28. Dane Gallagher #3
I move us back until we hit the pool wall and brace her there—something solid beneath us—and she lets out a sharper breath when the angle changes, her grip tightening, nails pressing into my shoulders.
“There,” she says. “Right there. Don’t stop. Fuck me.”
I find the rhythm and hold it—steady and deep—her back against the tile, her legs locked around me. She’s trying to talk, but it breaks apart—my name, fragments, breath—until it’s just sound, her forehead dropping to mine, her whole body tightening.
“Come on,” I say, low, close to her mouth. “Let go, Charlotte.”
“Ohh… Dane—”
“I’ve got you.”
She comes apart against me, her face pressed into my neck. I keep her there through it until she softens, her weight settling fully into me.
“Fuck, Char—”
I pull out and finish, my cum disappearing into the water. The sound that leaves me is low and rough, completely out of my control.
My forehead drops to her shoulder. “Woo.”
Her hand comes up to the back of my neck and stays there, neither of us moving for a moment.
“Convenient,” Charlotte says, laughing softly. “The pool takes care of the mess for you.”
“Shut up.”
Her fingers trace slow, absent circles at the back of my neck. I lift my head and look at her. She looks wrecked in the best way—hair slicked back, lips soft and swollen, the blue glow from the pool lights rippling across her skin and catching along her collarbone.
“You’re very smug,” I say.
She laughs. “I’m not smug. This is just my face, Dane.”
I hold her there for another second, then lean in and kiss her, slower this time. She makes a soft sound against my mouth.
When I pull back, she tips her head against the pool edge and looks up at the sky. “I wish you could come inside me.”
I still for a moment. “Yeah. Me too.”
Charlotte lowers her head, her eyes locking on mine. “I wish things were different. That we didn’t have to hold back from something a husband and wife should be able to enjoy.”
She sighs. “But things aren’t different. We’re exactly what we thought we were. Grandad confirmed it today when I asked. What we’ve suspected all along.”
I let that settle for a second.
Part of me had hoped Ryan was wrong. That there was another explanation. Maybe another man somewhere in the story neither of us knew about.
There wasn't.
“Then we definitely need condoms. I’ll go out for some tomorrow. First thing.”
“First thing,” she echoes. “Before we do anything else.” Her legs stay around me, both of us drifting with the water. “Because your self-control is seriously lacking.”
“My self-control?” I look at her. “You’re the one who wrapped your legs around me.”
“I was being friendly.”
“You were absolutely not being friendly.”
She grins up at the sky—that same mischievous grin I know so well. Then she lets go of me and pushes away, drifting out into the pool.
I push off the wall and drift back a little myself, following her gaze up into the night sky.
“You need to see a gynecologist. Your pregnancy with Connor—” I stop, then try again. “Something wasn’t right.”
“I’m afraid,” she says, softer now. “Afraid of hearing something I don’t want to hear.”
“I know, but you have to do it. We need to know you’re healthy.”
She stares up at the stars for a moment. “I know. Part of me wants to know. The other part wants to keep avoiding it for a little longer.”
The hard part isn't the examination. It's everything that comes after. The questions. The explanations. The things we've never had to say out loud.
“You left here a kid. You didn’t come back one. A doctor’s going to see that you’ve had sex and given birth. They’re going to ask questions.”
“I think that’s something that must stay between the doctor and me.”
For both our sakes, I hope that’s how it works.
“I’ll talk to them about birth control while I’m there. I’m not against condoms. I just... I’d rather use something that doesn’t get in the way. Something we don’t have to stop for.”
“Birth control isn’t your responsibility alone. It’s on me too.” I think about it for a moment. “I’m pretty sure there’s some kind of surgery a man can get so he can’t get a woman pregnant. I can look into that.”
“No.” Immediate. “No, Dane.”
“It would make sense. We know what we are. We can’t have a child together.”
She looks back up at the sky, jaw set. “I hate that. The idea of never seeing a little you running around.”
“A little me would be a nightmare,” I say, trying to take the edge off it. “You’d regret that pretty quickly.”
She doesn’t smile.
“Maybe there’s another way,” she says after a moment. “People can do things differently. We don’t know what our options are yet. We shouldn’t make a decision that permanent when we don’t have all the information.”
Maybe she’s right. We left this world as children, and now we’re trying to figure it out through adult eyes.
“We don’t have to decide tonight,” I say. “We’ll use condoms for now and figure the rest out later.”
“Okay.”
Neither of us has answers. Not really.
The future used to be something we didn't think about. Survival took up all the space.
Now there are doctors and families and houses and choices.
An entire life waiting for us.