One More Chance (Chance, #2)(33)

He rolled his eyes, sat down, and put Nate on his knee. “If he says one of those words, we’ll blame it on Uncle Grant, won’t we, buddy? Point your finger that way, and save Daddy’s ass,” Rush said with a smirk.

“What’s in the bowl?” I asked as he held a spoonful up to Nate’s mouth. He turned his head away. Smart kid. It looked nasty.

“Oatmeal. He hates it,” Rush said, trying to get Nate to take a mouthful.

“If he hates it, and I would hate it, too, why are you feeding it to him?” I asked.

Rush lifted his eyes to me. “Because Blaire said to. You don’t question the mommy. Ever.”

Good to know.

“So you heard the heartbeat,” Rush said, putting the oatmeal down in a sign of defeat.

“Yeah. We did. And . . . well, it felt real finally. Like there was something there. A life. It wasn’t just Harlow—there was another heartbeat inside of her. A heartbeat we created. I just . . . is it wrong that I felt attached to it? That I wanted to protect it? I can’t lose Harlow. I can’t. So I shouldn’t feel this way, right?”

Rush looked down at Nate and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re asking a man who has a kid. A man who would throw himself in front of a bullet, a truck, you f**king name it—I would do whatever I had to for this boy. He’s mine. I can’t ever consider not wanting him. But again, Blaire’s life was never threatened. We didn’t have that kind of decision to make. But no, I don’t think it’s wrong that you felt something when you heard the heartbeat. I cried like a damn baby when I saw the first ultrasound of Nate. It’s an emotional thing. It’s normal. Don’t beat yourself up for loving something you created with the woman you love. Especially if she adores it.”

I heard him, and he made sense, but I was still tormented by the idea that this life I was growing attached to could take Harlow’s life away. She was my number one. “If I lose her, it’s my fault. I did this. I wasn’t careful, and now she’s pregnant,” I said. He had heard me say this before, but it was haunting me, and I needed to say it. I couldn’t say it to her. And having Kiro tell me this exact same thing only confirmed it. I did this.

“You didn’t know she had health problems. She was scared to tell you, and I understand that, but I also know that you can’t blame yourself for something you didn’t know.”

I had always been careful. Never sleeping with anyone without protection. I’d never considered going without a wrapper, but Harlow had gotten under my skin, and I was so damn crazy about her that I lost all rational thought. My lust for her made me make bad decisions. But did my not knowing about her heart actually change anything? No. It was still the same outcome. I did this.

Last night, Harlow had lain in my arms, and I’d watched her eyes study the room. Finally, she had said we would need to move the dresser into the living room to fit the baby’s crib. I hadn’t responded. I hadn’t known how. I liked the idea of bringing the baby home and Harlow rocking it, holding it, and putting it to bed. But I was afraid to live in that world. Because if that wasn’t the outcome, I needed to be prepared to take on Harlow’s role, too.

She kissed me good-bye this morning when I left for work, then she rolled over and went back to sleep. Seeing her get some rest eased my worries a little.

But I hadn’t told her the truth about where I was going.

I wasn’t working; I was house hunting. If Harlow could live by sheer force of will, I decided I was going to give her the world to fight for. Starting with a house and a bedroom she could decorate for our baby. We could paint it together and pick out the furniture, although I was going to go along with anything she said. Unless, of course, it was a boy and she tried to put girlie shit in his room.

I parked my truck outside of the house I wanted to buy for her—for us. It wasn’t as big as what she was used to, but Harlow wasn’t one to expect luxury. She had grown up with her grandmother in a modest home in North Carolina.

The light blue house was farther out from the water than I wanted—beachfront properties were out of my price range—but it was in a quaint little gated community. The houses weren’t too close together, but it was still a neighborhood of sorts. A coastal one. I had driven by this house on more than one occasion and admired it. The white fence around it and the wraparound porch with large hurricane shutters made it look like an old Florida plantation, but it was smaller and only a few years old. The owner had built it and never moved in. It had been on the market since then. I had always thought it was a shame that no one ever used the swing in the large oak tree in the front yard or enjoyed the rocking chairs on the front porch. It was just empty.

Rush’s Range Rover pulled up beside me, and I opened my truck door. I had called him after I’d gone to the real estate office that was selling the house and gotten a key. The office handled a lot of the sales for the condos I built, so they didn’t mind handing over the key.

Rush stepped out, looked up at the house and back at me, and grinned. “I feel like I’m in Mayberry. It even has a f**king tree swing.”

Laughing, I walked through the gate and stepped into the front yard. “Question is, do you think she’ll like it?” I asked him as I took the four steps leading up to the porch two at a time.

“I think she’ll love it,” Rush said, following me.