CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I lay back on the bed smiling, listening to Sutton talk about her plans for the day. She’s lounging on her stomach in her bra and panties, scrolling through some work on her phone. I’m one lucky son of a bitch. I’ve never been so happy in my whole life as I have been the past few weeks.
You ever have that time when things are just going your way? That’s me right now. I’m seriously in the zone. Sutton and I are having hot, amazing, mind-blowing sex every chance we get. Both our hotels are doing great. Even the fucking weather is perfect. To top it all off, no more visits to Dr. Lorraine’s prison. I’m a free man. Everything is going my way. And tomorrow is our night in the luxury suite. Things couldn’t be better.
Leaning over, I place a kiss on the small of her back. She arches, her tight ass pushing up. Letting my hand wander her curves, she flashes me a look over her shoulder. “I need to get ready for work.”
I groan and pull her on top of me. “It’s not even seven.”
“I know, but I want to meet with the pool designer before they get started today. I was thinking of changing . . .”
“Babe, you didn’t get home until after midnight last night.” Then we had some record-breaking sex, so she’s functioning on three hours of sleep max. She’s been doing it for days and days. She’s the only person I know that works more than me, but I remember what it was like when I was first starting out. “You’re working too hard.”
“I’m fine,” she says, popping to her feet.
“Please be home early tonight,” I say and take her hand. “I worry about you.”
She laughs. “You’re worried about me being too tired for tomorrow night in the suite.”
“That, too,” I say, grinning at her. She kisses me again and is dressed and out the door in ten minutes.
Lately, that woman only knows two speeds. She’s either full throttle or asleep. Maybe I should plan a little something? Steal her away for a few nights, some place secluded. My mind spinning with the possibility of having her all to myself for a few days, I hop up and head to the shower. Sutton and I have gotten into the habit of showering or bathing together at night. It’s where we share about our days. Sometimes it includes dinner, and sometimes it doesn’t.
I may have to start bathing with her in the morning to make sure she eats breakfast. I don’t care what she says, a piece of fruit does not constitute breakfast, and I’m not sure she’s even having that this morning. One breakfast surprise, coming right up.
*
Breakfast in hand and vacation planning in progress, I look up at the gray sky as I walk toward Sutton’s hotel, a humid breeze swirling in the streets, whipping up the smell of Cajun spice and the long nights of Bourbon Street.
I hear a siren, and my eyes dart toward The Brittany, an ambulance parked right out front. You don’t run a hotel without having to occasionally call 911. I hope Sutton isn’t stressing too badly over it. I quicken my steps when I see Dylan coming out onto the sidewalk. Her eyes catch mine, and something in me snaps. Dropping the breakfast sack to the ground, I take off in a full-on run.
Dylan holds up her hands. “I was just about to call you.”
“Where’s Sutton?”
“I’m fine,” I hear Sutton say from a stretcher rolling out in front of me. “This is so unnecessary.”
“Sutton?” I pick up her hand and kiss the back of it. She looks fine, no blood, no bruises.
“She fell,” Dylan says.
“And not the good kind of falling,” Sutton jokes, but I don’t find it funny.
“One minute she was fine, and the next minute she just passed out,” Dylan says.
“I missed breakfast,” Sutton says. “I’m fine.” The EMT’s lift her into the ambulance, and I step inside. “I feel so silly. I just need to eat something.”
*
“Where is the damn doctor?” I bark.
Sutton rolls her eyes and takes another huge bite. I’d asked Dylan to bring her a burger, fries, and a shake. You might think that would be hard to find at this early morning hour, but this is New Orleans, and people need their hangover food, and I wasn’t about to leave Sutton’s side. Probably shouldn’t have that kind of food in the emergency room, but I don’t care. We’ve been here what feels like forever already. They seem to be in no hurry, or Sutton just isn’t a priority. She’s seen the nurse, had blood drawn, vitals taken, but that was a while ago. What could be taking so long?
“Sit down,” Sutton says. “You’re making me crazy.”
I sit down on the bed beside her and stroke her hand. I hate emergency rooms. There is absolutely no privacy. Since we’ve been here, I’ve heard about someone’s bowel issues, another’s rash, and some kid sticking something up his nose.
“I told you that you were working too hard. I want you to take some time off.”
“That might be a good idea,” a middle-aged male doctor says, moving the curtain aside.
“Why? Is she alright?”
“She’s perfectly healthy,” the doctor says. “And very newly pregnant.”
“You’re in the wrong room,” I say. “There’s no way . . .”
“Right,” Sutton says and looks at the doctor.
He flips through the chart. “Sutton Presley?” She nods. “You are definitely pregnant. Can’t be more than a few weeks. The test is accurate.”
“It’s fine,” Sutton says, patting my hand. “There’s some mistake.”
“We ran the test twice,” the doctor says.
Sutton’s hand softly slides to her belly, and I see it happen. It’s just that quick. Anyone who doesn’t believe in love at first sight hasn’t ever seen a woman find out she’s pregnant. She’s in love with that baby already. She reaches for my hand, tears in her eyes.
“I still don’t see how this is possible,” I say.
“I fell,” Sutton tells the doctor. “Did that hurt the baby?”
He pats her leg. “Your tests look normal, but I’ll order an ultrasound just to be sure.” He keeps talking about prenatal care, vitamins, scheduling an appointment with her OB-GYN, but my brain can’t keep up.
“Wait,” I cry out. “This is wrong.”
“Pierce,” Sutton says.
“No, I had a vasectomy. This can’t be right.” The doctor looks down at Sutton. “Don’t look at her. She wouldn’t cheat on me.”
“Of course,” he says. “I wasn’t suggesting that.”
Sutton sits up and leans into my chest. “It will be fine. It must be some sort of miracle.”
“How could this happen?” I ask, wanting an explanation more than a miracle.
“Nearly one out of every hundred vasectomies fail,” the doctor says. “It’s possible that’s what happened.”
“I want you to check,” I bark. “How can you check?”
He looks at Sutton. “We could check sperm count.”
“Good, do it.”
A nurse leads me to a private room, and I proceed to masturbate into a cup, something that wasn’t at all fun. We have to wait for results, which just take a few minutes. Sutton lays in the bed waiting on her discharge papers, her hands resting on her belly, smiling. She takes my hand, placing it on top of her flat stomach. My arm is so tense—if she wasn’t holding it so firmly, it would sling-slot right back.
“Can you not do that?” I snap.
“Do what?”
“I can see you picking out names in your head.”
She clenches her eyes shut, holding back tears. God, I can’t deal if she starts crying right now.
“I’m just as shocked as you are,” she says, “but we talked about you getting a reversal anyway. This just means you don’t have to go through that.”
“I never said . . .”
“You said you’d do it for the right woman. Am I not the right woman?”
“Sutton, you’re the only woman. I love you.”
She sits up, her eyes holding mine hostage, and she looks at me suspiciously. “Were you lying? When you said that, you were lying, weren’t you?”
I don’t answer. What the hell am I supposed to say? She gets up and heads for the curtain. God, everyone is hearing this.
“Answer me,” she yells.
I lied. I know it. Now she knows it. Hell, the person one curtain over with the bladder issue knows it.
She breaks down in tears.
I see it happen as clear as I saw her fall in love with that baby.
I see the moment I break her.