Regret (Twisted Hearts Duet Book 2) Page 19

  I snort a laugh as I send the device to sleep.

  “Who was that?” Belle stands in the bathroom doorway, eyes critical and not a trace of the sexy lingerie I didn’t get enough of a look at yet.

  “Jodie. She wants to come visit when we’re both home next.”

  “Huh.”

  I frown when she turns away and gives me her back as she fusses with her bag. “What happened to that sexy lace I saw on you just before?”

  “I took it off.”

  “Why?” She continues to face away, even as I cross to where she stands and set my hands on her shoulders. “Thought I might have fun taking it off.”

  Belle lets out a bitter huff, pulling from my hold as she crosses to the small kitchenette. “I was in the mood for that last night,” she snaps, jerking a mug from the cabinet. “But not so much now.”

  “You’re mad because I fell asleep?” I lean a hip into the counter, watching her despite the fact she does everything she can to avoid making direct eye contact.

  “No shit, I’m mad.”

  “I was tired, Belle. I’ve had one hell of a week, and I can’t help if my body needs the downtime.”

  “I get that, Zeus,” she snaps, finally looking at me.

  Kind of wish she hadn’t.

  “But you do that every fucking night at home, so excuse me for being selfish in wanting one night with you.”

  “It’s not selfish,” I correct her. “But it’s hardly considerate, either. I’m whacked, dove. You know that. Jerry has the crew working—”

  “Fuck your crew.” She slams the teaspoon into the empty mug. “I’ve had one hell of a week too, but you don’t seem the slightest bit interested in that.”

  “You’re being unfair.”

  “Am I?”

  Who is this woman? The Belle I know doesn’t get mad at people for things that are beyond their control, like being dog-tired. The Belle I know would have looked at the bright side and said something stupid, like how at least we’re well-rested for a hot and heavy night tonight.

  But this woman? Jesus—she reminds me of Cerise.

  Don’t tell her that. Fuck. Whatever I do, I can’t tell her that.

  “You know what?” She shunts the mug toward me. “You have this. I need fresh air.”

  Belle whips across the room to her bag and tugs the zipper open. Her hands still, her focus on whatever she has packed in there. Belle’s lips twist, and she dives her free hand in to pull out a flat, rectangular box.

  “Here. I made this for you.” She tosses it on the bed without a single fuck to give, and then storms from the hotel room. “Back later.”

  The heavy thunk of the door as it closes behind her echoes around our hotel room. I eyeball that black-and-gold box, wondering why she’s made me a gift. It’s not my birthday, not an anniversary. What else has she got up her sleeve?

  Curiosity draws me to the box, the silence of the room punctuated by the scrape of the lid as I tug it from the box base. I peel the layers of tissue paper back, fucking speechless at what lies within.

  One of her artworks, framed.

  But what sucks the oxygen from the room is the subject matter. She’s recreated my tattoo, yet this time there’s not just a serpent and the dove. No, this time the dove carries tiny baby booties in its beak rather than the olive branch.

  It can’t be right. I fire blanks, don’t I?

  The coffee sits abandoned on the counter as I throw my jacket on and head out the door after my baby girl. Hell. I probably shouldn’t call her that much longer, not when I might really have a baby girl on the way.

  Here we were, bickering over who needed more attention, when all along she was dealing with this on her own.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Belle

  It’s just your hormones. That’s the mantra I repeat to myself as I walk beside the stone wall that fronts the hotel complex. The wind that cuts down off the mountains is nothing short of arctic, but like fuck I’m going back to the hotel room to get a jacket now.

  In all fairness I could have kept the lingerie on and made one hell of a start to the day. But no sooner had I relieved myself in the bathroom than the nausea I’ve had of late set in. I tried to push past it, determined to wait to let on to Zeus what the issue is, but one whiff of that coffee and I was done for.

  I can’t say what it is that held me back from telling him the news as soon as the doc dropped the bomb on Monday. Maybe it was because I was only coming to terms with it myself, or perhaps it was the way he laughed when he realised I forgot about his so-called issue?

  He’s past having kids. It’s not something we’ve talked about other than when he’s reminded me he was supposedly sterile. He turns thirty-nine soon. I mean, no, it’s not too old to start a family, really. But he has the car project, and I have the studio to set up.

  Having a kid throws a spanner in the works, and my biggest worry is that it puts the pressure on him to be the main provider. At least for the first year after the birth, until I’m at a place where I can juggle motherhood and a career.

  I settle a hand on my stomach, finding a seat on one of the huge rocks that adorn the tussock-filled garden. The concept that something small, something living is in there… it’s crazy. My stomach won’t change shape for a while yet; I’m still in such early days. Until it does, I think I’ll continue to struggle with believing the truth in all of this.

