Chapter 10
RAIDEN
The first thing I did after she fell asleep in my bed that night was take the following morning off.
I didn’t ask. Didn’t run it by anyone. Just sent a text to my assistant letting her know I wouldn’t be coming in and to reschedule my afternoon walkthrough at The Tight Line. Or have Micah deal with it. It could wait.
Marissa couldn’t.
In the morning, I had a moving company load her shit onto a truck and bring it to our home. I stocked the fridge with the stupid organic yogurt she liked and rearranged the pantry so her prenatal vitamins were within arm’s reach, right next to the cereal she told me she loved.
After a week, there were still unopened boxes in the guest room, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to claim space in my world.
I decided to take charge and make sure she knew this wasn’t fucking temporary.
By the time she woke up the next day, I’d already cleared out the top two drawers in my dresser and emptied space in my closet, then filled them with her clothes.
I moved the toothbrushes around so hers wasn’t shoved into the corner of the bathroom counter like an afterthought.
I tossed my razors and shaving cream into a drawer and laid her face wash and serum neatly beside the sink.
The throw blanket she liked to snuggle under was on the couch with a tin of ginger candies on the end table beside it.
I didn’t make a big deal about it, just made the changes that would make her feel like this was her home.
When I walked back into the bedroom, Marissa was padding into the bathroom wearing one of my shirts, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
She stopped in the doorway like she’d walked into a stranger’s apartment.
I watched her expression change in the reflection of the mirror as her gaze swept the counter, the chair I’d placed at the vanity, and a drawer I’d left open so she would know it was for her.
She turned around, and her gaze went to the open closet door that revealed all her clothing neatly hung up next to mine. Then she noticed the jewelry box and other trinkets on my dresser before murmuring, “Did you do all this this morning?”
I shrugged. “You needed drawer space.”
A flush crept into her cheeks, but she didn’t argue.
I led her out to the kitchen, and she paused again when she spied the breakfast I’d made sitting on the island.
I didn’t say anything. Just pulled out a stool and handed her a fork, then poured her orange juice.
She took the glass with a small smile and sat down, that cautious hope in her eyes again. The kind that made me want to put a ring on her finger.
That first week and the one that followed were a slow transformation. Not just to the apartment, but for us as well.
Marissa wasn’t the type to depend on anyone. She didn’t want to be taken care of. Didn’t want to be hovered over. She said she could manage on her own.
So I let her. Sometimes.
I backed off where it made sense. Let her handle her own schedule and didn’t interfere when she had video calls or deadlines.
But I made sure she never had to worry about anything else.
Groceries showed up when the fridge was almost empty.
Her vitamins sat by her water glass every morning.
Her favorite tea was stocked in the cabinet.
Soft slippers next to the bed. A plush robe hanging in the bathroom.
She called it sweet.
I called it nonnegotiable.
She rolled her eyes the first time I walked her to the couch and tucked her blanket around her legs after she yawned. “You know I can do that myself, right?”
I dropped beside her, pulled her against me, and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “I know you can. Don’t care. I’m still doing it.”
She didn’t argue after that.
Our nights were the best part, though. At first, I tried to keep my hands to myself. She was pregnant. Tired. I didn’t want her thinking the only reason I wanted her in my bed was sex. So I held back. I just wrapped around her at night, pulled her in close, and stayed still.
Mostly.
Every time she shifted in her sleep, pressing her hips against me or tucking her cold feet between my calves, I had to fight not to groan. She was always warm and soft, smelled like soap, and wore my shirt.
I slept better than I ever had before, and I woke up every morning with her tangled in my arms. The world made sense again.
I wasn’t used to living with someone. Not since college, and even then, it wasn’t like this. Micah had been the only roommate I could stand back then. He kept his shit clean, didn’t play his music too loud, and never ate my protein powder.
But this was different.
Living with Marissa wasn’t like sharing a space. It was like claiming one. Putting roots down and watching them wrap around her, slow and sure and permanent.
I liked seeing her shit mixed with mine. Opening the fridge and seeing her favorite flavored water next to my sports drinks. I even liked the way she left a trail of socks, bobby pins, and half-used lotion tubes in her wake.
It made the place feel lived in. Like a home.
I wanted to tell her that I loved her, but I wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t ready to hear it yet.
So I showed her in the only ways I knew how. With my hands. My time. With a thousand small things she didn’t even notice I was doing.
Calling her doctor and double-checking the list of pregnancy-safe vitamins, switching our laundry detergent to the hypoallergenic kind, and buying blackout curtains for the bedroom so she could sleep better.
And I’d keep doing it. Every damn day until she realized what I already knew.
She caught me looking at her belly one night while brushing her teeth.
We’d just finished dinner. She wore a tank top, and a sliver of skin was visible above her hips, which were wrapped in ridiculous fuzzy shorts that looked like they’d been made out of a Muppet. And I couldn’t stop staring.
“You keep looking at me like that,” she mumbled around her toothbrush, “and I’m going to develop a complex.”
“I’m just looking for…” I dropped to my knees in front of her and pushed her shirt up to examine her tummy. I didn’t want to tell her what I was trying so hard to see.
Proof. Physical evidence that I’d buried myself so deep in her body, I’d left a part of me behind. A bump, or even just the slightest swelling of her stomach.
Marissa spit out the toothpaste and rinsed her mouth, then put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at me. “It’s too soon.”
I stood and stepped around behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and resting my chin on her shoulder.
“Too soon for what?” My tone was all innocence.
She sighed, but it ended with a cute giggle. “Too early to prove you’ve done your manly duty and knocked me up.”
I tried to look offended, but I couldn’t stop the shit-eating grin that spread across my face. “I’m just excited to see your belly grow.”
Marissa huffed. “Stop wishing for me to get big faster!”
“Why? You’ll look every bit as beautiful and fucking sexy as you do right now,” I murmured, sliding one hand down to splay across her belly. “Maybe more.”
Her eyes met mine in the mirror, and something soft bloomed in her gaze.
My lips brushed over her temple before I whispered, “I can’t wait to meet the little troublemaker we made.”
She blinked fast and nodded. “Me neither.”
I almost blurted it out and told her how much I loved her, but I stopped myself at the last second.
Are you sure you’re waiting for the right time, Shaffer? Or are you just scared?
I wasn’t ready to answer that question.
The next night, I was relaxing on the couch, watching an old game, when I caught myself daydreaming about baby names.
Ridiculous, maybe. But I couldn’t help it.
Names. Nurseries. Game days with our kids in my jersey. Teaching them how to throw a spiral. Marissa and I tucking them in at night. I was so fucking ready to build this life with her. Hell, I’d never been more ready for anything before.
When I glanced at her on the other end of the sofa—her legs curled under her, her lips curved around the rim of a tea mug, her eyes flicking over some article on her tablet—I felt something click into place.
She looked up and caught me staring. Not that this was unusual for me.
Still, she arched her brow and asked, “What?”
I just shook my head. “Nothing. Just…I like having you here.”
She smiled, slow and sweet, and set her mug down. “I like being here.”
I reached out and grabbed her legs, dragging her over to me, then bent to kiss her, and whispered against her lips, “Good. ’Cause I’m not letting you go.”
This was mine.
She was mine.