Unfinished Ex (Calloway Brothers, #2)(40)

“You have to understand that I was the new girl in a strange city. I was just starting out at WRKT.

I thought if I was pregnant, I’d be sidelined. And then there was the whole single mom thing.”

He looks up from the floor, daggers coming from his eyes. “Single mo—”

“Jaxon, please.”

He throws up his hands in frustration, sits back in the chair, and takes another swig from the almost-empty bottle.

“I’d gotten all the brochures, set up an appointment. I even drove to the clinic. But I couldn’t go through with it.”

His eyes lock with mine. “Jesus, Nicky. Do I have a kid?”

My gaze meets the floor.

“Nic, tell me what the fuck is going on here.”

“No, we don’t have a kid.”

“Then what the hell happened?”

“I tried to go back. I made two more appointments that week, but I never made it past the front door. I don’t know if it was the thought of knowing what I’d done or the guilt I knew I’d feel over taking away the one thing I knew you wanted in life, but I couldn’t do it. So I decided to have the baby.”

“You’re confusing the shit out of me, Nic.”

“I was going to take a few days off and fly back here and tell you so we could figure things out.

We lived across the country from each other—how would it work? Would he spend summers with you? Half the year with each of us? Would a baby somehow bring us back together?”

“Wait… he?” he says, his voice cracking.

I nod, tears in a free flow. I wipe my nose on the back of my hand. “I had a miscarriage at fifteen weeks.”

He turns away, but I can hear the painful sob.

“I knew it was my punishment. For leaving you. For lying. For even considering ending the pregnancy. It didn’t matter that over the course of the two weeks before I miscarried I fell in love with him. It didn’t matter that I’d vowed to be the best mother I could and try to make things work.

None of that mattered after the damage I’d done.”

I’m ugly crying now, and Heisman practically climbs into my lap. “It was a Thursday. I’d just gotten home from work when I started bleeding. It wasn’t a lot of blood, but enough to send me to the doctor. They did an ultrasound and couldn’t find a heartbeat. I told them that was impossible; that the day before, I’d felt the baby move for the very first time. I’ll never forget that feeling. It was the moment I felt like a mother. But they said he was gone, and they gave me three choices: go home and wait for labor to start within a few days, have them induce labor, or have a D and C. I chose the induction.”

His eyes glisten with tears. “Oh my god.”

“It wasn’t without pain, but I refused any medication. I knew I had to feel every contraction. It was my penance. And when the baby came out, I was stunned. Jaxon, he was fully formed but so incredibly tiny. They let me hold him. He fit in the palm of my hand. That’s when I discovered he was a boy.”

Both of us are sobbing, our faces wet with agony and despair. He comes over and sits next to me, pushing Heisman onto the floor. He pulls me into his arms, and we cry. We cry for the life lost.

The memories we’ll never have.

We part and gaze sadly at each other. “Don’t cry,” he says, his thumbs brushing under my eyes to wipe my tears. When they continue to fall, he kisses them. Then he kisses me. And I let him. It’s unlike any kiss we’ve ever shared. It’s full of hurt and desperation. But it’s exactly what I need in this moment. Being in his arms again is like finding myself after I’d been lost. I pull him closer, needing him more than I’ve ever needed anything. It’s a visceral reaction. He’s the oxygen in my lungs. The blood pumping through my veins.

Before either of us can fully comprehend it, we’re removing each other’s clothes. I tug off his shirt. He unbuttons my blouse. We toe off our shoes. We’re naked in a matter of seconds. His hands are like fire when they touch my breasts. Sensations I haven’t felt in years, or maybe ever, shoot through me.

His lips are strong and demanding, taking everything I’m willing to give. When his tongue tangles with mine, it’s both a memory and a promise. A promise of what, I don’t know. My fingers weave through his hair, keeping him pressed against me. Surely one of us will come to our senses and put an end to this. But not yet. The years of pain, they fade into the background. His hands on me, his lips, are somehow healing.

We break apart, breathing heavily, and stare into each other’s eyes by candlelight, both of us wondering if this is really going to happen, perhaps marveling at the fact that it is. And before either of us has a chance to change our mind, I reach out and take his penis into my hand. He gasps but doesn’t tear his eyes from mine. He’s hard and throbbing, the tip of him wet, letting me know he needs this as much as I do. His fingers find my folds, tantalizing me, teasing me, maybe even challenging me.

I arch into him, needing more. Needing this. Needing him. Then, without so much as a word between us, he kneels on the floor in front of me, pulls me to the edge of the couch, and sinks himself inside me.

Both of us cry out at the sensation. The sound is guttural. Tormented. Our eyes glisten as he moves oh so slowly. I rack my memories to find a single time when making love to him was this emotional. It was always sweet. Fun. Never filled with a feral need for each other. Never wrought with as much happiness as pain. Never feeling torturous and exhilarating at the same time.