When I took my seat, he reluctantly picked up the phone and placed it to his ear.
I picked up mine, so fucking happy to see him that I was dancing in my seat.
He did not look amused.
“You need to leave,” was the first thing out of his mouth.
I was already shaking my head.
“No,” I refused. “I will not leave.”
“You need to leave, because I don’t want you here.”
I knew that he didn’t.
He was serious about that.
He did not want me here, seeing him like this.
But he didn’t get a choice.
Just like I didn’t get the choice of him beating the absolute shit out of someone to the brink of death and paralyzing the man forever.
Nope, he didn’t get to decide whether I came to visit him or not.
Not anymore.
“You were the one who told me it would all be okay,” I told him. “And it is. By me coming to see you. I don’t have a job anymore. There’s nothing tying me down. And since you can’t really come see me just yet, that means that I am going to sit here, every fucking time that I’m allowed to, and you’re going to not complain because you love me.”
Trouper’s eye twitched.
He wanted to argue.
I could see it in his eyes.
But he also wanted to see me.
He was at war with himself.
Instead of answering or saying anything, he hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed across his chest, biceps bulging.
I narrowed my eyes.
That little shit.
He thought he could just sit there and not talk to me?
Well, little did he know that I came prepared.
I pulled up the piece of paper that I’d written on before I’d come in here.
The words were bold and bright on the white background, and there was no way that he wouldn’t be able to read the letters.
I picked it up, stood up, and then slapped the note against the glass.
I’m pregnant.
Those two words dropped like a bomb.
He read them, his mouth dropped open, and then I shit you not, he looked like he was about to throw up.
I laughed.
That made two of us.
I’d been nauseous for weeks.
He slowly reached for the phone and placed it to his ear.
“You’re pregnant?” he asked, sounding strangled.
My lips twitched, causing his eyes to narrow.
I stood up and showed him my belly.
The breath left him in an audible whoosh.
“Very pregnant,” I said. “I’m about seven months along now.”
His eyes filled with anxiety.
“Is she all right?”
Was the baby okay after I’d been nearly beaten to death?
“Yes,” I said. “And not a she. A he.”
Trouper’s beautifully tanned face went so white that I thought for a second he might pass out.
“Holy shit,” he breathed.
“Holy shit,” I agreed.
“Why’d you hide it?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I didn’t ‘hide’ it. I just didn’t know. Everything that was going on was just a blur. I didn’t even realize it until you were in here for a month. And then you wouldn’t talk to me.”
He immediately looked properly chastised.
“Shit,” he grumbled.
I grinned at him.
He looked down at the papers in front of me, and I jumped.
“Oh!” I said. “Look at the photos.”
Yesterday I’d gone to a place in town that specialized in ultrasounds. I had some great shots to share with him, and a video on my phone.
I picked up the first photo, a view of the baby’s face and perfect lips, and pressed it to the glass.
We did this for five minutes as he studied each and every photo as if he was hungry for everything I had to give him.
And when the warden himself came in later on and said we had two minutes, I wanted to cry.
This was such a special time, and I didn’t want it to end.
“Sell the car,” Troup urged. “It’s worth more now than it was. It’s enough to cover anything you might need for a while.”
I wiped away the tears.
“I’m not selling your car.” I shook my head. “You wouldn’t sell it for lawyer fees, I’m not selling it for this.”
“You’re not working,” he countered.
I grinned. “I kind of am.”
When I got done explaining that I was working as a private investigator, he only shook his head. “You’re a crazy woman.” He paused as he stood up, phone still in his hand. “Take care of yourself, baby. I don’t want to lose either one of you.”
CHAPTER 17
You should ask her if she gained weight. That way she knows you’re paying attention to her.
-things not to do unless you want to die
TROUP
“Where am I going?” I asked the guard.
He was one of my favorites.
Not too pushy. Not an asshole.
Not anything.
I liked that he left me alone and didn’t expect me to jump to his every whim.
“There are trailers out back,” he said. “Ones that we use when family members die and shit.”
I felt bile rise in the back of my throat as I thought about the two family members that I would actually care about dying.
The guard read it on my face. “It’s not what you think. That’s not why you’re going there.”
I frowned.
“What are you…”
He opened a trailer door up, and there she was, standing there in a long white dress that flowed around her ankles.
The baby bump that’d been so blatantly obvious last week when she’d dressed to show it off—how had I missed that?—was more prominent this week.
My breath hitched in my throat.
“You have two hours,” the guard growled.
Then he was leaving.
He was leaving me alone. With my wife.
I moved quickly, launching myself up the two small steps that led into the depths of the trailer.
All the lights were off, but I didn’t care.
Neither, apparently, did Beckham.
Between one second and the next, she was in my arms.
Naked.
The dress had come off so fast that I hadn’t even seen it happening.
I groaned and buried my face into her neck, inhaling deeply.
She smelled like everything that I missed.
Clean soap, her favorite Bath and
