14. Rune #4
He exhaled slowly, through pursed lips, counting. "Out for one…two…three…four."
I fought him. "I don't want to fucking count my goddamn breaths!"
"Gimme all you got, Rune. Yell. Scream. Hit me. Curse me out. Get it out, Sweet-Pea."
It wasn't tears that came out, it was gulping, gagging, throat-searing sobs.
"I'm not ready! I don't want this! I didn't ask for this!
Any of it! Why couldn't Hayes just have loved me?
Why did I waste so much of my life on him?
What's wrong with me, Dad? Where did I go wrong?
What am I so bad at choosing men? Why is this my life?
I just started getting my life together and now this ?
I don't want it. I don't want any of it.
I want to wake up. I want this to be a bad dream. I'm not pregnant. My life isn't over."
Mom's soft hands framed my face. "Your life isn't over, honey. You have choices to make and you're not making them alone. We'll support you through this. So will Linz." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And honestly, baby girl, I think you ought to give Duncan a chance."
That got through. I looked up at her through tear-glazed eyelashes. "Wh- what ?"
Mom was crouched in front of me, Dad sitting cross-legged in the grass with me on his lap like I was five all over again, arms around my middle, pinning my arms to my sides, his chin on my shoulder, sucking in slow, soothing, deep breaths.
"You should give Duncan a chance," Mom repeated. "I have a good feeling about him."
"Can't believe I’m saying this, but I agree," Dad rumbled. "He's here. He wants to be part of this. He's not making any demands, but that you give him a fair shake. And even to me, it seems pretty obvious that he has feelings for you."
"That's because it's obvious to anyone with eyes, Tommy," Mom muttered.
I let out a shuddery breath, wiggled away from Dad and to my feet, shaking my hands out and taking a long, deep, bracing breath. "Okay, okay," I said, wiping at my face with my palms. "Enough of the dramatics, Rune," I told myself. "Time to get your shit together."
I turned in place, and my eyes instinctively and immediately sought out Duncan.
He was leaning against one of the gazebo's upright supports, hands in his pockets, one foot propped on its toes, crossed against his ankle.
My stomach flipped at the expression on his handsome face: pure, patient, unadulterated affection.
Love, even?
Fuck.
I paced across the yard and stopped a couple of feet away from Duncan, my heart in my throat, stomach doing somersaults, hands shaking. He stayed as he was, waiting—I imagined—for whatever crazy, out-of-pocket bullshit I was about to send his way.
"I'm an idiot, aren't I?" I whispered. "I am. You can agree with me."
He grinned lazily, shook his head slowly. "Nah." He pushed off the post, a smooth, lithe movement that put him in my space, close enough to put his hands on me, his lips on mine; he did neither. "You're not an idiot, Rune. You're just scared."
My stupid, stupid, stupid eyes went all hazy and watery again, dammit. "I'm not just scared, Dunc, I'm fucking terrified ."
"Why?" he asked. "What are you so afraid of?"
"Everything!" I hissed. "Being pregnant. Having to…to decide."
"Between what?"
"A life and my future."
"Why is that the decision?" He pressed. "Being pregnant doesn't mean your future and your dreams are gone, Rune. It may look different than you were expecting, and I one hundred percent understand that it's not my body and not my life we're talking about, here."
I shook my head. "You don't understand."
"No," he agreed. "But I'd like to. So try and help me understand, Rune. There are options for us. For you. And…for us, as in us being an us ."
I turned and glanced over my shoulder—Mom and Dad were watching openly, and toward the back of the yard, Lindsey and Dane were deep in conversation, heads together, their eyes casting toward us now and then.
"Everyone is watching us," I whispered.
Duncan nodded, his eyes not wavering from mine. "I know." He stepped into me, pressing his hard body against mine. "Let them watch this."
"Duncan," I breathed, heart palpitating wildly, "I don't know—"
"Shut up and kiss me, woman," he growled.
"Well, when you put it like that," I murmured.
We kissed, then.
His lips met mine, questing against mine not exactly hesitantly but rather giving me every opportunity to stop it, to turn away, to tell him no.
But how could I?
Why stop a kiss when it turned the flutter of butterflies in my stomach into a murmuration of starlings swirling and coruscating in mathematically impossible configurations?
My palms rasped against the stubble on his jawline, cupping him closer, keeping him where I wanted him, where I needed him. He hummed wordlessly as my mouth opened for his, growled when my tongue swept against his.
When we parted, I was panting, chest rising and falling rapidly, pressing my breasts against the hard wall of his pecs, my forehead resting against his chin.
"I think I love you too," I whispered, finally letting the truth I'd been denying for what like a lifetime escape past the prison of my teeth.
"I know," he answered.