Holding Her Hand (Reed Brothers Book 15)(20)

A smile tugs at my lips as heat suffuses my face. “I know.”

He pulls me to him and I press my forehead against his chest, taking a moment to breathe him in. He smells like detergent and pure, unadulterated man.

Ryan squeezes my shoulders and then runs his cupped hands down my arms. Then he surprises the hell out of me when he lifts my arm and presses a kiss against the scars on my inner wrist. I try to pull out of his grasp, but he holds tight, his eyes meeting mine as his lips linger. He breathes me in, his warm mouth pressed against my skin.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” he says.

“I did too.”

He takes in a deep breath, almost like he’s fortifying himself, and then he says, “My mother’s birthday is this weekend. We’re having a party. I’d like for you to come with me.”

I jerk my head back, completely shocked by his request. “You want me to meet your mother?”

He nods, and I can tell he’s nervous by the way his eyes jerk around my face. “I’d like for you to meet my whole family.”

“Why?” I look into his eyes, hoping I’ll find the truth there.

“Because I like you a lot, and I want you to meet my mom and dad, and the rest of my family. If you want to, that is. Only if you want to.”

“I want to,” I say tentatively.

“Are you sure?” He bends down to look into my eyes.

“I’m sure. Thank you for the invitation.” I smile at him, and heat floods my face again.

“You take my breath away on a normal day, but when your cheeks turn pink, I feel like you’ll never give the breath back.” He laughs.

“I get points for blushing?” I ask.

“You get points for everything.”

Suddenly, something breaks in Wren’s room and I hear glass shatter. “I had better go check on her.”

He nods, and then he bends and presses a kiss to my cheek. He lingers there a moment like he’s breathing me in. And I don’t want to let him go.

He leaves, and then I look toward my kitchen counter and see that he left his baseball cap. I smile and start plotting in my head what I can do with it next that might give me an excuse to see him before my appointment on Saturday to work on the tattoo.

Ideas are running through my head when Wren’s door flies open and she steps into the living room. “Is he gone?” she asks.

“Yes. Why?”

She tosses a white cylinder on the counter. I look down and see a small plus sign in the window. “Oh,” I breathe. I look up and find her blinking back tears. “Wren,” I say softly, and I approach her like she’s a wounded animal, because that’s essentially what she is right now. She’s scared. And she’s fighting it.

“He knocked me up,” she says over a sniffle. “I was going to tell him tonight, and I went to his apartment early, and I found him in bed with one of the girls he works with.”

“Oh, Wren,” I say, covering my mouth.

“He knocked me up. I’m pregnant.” She covers her belly with her hand. “What the hell am I going to do?”

“We’ll figure it out,” I tell her, although I have no idea what the hell we’ll do. “We’ll figure it out,” I say again, trying to convince myself as much as I’m trying to convince her. “I promise, we’ll figure it out.”

She falls into my arms and starts to sob.

My phone goes off in my pocket and she steps back from me, sniffling and wiping her eyes. “You should answer that.”

I pull my phone out.

Ryan: Everything okay?

Me: Not really.

Ryan: Want me to come back over?

Me: I want you to come back over more than anything, but it’s probably not the best time for Wren. I’ll tell you more tomorrow.

Ryan: Can I see you tomorrow?

Me (heart thudding with joy): Maybe. You forgot your cap.

Ryan: I didn’t forget it.

A grin steals across my face.

Me: Good. Check with me tomorrow and you can see what kind of sticky situations I get it into.

Ryan: Are you talking dirty to me?

Me (laughter bubbling): Maybe Ryan: I am a happy man. Talk to you tomorrow.

Me: Good night.

Wren blows a big, snotty tissue full of boogers and says, “Was that Ryan?”

I nod and shove my phone back in my pocket.

“Are you glowing?” she asks, her eyes narrowing.

“No, no, it’s not like that,” I rush to say.

She puts her hands on her hips. “I got knocked up, cheated on, and you’re f*cking glowing. You have to be kidding me.” But she’s grinning, so I know she doesn’t mean any harm. “Wait,” she suddenly says. “Where are your gloves?”

“I took them off,” I say quietly. Then tears start to sting my eyes and I blink them back as fast as I can.

“Oh, Lark,” she says, and she pulls me in to her. “I knew one day you would meet a man who made you feel safe enough to take them off. I just didn’t think it would a deaf tattoo artist who looks like he could shit nails and then eat them for breakfast. I expected you to fall for a guy in a sport coat and loafers, not a hoodie and flip flops.”

“I took the gloves off,” I whisper as if amazed, and I bury my face in her shoulder.