  A little Zeus, or maybe a tiny me? Perhaps the best of both of us. Or maybe even the worst of both of us. Damn. There’s no way of telling, not for a while yet.

  I shiver as a gust cuts across the car park, slicing through me like an icy knife. My hands do little to warm my arms, the thin fabric of my T-shirt doing sweet fuck all to keep the chill off my kidneys.

  “Here.”

  His voice startles me, and I spin on my rock to find Zeus standing behind me with his jacket held out for me to slip on. The memory hits me with force: a caring man doing exactly the same for a young girl the day her mother walked out.

  Tears well in my eyes, the moisture making it hard to see properly as I adjust my position to accept the jacket. He slips the arms on, tugging the warm fabric tight around my neck.

  “Is it true?” His eyes hold so much hope.

  I nod. “Early days yet, but definitely there.”

  His gaze drops to my stomach. “I didn’t think….” He trails off, leaving me hanging.

  He didn’t think what? He could? He would?

  “What?” I press, scooting closer to him.

  “I didn’t think I could.” His knees lean against the front of my rock so that he lowers himself to my level.

  Zeus lays a reverent hand on my stomach through the jacket and shakes his head. “Fucking miracle.”

  “Babe.” I pull his face up toward mine. “Everything about us is a damn miracle. When we got together despite the odds, it seems fitting that we’d do this against the odds too.”

  “How, though?” His eyes search mine. “How is it possible?”

  “According to the doc, I must be one super fertile chick. And that alone balanced out your issues. The odds were still slim, but they were there nonetheless.”

  “You and me, dove.” He grins wide as he pulls me to my feet. “We’re gonna be parents.”

  “Are you okay with that?” I take his hand and we head for the warmth of our room.

  “Okay? I’m fucking over the moon.” I catch the glimmer of moisture on the rims of his eyes. “Can I tell you something?”

  “Always.” I give his hand a squeeze.

  He glances down at me as he holds the door for me to go inside. “The week I decided to pay your dad a visit, and then you, I saw Jodie.”

  “Okay?”

  “She had Bradley, her son, with her,” he explains. “Anyway. She goes to order coffee, right, and she leaves the little guy with me.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Of course, being a damn baby, he had to cry when she left.” He rolls his eyes. “But Belle,
when I picked that little guy up, and he calmed under my touch….” He stares off into nothing as we reach the stairs. “I knew that no matter how it happened, I wanted that connection for myself. I might be an old guy by some people’s standards, but babe, I’m ready to be an old dad, too.”

  We stop walking when we reach our floor, Zeus pulling me to face him.

  “I’m going to do right by you, Belle. This little guy”—he sets his hand on my stomach—“means everything.”

  “Or girl,” I point out.

  He huffs a small laugh before picking me clean off the floor. I wrap myself around him as he starts for our door, my focus on his face as I point out one important fact.

  “We’ve got a long way to go before the first trimester is over, Zeus. I want to play this cool until we’re out of the danger zone, okay?”

  He nods, adjusting his hold on me to free up a hand for the key card. “I know. But baby—” Zeus carefully navigates us through the doorway. “This doesn’t change a thing.”

  “What do you mean?” It changes everything.

  He smirks as the door closes behind us. “That little dude, or dudette, in there is just the start.” His eyes grow heavy, his smirk stronger as he lays me down on the bed and pins me beneath his weight. “I’m still going to fuck you bare and take that risk.”

  “Are you now?” Why the hell does the thought of more kids turn me on?

  He nods. “Yep. Starting now.”

  EPILOGUE

  Zeus

  Four years ago, I held a girl in my arms with my heart in my throat, petrified that what I was doing was wrong and ultimately I’d ruin the one I loved in my selfish crusade to make her mine.

  But as I watch the mother of my baby boy—knew it—waddle across the room with her fat belly, I couldn’t be more certain that I did the right thing.

  “Hey, gorgeous.” I can’t keep my damn hands off her.

  Belle leans against me to take the weight off her feet. “Hey, baby.”

  John enters our living room from the back deck, a tray of barbecue meat in his hands. “Where do you want this?”

  “The table, Dad.”

  We waited until the first trimester passed—what a fucking challenge that was—and invited John and Sharon over for dinner. They didn’t notice Belle’s looser clothes, or the flat pack crib propped up against the wall in the spare room. Nope. Neither of them twigged to what was going on until Belle set the table.

  Two place settings with two sets of knife and fork bound by little blue booties.

  Sharon cried, and to my surprise, so did John. Since then the grandparents have been over almost every second weekend.

  “Have you got your hospital bag packed?” Sharon asks as Belle makes her way to the table.

