tangles them in the first place.”

My phone chimes, and I reach for it, my eyebrows raising as I read John’s message. Tomorrow at ten. Fuck, they’re keen. My heart turns in my chest, and I try to push the feeling of guilt away. Just talking. It doesn’t hurt to talk.

“What is it?” Ava asks.

Her concern snaps me back into line. “Nothing. Just John about a meeting tomorrow.”

“So you’re at work tomorrow?” she asks.

“Might be.”

She smiles knowingly. “Do you know something, My Lord?”

“What?” I ask, my face bunched as she puts her lips all over it.

“I feel very lucky.”

I open my eyes, surprised. This is interesting. I wait for her to elaborate, my curiosity raging. Her palms stroke across my chest, her head tilting in admiration from time to time, appearing in no rush to feed my interest. “Go on,” I prompt, impatient.

“Sometimes you drive me crazy,” she says quietly.

Ditto.

“Sometimes you make me want to scream.”

Ditto.

“You’re irrational, unreasonable, demanding.”

Ditto, ditto, ditto.

“But more than that,” she says, watching her fingertip draw a light line down the middle of my chest to the waistband of my boxer shorts. I inhale my anticipation as she peeks up at me. “You’re passionate, adoring, protective, and possibly the sexiest man to ever walk the planet.” Possibly? The cheek. Her hand slips past the material of my boxers and takes me in her grasp, and I blow out my cheeks, buzzing for friction. Buzzing for her. “And you’re my husband.”

“Yes, I am.”

“What woman wouldn’t want to be loved so fiercely?” She strokes down my length, and I’m a goner, cupping her pussy, massaging her as she massages me, and we stroke each other to orgasm, Ava moaning her release into my mouth as I come all over her hand, panting. She buries her face under my chin, kissing my throat. “And now you’re my baby’s daddy,” she whispers, pulling me in for a hug. “And I know that any kid would be blessed to have you as their daddy.”

The pain is very real.

And the peace and turmoil blending is suddenly unbearable.