Ashlei
Everything is quiet under here.
Eyes closed, breath locked in my chest, hair floating all around me.
The bath water is warm, pleasant against my sore muscles after physical therapy. And while nothing has been able to calm my racing thoughts over the last couple of weeks, this is pretty close to peace.
Here, submerged, I can hear my heartbeat.
And I swear I can almost hear hers.
Or maybe it’s his. I won’t know for a while.
But she feels like a girl. She feels like she’s got my sass, my competitiveness, my will to never back down.
I find myself wondering about her far too often already.
Will she be athletic? Intelligent? Funny?
Charming? Will she have her dad’s eyes or mine?
Whose smile? Whose temper — because either way, she’s likely in trouble, and so are we.
My lungs start searing in my chest, and I come up for a breath, warm water dripping down my face as I blink my eyes open.
The bathroom is dark, save for the little bit of sunlight streaming in from the door I left open. It gets too hot in here when I take a bath, but the open door lets in a draft, and I relax as a gentle breeze wafts over my face.
Everything is loud up here.
Out of the water, anxiety attacks me, pressing me to tell Brandon while also warning me that when I do, I might not get the reaction I want.
What reaction do I want? I don’t even know.
But fear has me gripped, has the microphone on the stage of my mind as it swears to me that he won’t want our baby — or me once he finds out I slipped on my birth control and made this possible at all.
That anxiety leads straight into wondering if I could do it alone, if I could be strong enough to raise a child without him. How badly would I damage her if I did it on my own? How many times would I fail her in the process of trying to raise her right?
I suppose, partner or not, we all mess our kids up somehow.
Rich, poor, doting parents, or alcoholics — we can trace so much of our trauma back to the mother and father who bore us.
That sends another pang through my chest, and I sigh, sinking down under water once more to block out all the noise.
I think I knew even before I took the test. I think I knew the moment it happened, the very second I felt him spill inside me.
It’s like I sensed his little swimmers on their mission, felt my eggs drop and open up.
I woke in the middle of the night that night, my back to Brandon’s chest, his arms around my stomach, and I swore I felt it — that little connection inside me that would spark life.
It’s why I didn’t drink at my own bachelorette party.
I faked shots, putting the liquid in my mouth only to spit them into the drink I pretended to chase the shot with.
When the girls ordered me a drink, I’d sip on it so lightly I barely tasted it at all until they weren’t looking and I could ditch it.
When I ordered my own, it was soda water and lime.
I knew.
I just knew, and the anxiety was too much to not see proof on a little stick.
I took my first pregnancy test before we left for the trip, but of course, it was too soon then.
It hadn’t even been a full week since Brandon and I had returned from St. John.
But that last night of the bachelorette, when Cassie was wailing over kissing a stranger, and Erin was fuming over something she wouldn’t tell us about, and Skyler was getting railed by Kip somewhere across the resort, and Jess was swiping between two photos of the men she loves… I felt it again.
That kick in my chest.
That stirring in my gut.
I just knew it was time to take the test again.
And when I did, the word pregnant showed up on the little screen just like I knew it would.
Since then, I’ve taken multiple tests, just to be sure — and it’s been the same result every time. There’s no denying it.
I have a little human growing inside me.
A smile spreads on my lips, warmth washing over my soul at the thought, and then I’m jerked out of the water and back to reality.
“Ashlei! Jesus Christ, are you okay? What are you doing?”
I wipe the water out of my eyes to find a worried Brandon holding me by the arms — careful of my still-healing shoulder — and searching my eyes like he’s sure he just saved me from a suicide attempt.
“I’m taking a bath. Wanna join?”
“You were under water.”
I shrug. “It’s just quiet.”
He sighs, releasing me and taking a seat on the edge of the tub. He pinches the bridge of his nose, laughing a little as he shakes his head. “God. Sorry. I just… I thought…”
“I hate physical therapy, but I don’t hate it that bad,” I tease.
He gives me a grim smile. “It’s just… you’ve been different lately. You’ve been… distant.”
I grimace. “I know.”
“Did I do something? Did I… did we rush into getting married and now you’re regretting it?”
I balk, sitting up so fast some of the water splashes onto the edge of the tub. “Oh, my God, no. Of course not.” I squeeze his forearm. “Baby, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been now that I’m Mrs. Church.”
His shoulders release again, and he covers my hand with his. “Is it your shoulder?”
I chew my lip, knowing I can’t keep it from him any longer.
All I can do is pray this won’t be the end of our fairy tale.
“My shoulder is sore,” I confess. “PT is kicking my ass. But… there’s something else. Something I need to tell you.”
“Okay…” Brandon swallows. “Tell me. Anything.”
I take a long breath, releasing it fully before I grab his hand in mine. Slowly, I sink it into the water, pulling him forward a little until he’s touching my stomach.
He frowns at first, and then heat glosses his eyes, those dark irises flashing with want when he looks at me again. He smirks, just a little, and slides his hand down farther.
“Is this what you want, Mrs. Church?” he asks, his fingers brushing against my clit as he leans in for a kiss.
My pussy flutters at the touch, legs clenching, but I laugh in his face before pulling his hand back up. “No, pervert.” I pause. “Well, at least, not right now. Hold that thought. First…” I hold his hand to my stomach again, pressing my palm over his and holding it there.
