38. Beckett
BECKETT
Sawyer’s head lolled to the side as I parked outside our cabin. It was barely a fifteen-minute ride, but she was snoring by the time we pulled onto the small stretch of highway.
Today had been a lot for her. We’d been going, going, going since sunrise, and she’d barely had a moment to breathe.
I was worried about her being on her feet for so long, but she kept insisting she was fine.
She acted like I hadn’t seen the brief pauses when she placed her hand on her belly and let out a long exhale, or the handful of times she stretched her back and winced, but I couldn’t make her rest. Not when she’d fought so hard for me to agree to painting the nursery together.
I would, however, shoot Liv a text and tell her to keep an eye on Sawyer at work next week.
The doctor said we needed to tread lightly as we approached thirty-seven weeks.
Her blood pressure had remained teetering on the line of concern, but so far hadn’t shown signs of advancing to preeclampsia levels yet. It didn’t mean it couldn’t, though.
I quietly exited the vehicle and made my way to Sawyer’s side. Even though I didn’t want to wake her up, she would absolutely hate it if I carried her. “Sawyer? Hey, baby… We’re home.”
She jerked up, looking around wildly before settling on my face and blinking rapidly. “Huh?”
I pursed my lips together to stop the smile fighting its way to the surface. “We’re home. Let’s get you inside.”
Sawyer looked a little disoriented as she nodded, letting me help her out of the car and up the porch stairs. Suggestive banter aside, there was no way either of us was going to act on it tonight. She could barely keep her eyes open, and I wasn’t going to be far behind her.
Might as well get used to it now because our future sex life would be at the mercy of our son’s presence soon enough.
We made our way to the bedroom, where I helped her into the shower before heading down and making her favorite late-night snack: Cool Ranch Doritos with nacho cheese sauce.
She was extremely particular about the brand, though.
It had to be the red label, just like you got from the movie theater.
Anything else, she scrunched her nose at and refused to eat.
Thankfully, I was able to special order them and had boxes on hand to satisfy her cravings.
It wasn’t much, but it was honest work.
By the time I finished, she was sitting in our bed wearing one of my t-shirts.
It’d become her comfort clothing. Not that I minded, because seeing her bare-faced in our bed, wearing my clothes, made me happier than I had any right to be.
“I’m sorry I ruined our night,” she said, pouting as I climbed into bed.
I kissed her forehead before placing the plate between us. “You didn’t ruin anything, sugar. I’m happy to just be by your side.”
“But we were supposed to have sex, and now we aren’t because I can barely keep my eyes open to eat this snack.” She held up a single cheese-covered chip for emphasis. “Normally, I devour this in two seconds.”
That was true. Sawyer had a ferocious appetite, and food never really lasted long in front of her.
We had to introduce healthier snacks into our rotation, but I liked spoiling her when I could.
“Eat what you want, and I’ll finish the rest.” I shrugged.
“I’m finding out a lot about myself through your cravings. ”
My parents might not have given a shit about what I did, but they did care about what I ate.
Appearances were everything, and they would’ve died had I stepped out of the house with an ice cream stain on my crisp white shirt or Cheeto dust on my fingers.
The only time I was able to eat junk food was when my nanny would sneak me some for my birthday or special occasions.
I was skeptical of her combinations at first, but now I rolled with them.
Sawyer finished her bite and pushed the plate toward me with a sigh. “I’m so tired. These aren’t even hitting the way I want,” she said with a pout.
I turned over on my side and ran my fingers along her arm. Her exhaustion was to be expected, but I’d be a damn liar if I said it also didn’t worry me. Her next doctor’s appointment wasn’t until Monday. Should we go in earlier to make sure everything was still okay?
“What can I do to make you feel better, sugar?” I asked. “Do you want a foot massage or shoulder rub?”
She scrunched up her nose. “No, I don’t think so. I’m actually feeling a little overstimulated and touch would probably make me more uncomfortable.”
I pulled my hand back with a sheepish smile. “Duly noted. No touch.”
“But can you lie with me until I fall asleep? I want you close.” She grabbed the large pregnancy pillow I’d affectionately dubbed the cock block. It was pink and looked like one of those toys she loved so much.
“Of course. Whatever you want. Will it bother you if I keep a light on and read?”
She yawned loudly, burrowing in deeper. “That’s fine.”
“I’m going to grab a book, then I’ll be right back, okay?” I whispered, kissing her temple and rolling out of bed. “Good night, baby.”
