“Shhh.” His eyes flash. His fingers flex against my stomach. “I don’t care about biology. I don’t give a shit what a piece of paper from some lab says. From this moment on, I’m in. I’m one hundred percent in.”
Tears are streaming down my face. Forgetting about my bruised limbs and ruined hands, I hurl myself into his arms. He drags me up against his chest, so my feet dangle in the air, and tucks his head in the crook of my neck.
“Wyatt?”
“What is it, baby?”
“Take me home?”
He brushes his lips against mine. “Let’s go.”
Thirteen
“One inch lower, and slightly to the right.”
- A girl giving her boyfriend very explicit directions… about where to hang her new painting.
Iglareat the television so vehemently, I’m surprised it doesn’t combust into flames. The woman on the screen smiles serenely, her bleached teeth so white they’re nearly blinding. The bright blonde of her hair catches the light as she shifts on the interview chair and answers Eileen Dillan’s question.
“Yes, I’d say we’re very close,” Cynthia murmurs sweetly. “Like all mothers and daughters, we have our ups and downs… but at the end of the day, we’re connected by an unbreakable bond.”
“Unbreakable?Unbreakable? HA!” I throw a piece of popcorn at the TV, hitting her right between the eyes. My voice drops to an angry mutter. “I know something I’d like to break, all right…”
A kiss lands on my temple as a big hand reaches down and plucks the remote from my grip. Turning off the talk show, Wyatt leans over the back of the couch and wraps his arms around me from behind. His hands settle against my stomach, an unconscious gesture he seems to be making more and more frequently as weeks pass and the tiny baby bump begins to swell. It’s small, but undeniably there.
Harper calls it thelime, now.
I turn around on the couch and sling my arms over Wyatt’s shoulders.
“I didn’t know you were home.”
“Just got back.” He kisses me softly. “How was your day?”
I glower. “Any more mandatorytaking it easyand I’m going to have to kill you.”
“Where’s your splint?” he asks, eyeing my naked wrist with disapproval. “It’s only been two weeks. You’re supposed to keep it on for three.”
“Wyatt, my wrist is fine. Look.” I demonstrate the full range of motion. Only a tinge of pain shoots through the healed appendage. “I’mfine. And I am eventually going to leave this house, regardless of your attempts to keep me hostage.”
“I was hoping you’d develop Stockholm Syndrome.”
“I don’t need Stockholm Syndrome. I already love you, you idiot.” I roll my eyes. “And I’ve been here every night. I should go home.”
“Or you could stay.”
“For how long?”
He shrugs. “Forever.”
“You aren’t funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
Heart hammering, I pull out of his arms and change the topic to something less insane than the possibility of me moving in with my boyfriend after a few short weeks of dating.
“Can you believe the audacity of my mother?”
“It’s your mother. So yes, I can.” He sighs. “Another interview?”