He looks down at the water, at where he’s holding me, frowning when he finds my gaze again. “I don’t understand.”
I swallow, applying a little more pressure so that his palm is splayed flat against my belly. My eyes search his under lifted brows, waiting, not able to say the words.
And just like it did for me, I see the exact moment it hits him.
His frown disappears, the line between his eyebrows wiped clean as his eyes double in size. His lips part, gaze falling to my stomach before slowly crawling back up to my eyes.
“You’re…”
“Pregnant,” I finish for him, and my eyes water with the admission, with the weight of releasing the truth. I nod. “Yes.”
He lets out a short breath through his gaping mouth, but it’s slack, no emotion one way or another evident in his eyes or lips. He looks as if he’s seen a ghost, or has just been told the meaning of life and finds it impossible to fathom.
His eyes slowly trail down again, sticking to the spot where his hand is pressed against my stomach. His fingers curl, just a centimeter, the tips of them indenting my skin softly.
Then his eyes snap to mine, brimming with tears, and he makes that same sound again — the short puff of air through his open mouth.
Only this time, it’s a laugh.
“You’re pregnant,” he whispers, the first tear slipping free. It falls so quickly off the apple of his cheek that I don’t even have time to reach for it.
“I’m pregnant,” I repeat, and I blame the damn hormones for the way my eyes instantly water, too.
“We’re having a baby.”
My heart pinches to the size of a penny before exploding into a hot air balloon. “We are. I mean… if… if you want to.”
All emotion leaves his face then, frown back in place. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I just… I understand if you don’t want to be a part of this. We didn’t plan it. I know you’ve been avid about me taking my birth control and being careful. We haven’t even talked about kids and…” I rub my belly next to where his hand still rests. “I can do it on my own, if you—”
I’m swooped out of the tub in the next instant, the words stuck in my throat as water sloshes out of the tub and off of me, soaking the rug and the bathroom floor and all of Brandon’s suit.
“You are fucking mad if you think you’ll ever have to do it alone,” he breathes against my lips before kissing me, punishing and promising all at once. “You’re mine, Ashlei Church. And that little boy is ours.”
“Boy?” I say on a laugh, the release of which seems to deflate my anxiety in one fell swoop. “How do you know if it’s a boy?”
“I just know.”
“Well, I think it’s a girl,” I say as he carries me out of the bathroom and plops me into our sheets, not a care in the world that we’re both soaking wet.
Brandon takes a moment to appreciate my body splayed out on the bed before he lowers down over me, gently, carefully, and starts peppering my stomach with soft, slow kisses.
“Should we make a bet?” he asks between them.
“Only if you want to lose.”
“I think I win either way,” he argues, those kisses trailing up over my breasts, my neck, my jaw, until he’s at my lips. “Because boy or girl, they have you as a mom. And I have you as my wife.”
I can’t help the visible swoon that rolls off me at his words, and he chuckles into my mouth as he kisses me, rolling over to the side a bit so his hand can splay on my stomach once more.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” I whisper, arching a little into his touch as his hand inches down.
“Why does knowing you’re carrying my baby make me want to fuck you so goddamn bad I can hardly breathe?”
My legs squeeze together of their own accord, but Brandon reaches down to grab my thigh and pulls it toward him, spreading me once again.
“Because you love to own me,” I say, biting his lower lip. “In every. Single. Way.”
A growl is affirmation that I’m right, and then Brandon squeezes my thigh before jumping off the bed.
His eyes bore into mine as he unfastens his belt, shoves the button of his pants through the slip, and rips the zipper down.
He tugs at his tie next, undoing the knot with expert hands as I spread my knees wider for him, one hand palming my breast as the other slips between my legs.
His breathing turns wild, erratic as he watches me, but he doesn’t fumble with his clothes. He takes each layer off with precision and power radiating off him, just like always, until he’s nude and hard and pulsing with need.
He descends on me like a wolf, his mouth crashing into mine before he sits back on his heels, admiring the view of me spread before him.
He trails a finger down one of my legs, pulling my ankle to his lips before setting it on his shoulder.
He does the same with the other leg, hiking it up high, until my back is flat in the sheets and both ankles are balanced on his shoulders.
I’ve seen Brandon lust for me — ever since that first day in the elevator at Okay, Cool, I’ve seen how badly he desires me. But this… the carnal way his hands grip me, the somehow careful yet relentless way he fills me as I stretch and arch and cry out his name?
This isn’t just want, or need, or dominance.
It’s love.
It’s the kind of love that drives a man mad, that sends soldiers to war, that breaks up continents and rains down hellfire on earth.
It’s the damning, redeeming, torturous and ecstasy-inducing rush he’ll never get enough of, an always-present yearning that will never leave him sated.
But I’m the lucky woman who gets to watch him try.
Brandon makes love to me for the rest of the evening, and well into the night and early morning, until we’re both so sore and weak we can barely move to give ourselves sustenance.
Turns out my fears were unfounded.
Turns out this man of mine is everything I knew he was and more.
Turns out I’m going to be a mom.
And boy or girl, my baby is going to have the best dad ever.