Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“He must have been.”
I look to Chase, and he continues. “You loved him, so he must have been.”
We stare at each other a moment.
“You’re worth someone’s love, too, you know.” I take a breath, adding the second part in a low tone. “She just wasn’t the one meant to love you back.”
Surprisingly, his lips pull into a smile. “I know.”
“Are you sure?”
Chase chuckles, slowly pushes to his feet, and moves for the door. “Trust me. I’m sure,” he says, glancing my way with a look I can’t quite decipher. “I’d better head in. I’m behind the wheel tomorrow for Brady.”
I nod but don’t rise, and Chase smiles softly.
“Good night, Princess Payton.”
I meet his eyes in question, and his mouth pulls to one side.
“It’s better than Princess Puke,” he jokes, and a tired chuckle escapes.
He leaves, and it’s not until the door is closed behind him that I realize I didn’t want him to go, though even once he does, my feet don’t carry me inside.
Brady’s words from earlier come back and begin to loop in my mind.
He was right, it has been a hell of a year. Longer than that in my case.
If that much could change in twelve months plus time, who knows what the hell could happen in a single season, and fall is fast approaching.
I wonder what life will look like come winter.
Nothing could have prepared me for the answer to that question.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Payton
Before, November
“Nate helped set up the nursery, and Lolli and I washed all his little clothes a couple of weeks ago. Everything is ready for him, but he seems perfectly happy squashing my lungs.”
Deaton links his hand in mine, chuckling softly. “Pretty soon, he’ll be here, and you’ll be wishing for a night of peaceful sleep,” he teases.
I smile, running my free palm up and down my belly. “That’s the same thing Vivian said.” I look up into his brown eyes. “You would like her and her husband. They’re nothing like our families. They’re kind and loving, and they go out of their way just to be a part of his life.” A pinch of sadness makes itself known, but I shake it off. “I wish you could have met Mason’s mom and dad. They’re good to me. Always checking on me.”
“I’m glad you have them,” he whispers. “Your new friends, too.”
Warmth washes over me, and I close my eyes, snuggling closer to him. “I don’t know what I would do without them.”
“What would you do without him?”
A frown builds, and I look up.
Deaton smiles down at me, but something rings, and he looks to the side a moment before coming back. “I have to go now, Payton.”
“Wait—”
The chirp of my phone wakes me, and I squeeze my eyes closed, wishing my dream could have lasted a little longer, but they never do. I always wake up too soon.
Sighing, I pick up my phone and clear the dumb weather notification that popped up. The time catches my attention—it’s nearly ten in the morning already. Mason and I stayed up way too late again watching old VHS tapes and arguing over who played the best Batman. Clearly it was Christian Bale.
“Shit.”
The low hiss comes from the kitchen, and I grin, the slight tinge of burnt toast teasing my nostrils. Thank God for the third trimester; no more obsessive vomiting over the subtlest of smells. I scoot to the edge of the cushion, using my arms to help hoist me off the seat.
It’s sad how much effort it takes to stand right now, but I guess that’s to be expected when you’re fifty-plus pounds heavier than normal.
There’s a soreness to the pads of my feet as I make my way into the kitchen, and when I come around the corner, I can’t stop the laugh that escapes.
Mason’s head jerks up, the action causing him to wince.
“You look—”
“Sexy? Rugged? Like a total man’s man?” he supplies.
“Adorable.”
Mason glares, but it’s playful, and I move closer, swiping the flour off his chin.
He grins down at me. “Good morning, Pretty Little.”
“Good morning, Superstar. Why are you sneaking around the kitchen with a frilly apron on when you’re supposed to be resting?”
“I have rested. For four days, I’ve rested. I’ve sat on the couch all day, each day, and I can’t do it anymore.”
“But your ribs—”
“Are going to heal just as slowly if I’m standing as they will if I’m sitting.”
I must be frowning, because the next thing I know, Mason is pushing closer, his knuckle running along my forehead.
“Pretty Little, as much as I like you worrying about me, and I do by the way, you need to stop.” His eyes lower to where my hand rests, and small bubbles seem to burst in my belly.
“Worrying about you isn’t hurting me, Mase, and just because you say stop doesn’t mean I’m going to.”