Chapter 5 #2
Afterward she curled against his chest in the narrow bed, sated and drowsy, her breathing slowly settling as the engines hummed steady around them, one of her braids draped loose across his arm.
He kept one arm locked possessively around her, his chin resting against the top of her head, utterly content in a way he rarely allowed himself to feel about anything.
She had no idea, he thought, watching her eyes drift closed against him, exactly how much she’d already come to mean to him, or how little chance she’d ever had of saying any of her own doubts out loud to him in the first place.
He wasn’t in any hurry to rush the moment she found out.
He had nothing but time, and he intended to spend every bit of it making sure she never doubted whose she was again.
* * *
The car pulled up outside the senior living community’s main building, a low, sunlit complex with manicured hedges and a fountain bubbling quietly near the entrance, and Sloane felt her stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with the baby.
Diane had moved in here not long after the wedding that never happened, when the house had gotten too big and too quiet to manage alone, and Sloane had visited a dozen times since.
She’d just never once walked through those doors with a man beside her.
“You’re nervous,” Draven said, reading her the way he always did, his hand finding hers as they walked toward the entrance.
“I’m allowed to be.” A small, tight laugh.
“I’m about to tell my deeply religious, very opinionated mother that I’m having a baby with a man I met two months ago at a bar, who also happens to be my boss.
” She squeezed his hand once before letting it go as they reached the door.
“Try not to take anything she says personally.”
“I won’t.” He held the door for her, easy and unbothered, like nothing about the next hour worried him at all.
They found Diane in the small common room near her apartment, seated in her favorite armchair with a paperback open on her lap, her reading glasses pushed up into gray-streaked curls.
She looked up at the sound of their footsteps, and her face broke into the same warm, immediate smile she’d always greeted Sloane with.
“Baby girl.” Diane set her book aside and stood, pulling Sloane into a hug before her eyes settled curiously on the man standing a respectful step behind her daughter. “And who do we have here?”
“Mom, this is Draven. Draven Mercer.”
Diane studied him with the same sharp, appraising look she’d once used on every boy who’d ever shown up at their door, and Draven met it without flinching, extending his hand with an easy confidence that put Sloane’s nerves only slightly at rest. “Mrs. Whitaker.” He held her hand a moment longer than a simple handshake required, his voice gentling in a way Sloane rarely heard him use with anyone outside of her.
“It’s good to finally meet you. Sloane wasn’t exaggerating when she said this place suits you. The light in here is beautiful.”
Diane glanced briefly around the sunlit room like she hadn’t quite noticed it herself in a while, clearly disarmed.
“Well, aren’t you charming.” She gestured them both toward the small sofa across from her chair.
“That implies you’ve been hearing about me for a while, which is more than I can say.
My daughter hasn’t mentioned a single word about you until this exact moment. ”
“I imagine she’s had her reasons.” He sat beside Sloane, his hand settling naturally at the small of her back, and turned his full attention to Diane.
“I know this isn’t the introduction you were expecting.
I’d rather you direct any concerns straight at me than worry yourself over how it happened.
You raised her on your own after a hard loss, and you did it well.
The least I can do is sit here and answer for myself honestly. ”
Diane’s eyebrows lifted slightly, clearly caught off guard by the gentleness of it. “That’s a generous thing to say to a woman you just met.”
“It’s true whether I met you ten minutes ago or ten years ago.” He held her gaze, calm, sincere. “There’s nothing you can ask me that I’m not willing to answer.”
Diane’s expression eased fully now, and she reached over to pat his knee once, like she’d already decided something important about him.
Sloane sat there beside him, the tightness in her chest easing at how effortlessly he’d absorbed her mother’s wariness instead of letting it land on her. She reached for Diane’s hand.
“Mom, there’s something I need to tell you.” She took a breath, feeling Draven’s hand settle steady against her back. “I’m pregnant. Draven’s the father.”
Diane went still, her eyes moving slowly from Sloane’s face to her stomach and back again, processing it in the unhurried way she’d always processed difficult news.
Sloane braced herself for questions, for scripture, for some version of disappointment dressed up as concern.
Instead her mother’s eyes filled, and she reached for both of Sloane’s hands at once, her voice thick.
“A baby.” Diane laughed, wet and unguarded, swiping at her own eyes with the back of one hand.
“After everything you went through this year, after that disaster of a wedding, you’re sitting here telling me you’re having a baby.
” She squeezed Sloane’s hands tight. “I’m happy, baby girl.
I’m so happy for you, I don’t even know what to say. ”
Sloane felt her own eyes sting, relief loosening something she’d been holding tight for weeks. “I was scared you’d be upset. I know this isn’t how you pictured it.”
“Pictures change.” Diane wiped her eyes again, then turned that same sharp, assessing look back toward Draven, who reached over without being asked and gently passed her the small box of tissues sitting on the side table, an easy, attentive gesture that seemed to settle something further in her.
“And what about you, Mr. Mercer? You’re going to be there for both of them? ”
“Completely.” He said it without a flicker of hesitation. “I have no intention of being anywhere else.”
Diane studied him a moment longer, something openly fond creeping into her expression now, then leaned forward slightly, her teacher’s directness returning in full force. “So when are you two getting married?”
Sloane’s stomach dropped straight through the floor. “Mom.”
“What? It’s a fair question.” Diane folded her hands primly in her lap, entirely unbothered by her daughter’s mortification.
“You’re having his baby. He’s sitting here promising me he’ll answer for anything, bringing me tissues like he’s known me for years.
I’d like to know if I should be planning a wedding or not. ”
Sloane opened her mouth, some flustered attempt at deflection already forming, but Draven spoke first, his voice smooth and utterly unbothered, his hand tightening warm and certain against her back. “Very soon.”
Sloane turned to stare at him, heat rushing into her face, caught somewhere between horror and a feeling she refused to examine too closely with her mother sitting right there beaming at both of them like the matter was already settled.