CHAPTER NINETEEN
Bryce
The trilling sound of my phone drags me away from my computer screen, where I got lost in a vortex of invoices and event request forms. I used to keep it on silent, but ever since finding out about Leanne and the baby, I’ve had it on at all times—never wanting to miss a call if she needs something. But she never does.
Which is why seeing her name on the screen now takes me by surprise. It’s the first time she’s actually called me… and I’m usually the one initiating our text conversations too.
“Leanne?” I answer.
“Hey,” she says with a watery sniffle that has me on immediate alert.
“What’s wrong?” I ask with too much force, panic infiltrating my entire body. Every worst-case scenario plays out in my head in double time. She’s miscarrying. She’s hurt. She was in an accident.
“I-I just told my family.” She hiccups in a way that tells me she’s holding back the worst of her tears.
The initial panic plummets, but my anxiety has me rapid-firing questions at her: “What happened? Are they upset? I thought you wanted to wait a while longer?”
“Jesus, Bryce, give me a fucking break,” she snaps, the anger she defaults to when she’s avoiding being vulnerable flaring to life.
We’re a real pair, aren’t we.
I deserve her irritation though. I’m teetering between panic and fix-it mode, and neither is what she needs from me right now. I suck in a sharp inhale and exhale as slowly as I can.
“Sorry,” I say with feigned calm. “What happened?”
I can’t imagine her family being upset about this. Yeah, it’s unplanned, but everything I remember about them from the wedding would lead me to believe they’d be supportive of Leanne no matter what.
Her anger dissipates as quickly as it flared. “I… I don’t…” She begins to cry in earnest and it rips my heart out. “Can you… Can you come over? I know it’s late, but I don’t want to be alone right now.”
Now this is progress. She’s asking for me and I’m already on my feet.
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Are you hungry?”
She sniffles and hiccups. I’d bet she is but doesn’t want to ask—doesn’t want to rely on me. She’s still reluctant to fully let me in, to let down her walls, and all I want is to tear them apart. Brick by ever-loving brick.
“Grilled cheese?” I prompt and am rewarded with a weak chuckle from the other end of the line.
“Yeah,” she says, admitting defeat. “That sounds amazing actually. I didn’t get to eat dinner.”
“I’m on my way,” I say, floating to my truck on a high.
She called me.
I’m on Leanne’s front porch with takeout in my hands for the third time in three weeks. I rap my knuckles on the heavy dark wood door and shudder at the gust of wind that blows past my ears.
Leanne swings the door open. Her eyes are red and puffy, and I’m once again frozen with uncertainty over whether or not it’s appropriate to touch her.
What I want is to pull her into my arms and take away the burdens that plague her—she looks like she’s carrying so many.
What I want is to hold on until she trusts me enough to share the load.
What I want is for her to want that.
But this isn’t about what I want; this is about her.
So, I follow her lead, and when she rakes her eyes down my body, over the thermal I’m wearing untucked with my wranglers, I offer her a warm smile and move a few inches closer. Making the first move but giving her the space to decide what happens next.
To my surprise, she steps into me and rests her head against my chest.
My inner lovesick fool does a fist pump and an end zone celly dance because she initiated contact and I’m going to run with it.
I bring my arms around her, wishing the takeout bag wasn’t keeping me from embracing her fully.
I nuzzle my nose against her hair and take in the smell of her shampoo.
Rosemary and something softer, like lilac, overtake my senses.
Her deep inhale presses her tighter against my chest and tells me she’s breathing in my scent as well.
Can she feel my heart beating erratically where we’re connected?
“Hiya, blondie,” I say, gently rubbing my free hand up and down her spine. It’s heaven to be able to touch her.
She arches her back to look up and I hate the sadness around her eyes—not a glare in sight for my use of her favorite nickname. “Hey.”
“Let’s get you some food, yeah?”
She steps away with a nod, and my body instantly misses her presence. But I can hold her later, for as long as she wants. Right now, she needs to eat.
I lay out the contents of the takeout bag on the counter, and she reaches for the Styrofoam tub.
“Is this soup?” Her eyes brighten with interest.
I nod. “Tomato basil. It’s good with the grilled cheese. Or it will reheat well tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” She says it so genuinely I get an odd flutter in my stomach. Then she peels back the lid of the container and nervously sniffs the contents. Her shoulders relax and she sighs. “This smells amazing.”
“I’m glad. Have you been feeling sick again?”
