Chapter 21

Hound

I shake my head when she buries her pretty face into my t-shirt.

“That came out like pressure, and I promise you I’m not pressuring you. I won’t lie to you either.” I tilt her chin until her tear-stained eyes are looking directly into mine. “I can’t make a move until you make yours.”

I release her chin, my hand falling naturally to the place her body holds my precious child, the tiny bundle of cells I may never get to meet.

My heart constricts at the thought.

“You’d want to raise this baby?” I hate the uncertainty in her voice.

“I told you it’s your choice.” I’ve said it more than once, and it gets harder each and every damn time.

“And I’m asking about your stance.”

“You know where I stand. I told you yesterday in the truck.”

“Dammit,” she says as she pushes away from my chest until she’s sitting crossed-legged on the bed. “You told me I have options, but I need to know that if I keep this baby, you’ll want to be involved. I don’t want to force you into anything.”

“Force me?” I can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness. “Are you sitting there and telling me that I’m the deciding factor.”

My lip curls in rage at her stoic posture and the way she refuses to answer my question.

“It’s your fucking choice!” I yell and climb off of the bed.

“I can’t do this alone,” she screams, just as angry as I am.

I tilt my head and swallow the words I want to say, the ones that won’t be received well and speak slowly. “You. Don’t. Have. To.”

“You’ll help raise this baby?” She’s asked that now several times, each one like a jackhammer to my heart.

“I want to raise this baby.” Tears streak her face. “More than anything, I want the chance to be a dad. From start to finish. From day one until the day I die, I want it.”

She nods but doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t calm my fears or attempt to appease me with even a small smile.

“I’m tired.”

Two simple words.

Seven letters that do nothing to hint at where her mind is at.

I want to rush to the bed, shake her, and force her to make the right decision. I want to beg her to keep our baby. I want to redden her ass for even contemplating an alternative to bringing that precious child into the world. I want to tease her, suck her clit, and keep her orgasm just out of reach until she agrees that there is but one choice in the matter.

I do none of those things.

I watch the sway of her naked ass and the swish of her gorgeous brown hair as she lies down on the bed, back pointed in my direction. I run my hands harshly over my head as she tugs up the sheets and covers the silkiness of her back, hiding herself from me.

Her breathing is still ragged as I tug on my jeans, boots, and t-shirt.

“I’m going to grab something to eat.” She doesn’t move. Doesn’t look over her shoulder. Doesn’t offer one word. “Can I get you anything?”

A simple shake of her head. “I can’t keep anything down.”

I turn and leave the room because the alternative of climbing in behind her, wrapping her in my arms, and soothing her until she falls asleep isn’t an option.

The small store in the hotel has nothing to offer other than shitty Vegas memorabilia and antacids. A quick internet search on my phone is so uninformative, I’m wondering how women have managed to have healthy babies at all. The information provided is always contradicted by another post. Do this. Do that. NEVER do this. It’s overwhelming. The only thing that seems to have the least objections is that ginger ale and crackers seem to be a lifesaver. She had that last night, so I set out to grab myself a burger and supplies to settle her stomach.

While at the burger joint, I go ahead and grab one for her as well, hoping she’ll be up for something more than carbs and soda.

Just like when you’re buying a new car and narrow it down to one or two, and you start to notice that car everywhere, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I notice every child. I focus on their laughter, their crying, the innocent questions they ask their parents while standing in line at the pharmacy.

Back at the hotel, trying to wake Gigi is pointless. She’s out like a light and isn’t interested in ginger ale and crackers, so I sit on the couch and eat, never taking my eyes off of the soft rise and fall of her back. I can’t help but wonder if my child in her stomach is the reason I’m so drawn to her.

I shake my head, clearing it of the ridiculous thought. She was a sleek piece of metal and I a magnet, feverishly attracted to her long before I knew about the baby, long before I put that child inside of her. The memories of seeing her on that stage for the first time flood my brain and all of my other senses. The slide of her athletic thighs on the pole. The roll of her abdominals. The perfect sway of her hips.

I run a rough hand over the erection tenting my jeans. It’s pure physical attraction, unadulterated need from knowing just what it feels like to slide inside of her. It’s carnal, instinctual biology to be attracted to, to crave the person who’s continuing your bloodline.

After eating, I lie back on the sofa, arms behind my head, feet propped on the end because it’s way too fucking small for my body. How I fall asleep with the distance between us, I have no clue, but my slumber is short lived.

I snap awake, unsure of what pulled me from a dreamless sleep until I hear a small whimper fill the silence in the room.

The once soft up and down of Gigi’s back as she slept has been replaced with jagged jerks with her sobs.

I don’t consider the ramifications. I don’t worry if she wants me to touch her or not. I climb off the couch, hitting the lights and enveloping the room in darkness before climbing on the bed behind her.

“Shhh,” I purr in her ear. “I’m here.”

My comfort only makes her cry harder, so I don’t say another word. I don’t ask her what’s wrong. I don’t offer advice. I don’t tell her what she should do or remind her of her options. I hold her, as close to my chest as I can manage without suffocating her. I lean my head in and breathe in her scent, nose pressed deep into her hair. At first, she’s a stiff board in my arms, but as the sobbing ebbs away her body relaxes and she settles into my hold. She allows herself the comfort of my embrace until her breathing begins to match mine.

Not a word is spoken. Not a promise is made, but I reassure her with the light sweep of my fingers on her arm. I touch her hip, pushing her legs until she’s curled in a ball, I mirror her position and nestle her even closer.

Just when I think she’s asleep, she speaks with a hint of devastation and sadness in her voice.

“I’d be a horrible mother.”

I squeeze her. I can’t object to her assessment. I don’t know hardly anything about her, and lying isn’t really my thing.

“My mom is the greatest,” she continues. “There’s no way I could ever even come close to being like her. Bake sales, PTO, and fucking classroom chaperoning?”

She gives a humorless chuckle and shakes her head a little.

“That’s not me. I can’t even picture myself doing those things.”

I open my mouth to tell her I’d do all of those things in her place. The idea of taking a handful of rowdy kids to the zoo and experience everyday sights through the brand-new eyes of a child sounds like a great time to me. I close my mouth again, only opening my lips slightly to brush them over the soft skin of her naked shoulder.

She begins crying again, torn with her decision.

“I don’t want to abort this baby.” I smile against her skin, my heart filling with eagerness. “But I can’t see myself as a mother either. I thought it was instinctual. I thought once my suspicions were confirmed with the positive test I would transition from who I am into someone different.”

All she gets is silence from me, and since she hasn’t called me out on it, I imagine it’s just what she needs.

“But I’m not different.” She shakes her head slightly to punctuate her point. “Other than the sickness I don’t even feel different. I still want to run. I want to take off and put it behind me, but no matter where I go this baby will be right there. I can’t run from this.”

She clasps my hand and lowers it to the flatness of her stomach. She doesn’t say another word. She merely takes one last shuddering breath and falls asleep.

My eyes stay on her until the pink hue of the dawn stabs across the room. It’s only then that I take my eyes off of her, that I stop counting her breaths and allow myself to get a little rest. Later today, no matter which way she decides, she’s going to make a life-altering decision. One that’s going to change the course of my previously decided future.