Folsom (End of Men, #1)(26)

“When did you find out?”

“Just yesterday. I’d forgotten…things have been so busy I hadn’t even been thinking about a pregnancy until they called me in for my test.”

I nod, knowing she has more to say.

“The baby is a boy.” Her eyes fill with tears and she turns her head away so I can’t see.

“He…will be celebrated by everyone in the Red Region and every Region,” I add. But there is a catch in my voice—we both hear it. I grab her wrist and pull her down on the bed so she’s sitting facing me.

“He will be taken from me,” she hisses, “—like Laticus was taken from his mother.”

It’s true. It is what having a boy means. But most do not consider that, they only think of the prestige that comes with giving birth to a male child. The heartache and realization would come many years later.

“He’s not even in your arms yet and you’re already thinking about that?” I try to distract her, but she shakes her head.

“We don’t belong to each other anymore. Be careful what you wish for.”

“Who told you that?”

“Jackal. He said it to me before he left that first day. I hadn’t known what he meant. But now I do.”

“He shouldn’t have said that.” I pivot her chin upward so she’s looking me in the eyes. Her eyes are wet, like they’ve been licked by an awful sadness, and I feel an inexplicable need to be this woman’s comfort. It’s not something I’ve felt before.

“You asked for a son, and I gave you a son,” I say firmly. “Don’t be an ungrateful brat.”

She laughs, but she also starts to cry, and on impulse my hands wrap around the back of her head, tangling in her hair, and I pull her mouth toward mine.

Her eyes open wide when I kiss her. I grab onto that top lip I’ve been eyeing for weeks and suck on it gently. And then her lips part and we kiss softly until I slide my tongue into her mouth, at which point Gwen wraps her arms around my neck and pulls herself as close to me as she can. I touch her through her clothes, my hands groping and tugging, fingers trailing across the small patches of exposed olive skin. I rest my thumb in the dip at the base of her neck, and then slide my hands into her hair and down her neck. Her breath hitches when my hand slides into her shirt and I cup a full breast. There is lace between my hand and her skin. I yank it down, hearing a rip before her skin is warm against my palm. I break free of her mouth and lean my head back as I hold her in my hand, kneading.

“Take them out,” I say.

Her eyes are glassy, but they never leave mine as she unbuttons her shirt, exposing the ripped black lace bra. I can see her pink nipple through the unripped side and I place a thumb over it, rubbing circles, while I bend my head and suck her free nipple. Gwen moans and laces her fingers in my hair. I switch to the other side, trying to figure out how to pull her pants down while she’s still sitting, when suddenly she pulls away from me.

“Your heart rate,” she says, out of breath. “They’re going to come rushing in here in a minute.” She backs away from the bed, quickly buttoning her shirt.

I prop my hands behind my head and watch her, amused. Her hair looks wild, like it was caught in the wind and whipped around for ten minutes. Just as she predicted, the door bursts open two minutes later, and the doctor and two nurses charge through the doors. Gwen busies herself with my water jug, looking up in surprise when the room is suddenly full.

Doctor Hunley looks from me to Gwen, her eyes lingering on Gwen’s hair for longer than what is comfortable.

“Mr. Donahue,” she chides. “You’ve been instructed to relax. We need that heart of yours beating nice and steady, no strenuous activity.”

“As you can see, Doctor, there is nothing strenuous about lying in a bed.” I smirk at her and she looks flustered.

“I see many things,” she says slowly. “Gwen, if I can have a minute with you outside…”

I watch Gwen follow her wide-eyed, while the nurses fuss around the machines. When the door opens again, Doctor Hunley is alone.

After she dismisses the nurses, she takes the seat Gwen was sitting in earlier.

“I’ve been putting off coming to talk to you all morning.” She smiles sadly. “The President has ordered that we discharge you.”

“That’s good. Great. I feel ready,” I say. The thought of getting out of here is making me sit up straighter in bed. I look around for my boots.

“But the truth is you’re not ready, Folsom. At least not to go back to work.”

We both fall silent.

“It’s not your fault,” I say finally. “I know what’s expected of me. I wasn’t thinking I was getting extended leave,” I joke.

She ignores my attempt to make light of the situation. “I did everything in my power to convince them otherwise. In the end they took a vote…”

“A vote?” I say in surprise. “Was anyone on my side?”

Doctor Hunley nods. “Twenty to eighty.” She tucks her lips in like the numbers embarrass her. Numbers that could inevitably be the cause of my death, but I don’t think about that. I’m not afraid of death, I’m afraid to keep living this life.

“All right,” I say encouragingly. “What’s next? When do I get to leave?”