I scowled at him. “You try being pregnant. Soon I won’t be able to see my feet.”
“Get used to it.”
“How many are we talking?”
“Three more. Maybe four.”
“You do realize I’m in my forties.”
“We’d better get to work then.”
I stopped him as soon as we were out on the sidewalk. “I accepted the offer on the house. Fifteen day close.”
His face lit, though he tried to hide it. “You okay?”
“That means you can’t kick us out.” I slid my arms around his neck and tilted my head back.
“You’re avoiding the question.” He brushed my lips with his. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t want you going anywhere.”
“I noticed.” I kissed him back. “It feels better than I thought it would. I’m sad, but it’s the right thing. You’re my life. You’re where I’m supposed to be.” I sifted my fingers through his hair. “I wouldn’t trade us for anything. Anything.”
“Let’s go back to the beach.” His arms tightened around my back.
“I have to work.” I shoved at his chest.
“We’ll use our charm at dinner to sweet talk your boss into a vacation.”
I grinned. “I’ll be quiet. You do the talking.”
“Can you handle that?”
“If it means I get my beach trip, yeah. I can definitely handle it.”
Epilogue
Patrick
Seven Months Later
“Shithead asshole fucker.”
Marlow’s death grip on my hand had me near tears.
“Is that the first thing you want Gummy to hear you say?”
She gritted her teeth as another contraction hit.
“Why are you here?”
“To support you.”
“This is your fault.” The glare she sent me was lethal.
“I know.” I winked at her, and she shot me the bird.
“One more push, Mrs. Whitley.”
“I hate you.” She sucked in a breath and grunted.
“Love you too.”
My eyes stung at the sight of Gummy’s head and when she slid into the doctor’s arms. Two tiny hands, two tiny feet, a pink belly, and the most angelic-looking face I’d ever seen. We made her.
“She’s beautiful,” I said hoarsely, unable to stop staring.
Wicked squeezed my fingers gently. “I can’t believe she’s here.” Her head collapsed back into the pillows.
I brushed her damp hair back from her face. “You gave me this.” A fullness I’d never known filled me.
“I love you.” She craned her neck toward me, and I kissed her.
“Thirsty?” I held the straw up to her lips. She greedily sucked down ice water.
“Would you like to hold her?” A nurse held Gummy out to me.
I stared at her a second, uncertain. Marlow patted my arm, gave me an encouraging smile.
Something in me transformed the second I held her. Blake and Wicked had made me a better man. Gummy affirmed I could be everything for my family. I would always love this little one. Unconditionally. That should frighten me. But I’d watched Mr. Dixon love his kids that way for years, and it was because of him I knew I could be that man. The one this little girl would call Daddy, knowing I’d always believe in her. Stand up for her. Protect her. Love her.
“Hey, Gummy. We’ve been waiting for you.” A tear slipped down my cheek and landed on hers.
“We never decided on a name.”
I flashed a smile at Marlow, her expression turning wary. “Gili Brenna Whitley.”
“You came up with that?”
“We can call her GB for short.”
She pressed her lips together. “Why don’t we just name her Gummy Bear?”
“That’s her nickname,” I kissed Gummy’s forehead. “Gili means eternal joy. That’s what she’s given us and what I hope she has.”
“Damn you.” Marlow swiped at her eyes. “Gili it is.”
“Thank you,” I whispered to my daughter. “You have no idea what you’ve done.” I passed her to Wicked.
“She saved me,” she said, eyes shining.
“She saved us.”
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Book Stuff
Grief.
It’s something we all deal with in a wide variety of ways. But from the moment we met Marlow, we felt hers.
Sure, she says some over the top awful things—unforgivable things really—but there was just something beneath her hard exterior that we were desperate to find out about.
We were pretty shocked when we found out her husband had passed away. You’re probably thinking “How did you not know? You wrote the book.” The answer is simple. These characters tell the story. They surprise us a lot. And they intrigue us.
Marlow doesn’t know what to do with her pain. She’s not used to the emotion. And she doesn’t like being uncertain. So she holds on to the anger.
That’s the thing about grief. There’s no right or
