Beyond These Walls (The Walls Duet #2)(69)

“What were you thinking of when it happened?” he asked, his fingers brushing tenderly along the curve of my belly.

“What he’d look like, the color of his eyes, the—oh! There it is!”

I looked up and knew he’d felt it. Maybe not as strongly as I had, but he’d definitely sensed the slightest bit of movement.

His hand curled around me as he bent down closer. “He’s strong. Our little man is healthy and strong.”

Tears formed in my eyes as I watched him stare down at my belly in amazement.

Our child was indeed strong. I’d been so scared that I was passing on my diseased genes to him, and in that moment, he’d let us know that he was there, and he was fighting.

Now, I just had to be strong enough to fight alongside him.

“So, care to make a wager?” I challenged.

Our joined hands swung back and forth as we walked down the long hallway.

We’d just finished up another doctor’s appointment—twenty-six weeks. Thanks to proper medication and an overbearing husband, I had been given another clean bill of health. I still couldn’t believe it.

We were halfway there. Another couple of months, and soon, we’d meet our child.

He squeezed my hand as we made our way toward the ultrasound office.

“A wager?” he asked, his interest piqued.

“Well, we decided today would be the day, so I thought, before we go in there and discover whether this baby you are so determined to call a boy is in fact—”

“In possession of a penis?”

“Jude!” I blurted out, looking around, as my cheeks reddened.

He laughed, “Would you rather me say franks and beans? Twigs and berries?”

“Oh my gosh. You’re a child.”

“You’re the one who cringed when I said penis,” he reminded me, making sure to say the P word loud and clear for anyone walking down the hall to hear.

I shook my head, doing my best to ignore him. “Back to the wager.”

“Right. So, what do I get when I win?” he asked, opening the glass door for me that led into the small waiting room.

It was empty today, which meant we should hopefully be called back immediately. We’d had several ultrasounds now, due to the high risk of my pregnancy. We could have known the sex of the baby weeks ago, but I’d chosen to wait, wanting to find out around the time when other women did. The wait made everything feel much more normal, and any ounce of normalcy was treasured.

Not that any of this mattered to my husband. He was convinced we were having a boy. There was no changing his mind.

Now, he was eagerly waiting for the proof.

“Who says you’re going to win?” I countered, taking a seat near the door.

“You’ve already called it a boy on multiple occasions!” he exclaimed, crossing his arms in obvious victory.

“Only because you do. And because I hate the idea of calling our child an it. That’s just wrong.”

“So, why not say she?”

“You’re changing the subject!” I snapped in frustration.

He snorted loudly.

Cocky jerk.

“Okay, fine. If it’s a boy, you let me repaint the nursery blue and put up football jerseys.”

My eyes narrowed. He knew I hated sports-themed anything.

“Baseballs?”

I gave him a blank stare.

“Um, waves . . . surfers maybe?”

“Better. Go to town with that if you like. Bring in a surfboard for the ceiling for all I care, but no jerseys of any kind—ever.”

“Okay, deal.”

“And if it’s a girl?” he asked, barely paying attention.

So sure of himself.

“I get to pick the name.”

His eyes flew up to mine. “But I’m so good at picking names,” he reminded me with a wicked grin.

“Ah, yes, I remember. But this is my condition. How sure are you that this is a boy?” I asked, rubbing my belly.

The door creaked open, and my name was called.

We both stood, his hand grasping mine.

As we followed the tech down the hall, I felt his hot breath tickle my ear as he leaned forward to whisper, “You’re on.”

I smiled, my stomach a flutter of anticipation, as we were escorted to the small room we’d become well acquainted with over the last several months. Luckily, the ultrasounds had become less evasive. No wardrobe changes had been required for some time now.

The technician helped me onto the examination table. Lifting my shirt, she placed white towels at the top and bottom of my clothes. Warm goo was spread across my tummy, and soon, the screen was alive with pictures of our tiny child.

“Do we want to know the sex today?” the technician asked as she plugged away on her keyboard, checking measurements and recording information.

“Yes,” we answered in unison.

“Okay, I’ll do my best,” she replied.

She continued to do her thing, freezing frames as she moved the wand around my growing belly. Lying in the position in this same room several times now, it was easy to see the progression week after week. The first time, it had been hard to believe anything was really different. My stomach had been smooth and flat. Now, there was evidence. Anyone who looked at me could see I was carrying precious cargo, and any second now, I’d know if that tiny kicker I’d grown to love was a boy or a girl.