“Not exactly…” She chews her lip, and instead of answering further, grabs a spoon. Without bothering to transfer it to a bowl, she heads for the couch with it.
I slide her sandwich onto a plate and follow her. “What do you mean not exactly? If the meds aren’t helping anymore, you should let Becca know.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not the meds.” She lifts the spoon to her mouth and the first bite is cautious, like she doesn’t trust it won’t make her sick. But after the first swallow, she sinks back, releasing a groan. “This is exactly what I needed. Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome. Now answer my question.”
“You’re so bossy,” she snarks, slurping another bite of soup off her spoon. “I found my first food aversion tonight.”
“Okay…” Now we’re getting somewhere. “What happened?” I ask.
She sets down her spoon and sighs. “My dad cooked beef tenderloin for dinner. It’s always been a favorite of mine, but it looks like this one”—she flattens a palm against her stomach—“is not a fan. The smell alone sent me running for the bathroom.”
“Ah, I assume that led to… questions?” I ask, and she nods. “I’m sorry, Leanne.”
She shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I know it is. She wasn’t ready to tell them. No wonder she was so upset when she called me.
She called me. That fact still makes my chest puff up with warmth and pride.
“They’re upset about it?” I ask, inching closer to her on the couch and letting my elbows rest against my knees.
She hangs her head and turns away from me. I fucking hate it. I don’t want her to hide from me, ever.
“I don’t really know how they feel about it. I didn’t get a chance to find out before I walked out.”
But why? I want to shout, but I carefully ask for what I need instead. “You’ve got to give me a bit more to go off of here.”
She shifts uncomfortably before finally meeting my gaze. “They assumed I must’ve gotten back with Craig, or at least that we… you know…”
Hurt flares behind her hazel irises, and in response, a growl emanates from deep in my chest—where the hell did that come from?
But seriously? That fucking guy?
“They basically ambushed me, and the mention of Craig set me off. I yelled at them and walked out.”
“And then you called me.”
She nods, chewing her lip. “And then I called you.”
“I’m glad you did. I’m sorry you were forced into telling them before you were ready.”
“I wanted to make it to the second trimester. I wanted to have a plan of what to tell them… About you, about…”
I catch my breath, silently begging her to say “us.” When she doesn’t, I fill it in for her.
“What do you want to tell them about us?” I close the space further, until I’m right next to her.
She keeps her gaze locked on the container of soup in her hands, so I reach for it and put it down on the coffee table.
The slow lift of her chin reveals the nervousness in her expression; her eyes are wary and her bottom lip is caught between her teeth. “I don’t know. That’s why I wanted more time. Instead of screaming at them that I had a one-night stand.”
My mouth hangs open in shock. “Is that what you said?”
“Yup.” She pops the P and her cheeks turn scarlet. I roll my lips between my teeth to hide my smile and she shoves my shoulder. “It’s not funny.”
I chuckle and reach for her hand, my thumb swiping across her soft skin. “Do you like me, blondie?” I ask lightly.
She rolls her eyes. “You’re less infuriating than I used to think you were.”
“Wow, so flattering,” I muse. “You’re going to give me a big head with praise like that.”
She scoffs and tries to pull her hand away, but I hold fast, letting it pull me closer to her instead.
“Do you like me?” I repeat the question with more seriousness this time.
“I-I guess I do,” she whispers, and our eyes lock.
“Okay. That’s a start. You like me, I like you.
” I like her so much. “You want this, I want this.” I want this so much.
“We’re having a baby together. The rest we can and will figure out together.
I want you to call me when you need something, whether it’s because you’re sick or because you’re mad at your parents or because you want grilled cheese.
” She chuckles at this, and the soft smile it leaves behind scrambles my brain.
I shake my head to clear it. “You can tell your family whatever you want about us, and I’ll back you up, alright? ”
“Alright,” she whispers, but her words catch.
I angle my head toward her. “I can’t hear you, Leanne. Tell me you know we’re in this together.”
“We’re in this together,” she says with another roll of her eyes. The smile is still there though—if anything, it’s growing.
“Hell yes we are. Your family will come around,” I say, completely confident. “And if they don’t… I’ll be here.”
“You really will be, won’t you?” She searches my face for the truth.
It won’t be hard for her to find it. “As much as you’ll let me.”
She chews her lip again. “I have another appointment in a few weeks. Do you want to go?”
“More than anything,” I say, and then I pull her into me and hold her close, relishing the feel of her in my arms.