My girl mumbled a half-hearted good night as I padded downstairs to the living room.
I had a lot of books to read, but only one caught my interest now.
The journal I’d grabbed from Sawyer’s trailer had been on my mind since we left.
Her thoughts back then probably didn’t paint me in the best light, but I knew they didn’t represent how she felt now.
I was comfortable enough that I could differentiate between the two.
Hell, I’d probably have said some pretty shitty things about me if I were in her position, too.
I couldn’t imagine how it felt looking at those images of my life in New York shortly after finding out she was pregnant.
But those pictures didn’t represent me as a person, rather, the person I was forced to be.
I unlocked my car and padded down to the driveway to pull our things from the back.
Most of her belongings had been loaded into the moving van, but Sawyer stuffed her maternity clothes and toiletries into a suitcase that looked like it’d seen better days.
The journal was sitting in a tote bag with random paperwork and framed pictures she had scattered around her room.
The moment I stepped back inside, I smiled. Sawyer’s snores could be heard clear down on the first floor. Thank god she was actually getting some rest. Tomorrow wasn’t going to be as exhausting. Since we finished painting today, we were going to work on putting together some of the furniture.
Translation: I was going to work on the furniture while she sat her cute ass down in the rocking chair—which I planned on finishing first—and supervised my building skills.
Journal in hand, I made my way to the bedroom and settled in next to her.
Nerves struck me hard and fast as I stared down at the worn book and flipped to the first page.
I wasn’t all that familiar with Sawyer’s handwriting, but the loopy scrawl called to me like it was my own.
She dated the top of each page, along with the week of pregnancy and a quirky baby fact.
It made me smile as I flipped through the pages, seeing the love and care she put into each one.
I knew what I was getting myself into before I started, but reading about how much Sawyer struggled during those first five months nearly killed me.
I knew how much she had struggled with morning sickness.
Most days, she could barely keep even the plainest food down.
It took months of trial and error to find something her body didn’t reject.
She also wrote about loneliness and the fear of raising our child alone.
Would she be enough? Could she show him enough love that he wouldn’t feel as though he was missing out on having two parents?
Would it ever stop hurting knowing she was keeping this secret?
On multiple occasions, I had to stop reading and take a breath.
I looked over and saw her sleeping peacefully, hoping like hell she didn’t feel an ounce of this pain anymore.
But through the bad, there was good, too.
Like the joy of seeing our son during her first sonogram.
Of recording his heartbeat so she could play it over and over when doubt crept in.
Liv played a large role on these pages, which hadn’t surprised me.
That woman was one of the few people in the world whose love for Sawyer may have rivaled my own.
Her entries slowed when I showed up in town.
There was a lot of heavy grief in her words, reminiscent of how it was at the very beginning.
I hated knowing my presence had caused her any pain at all, but I couldn’t bring myself to say I regretted it.
If I’d never shown up, I would’ve missed so much more than I already had.
What if I’d missed the whole thing? I rubbed at my chest in hopes of chasing away the ache that’d bloomed.
The only thing that’d taken it away was the entry dated just after her doctor’s appointment on my birthday. She’d placed the sonogram image at the end.
I think I’m falling in love with the man I’m having a baby with, and that is both completely terrifying and absolutely amazing at the same time.
Skimming the rest of the passage, I tried not to smile like a fucking idiot but failed miserably.
I’d held her in that office and made promises to protect those I cared about, all the while wanting to tell her how much I loved her and our son.
Keeping that inside had been excruciating.
All I could do was overthink. Were we moving too fast?
Too slow, given the circumstances? Did she even want me, or did she just feel like she needed me?
But seeing her fall in love with me through her words put all of that to rest. Sawyer was just as gone for me as I was for her.
There were so many amazing moments in this journal that I hoped she wouldn't stop now. Maybe she could go back to add in the month she’d missed, or pick it back up and finish out her pregnancy strong. Maybe I could also add my own contribution to this.
I pulled out my phone and shot Tate a text.
Me:
You up?
Tate:
Not really the person I want to get that kind of late text from, but yes.
Tate:
What’s up?
I rolled my eyes. Tate didn’t even know anyone in this town save for our little group. She was just trying to get under my skin.
Me:
Ha ha. That’s funny.
Me:
I need some help with a project, and you’re the only person I know who is a genius with craft paper and glue.
Tate:
I thought you’d never ask. What do you have in mind?