Cease Fire (Blackbridge Security 9)

“That’s fucking awesome, man!” I say, because it’s the truth. I cross the room and wrap my arms around him.

Brooks is next in line to clap him on the back. Quinten’s smile is from ear to ear, but his eyes are still searching mine to see if I’m really happy.

“You’re going to be an amazing dad,” Brooks says.

I have to nod in agreement. They haven’t been married but for a handful of months, but his joy is palpable.

“Congrats,” Wren says, his voice once again coming over the damn loudspeaker mounted to the wall. “Care to tell me what position you guys—”

“Wren!”

We all turn to see Deacon walking into the room from the direction of the elevator.

“Enough of that shit,” our boss snaps.

“Yes, Daddy!” That response comes from the damn bird rather than our IT specialist.

“Hayden is pregnant,” Brooks tells Deacon, spreading the good news.

Deacon moves in to congratulate Quinten, and I step to the side. I’m happy for the guy, but I also don’t have to stick around and listen to Deacon talk to him about fatherhood and how it’s the best thing he’s ever experienced.

I slink to my office, knowing that I may get to have experiences as a dad but they won’t look anything like what these guys will experience.

I guess the pity party I’ve been having for myself still isn’t over.

Chapter 34

Jules

I imagined this moment.

I’d even let myself hope that he’d show up today.

In my head, it looked nothing like it does right now.

Kit is here at the doctor’s office with me, but there’s no conversation. He hardly looked at me when he walked in and noticed me sitting on the far wall. He sat beside me in silence and that’s exactly how he has remained since arriving.

I thought I was brave. I thought I was the type of woman capable of opening her mouth and begging for forgiveness, but that woman isn’t who’s sitting here today.

Today, I’m the woman barely holding it together, the woman who knows if she opens her mouth, she will sob uncontrollably, the woman who would crawl on her knees through broken glass to beg this man for one more shot.

And if he’d open his mouth and speak to me, I know that’s how today would go, but he seems quite content to just sit there and flip through a magazine as if he really cares about preparing breastfeeding nipples to prevent soreness.

How does one even open their mouth to admit that they love someone after manipulating them into a situation they may have never wanted?

“Ms. Warren?”

My eyes are on Kit when my name is called, and he seems annoyed, his jaw flexing.

“Right here,” I say, standing just as Kit does the same.

I nearly stumble when I feel the warmth of his palm on my back as we walk toward the nurse. She grins at him first, no doubt registering his good looks before giving me a much weaker smile.

I can’t blame her for being impressed. The man is gorgeous after all.

“We’ll need to get your weight first,” she says, indicating the scale on the far wall.

Ever the gentleman, Kit pays attention to the sign on the wall while I weigh in, and I’d find it funny him examining the diagram of the female reproductive system if this were any other situation.

“Down another three pounds,” the nurse says. “I’ll make a note in the chart. Follow me please.”

He doesn’t touch me again as we’re escorted to the room for the sonogram, and I’m a little disappointed in the loss of that warmth through my clothes.

“Just climb up there on the table,” the nurse instructs. “Jillian will be with you in a moment.”

Even enclosed in the room, Kit doesn’t speak to me, and I feel like I’m choking on everything I need to say to him, but my courage has completely disappeared.

He won’t even look at me. Everything in this room is more interesting than the woman on the table. It makes me realize just how often his eyes have been on me over the years. Even after coming back from the military, he’d watch me. He may not have initiated many conversations, but I was acutely aware of him keeping track of me no matter where I moved in the house.

I miss it. Fuck, I miss him.

I open my mouth to tell him so, but the door swings open, a middle aged woman with her hair in a severe bun entering.

“Hi, Jules. I’m Jillian, the one doing your sonogram today. And you are?” Jillian asks, holding her hand out to Kit.

“Kit Riggs,” he says, shaking her proffered hand.

His voice runs over me like velvet. I haven’t heard it since he left my house in anger, demanding I confess my secrets. That was weeks and weeks ago, and I’ve missed that part of him too. The silence is nearly as painful as the tone of his voice when he’s angry.