  “I’ve still got two weeks until my due date,” she argues. “I’ve got heaps of time.”

  “You won’t be saying that when your water breaks and you end up at the hospital with no pyjamas,” John says.

  “That’s what Zeus is for.” Belle gives me a smile as I help push her chair in.

  I take my seat at the head of the table, warmed as always to have this bunch of people in my life. “Dig in.”

  The chatter continues throughout the meal, Belle growing more and more quiet as John explains his work to me. I know it’s boring as hell to listen to, but I humour the guy. Still, I figure when you’re deeper than you are wide, and your feet pulse like an electric fence, then you’re likely to be less patient.

  “We’re thinking of selling the house,” John announces, glancing to Sharon. “The two of us don’t need so many rooms, and we’d be wise to downsize to something newer.”

  “How does Cerise fit into that?” I ask. “Does she still own part?”

  He shakes his head. “I bought her out a few years back.” His gaze flicks to Belle again. “How do you feel about that, sweetheart? It was your childhood home.”

  “It’s your house, Dad.” She frowns, shifting in her seat. “I’m fine with whatever you choose to do.” She grimaces again before rising from her chair to stretch her legs.

  “You okay?” I reach out and catch her hand.

  “Yeah. I’m fine. Just indigestion.” Belle drops a short laugh. “Tell you what, I can’t wait to have my gut space back for myself.”

  John chuckles at her gripe, while Sharon looks concerned.

  “Are you sure it’s just indigestion?”

  Belle pushes one shoulder back to stretch out her abdomen. “It’ll pass.” No sooner has she said that than her face contorts in pain. “Agh, fuck.”

  “Where does it hurt?” Sharon questions.

  My girl points out the two bands of pain, before promptly doubling over with a moan.

  This shit ain’t indigestion. I catch Sharon’s eye as I rise to help Belle to a more comfortable seat. “Think you could throw that bag together?”

  She grins, launching from the seat while John pieces the clues together. “Is she?”

  I nod. “Think so.”

  Belle groans, pushing her legs out rigid to help ease the pain. “Zeus?”

  “Yeah, baby girl?”

  Her rich brown eyes go wide. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

  “Baby,” I say, doing my best to contain my laughter. “You haven’t got a choice.”

  Sharon skids back into the room, still zippering the bag as Belle lets out an almighty moan. “I’ll get the car out front.” She looks to John while pointing to Belle. “You get over there and help your daughter get to her feet.”

  “I don’t want to do it,” Belle hollers as we try to ease her to her feet. “I don’t want to give birth.”

  “Be over before you know it,” John says as he ducks under her arm. “Breathe deep and let us do everything else.”

  Belle makes it as far as the entrance before the next contraction tears through her. She cries out, dissolving into tears as she clutches John’s shirt in a death grip.

  And in that moment, everything is perfect in my world.

  I have my best friend back. I have the woman I love. And best of all?

  I’m about to become a father.

  Fuck yeah. What’s age but a number?

  Thank you for reading the conclusion to Belle and Zeus’s story!

  I hope you enjoyed their tale of love against the odds as much as I enjoyed writing it.

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  ECHOES IN THE STORM

  Copyright © 2017 Max Henry

  Published by Max Henry

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  For those whose past mistakes

  weigh heavy on their heart.

  Your failures do not define you,

  nor should your regrets.

  For without these

  how are we to grow?

  ONE

  Cammie

  Eleven hours in the office, and this is what I have to come home to. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing, trapped in the naïve thought that maybe, just maybe, if I wish him away hard enough, it could truly happen.

  Nope. Still there.

  My ex leans a shoulder against the house, tucked under the veranda as though he had hoped to blend into the shadows and catch me by surprise.

  Blondie belts a tune out on my car radio, the beat going some way toward helping me find my Zen. Three years on, and the sheer sight of him still pisses me off, the same as it did when he told me “I don’t think I can ever love you again.”

  Yeah. Because loving me means accepting the fact it wasn’t my fault, and he refuses to believe that.

  I refuse to believe that.

  Drawing a deep breath, I reach for the door handle and promptly cut Blondie off mid-sentence as the crisp evening air rushes in to my safe haven. With my leather tote snatched in my other hand, I rise and plaster on as natural a smile as I can manage when my back aches and my feet throb from overuse.

  “Eight months, Jared.”

  “And yet, it hasn’t dulled your attitude any.” He looks down his nose at me as I approach, arms folded across his chest.

  “What do you want?” I lock the car, pining for that first dip of my feet into a hot bath.

  “You ignored my calls.” He frowns as I walk right by him. “Did you think I’d be that easy to brush off?”