One. Two. Three contractions later, Charlotte’s baby makes her way into the world.
“Look at our daughter, Porter. She’s beautiful.”
I look at the baby, only getting a quick moment to search for a part of myself in her. Can’t tell—the doctor hands her off to the intensive care nursery staff quickly.
I do have time to see that her head is bald as a cue ball. It could mean nothing; she’s premature.
But this paternity test… it means everything. “I have a cord blood paternity test. I’d like to ask you to collect a sample for me.”
“Porter, our daughter was just born. You haven’t even held her yet, and you’re asking for a paternity test?”
“I sure am. And you can forget me holding her until I know she’s mine.”
The nurse takes the kit from me and hands it off to the doctor. The tube is passed back to me in a plastic bag. “I’m using a private lab and paid extra for the test to be rushed. We’ll know the results in two days.”
“They’re rushing it? That means they’ll probably make a mistake.”
“Nope. Don’t even go there and start in making claims about the results being wrong. I don’t want to hear that shit.”
“She is your daughter.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?”
I enter the house with at least twelve sacks of groceries hanging on my arms. Yeah, I’m that person. The one who will die making one trip from the car with groceries rather than go back a second, third, and fourth time.
I bet every vein in my neck bulges when I lift the sacks up and toss them on the kitchen counter. “Uhh.”
“Good grief, Frankee. Let me help you with that.”
“No way. It’s been two days since your last chemo. You should be resting, not putting up groceries.”
“Stop, Frankee.” Kit places her hand on top of mine. “Go to the bedroom. He’s waiting for you.”
“He’s here?”
Kit nods.
“But it’s Wednesday.”
She cradles my face. “Go to him, sweetie. He’s eager to talk to you.”
Porter has come to see me at his parents’ house every weekend for the last six weeks. Like clockwork, he arrives on Friday evening and leaves late Sunday afternoon. It’s been our routine.
Nothing about our lives has been ideal these last weeks. Although extreme, my disappearing act was necessary to convince clusterfuck I was in Texas and no longer in Porter’s life. My absence ended any interest she had in spinning her web around my family. Without her realizing it, her demand for me to be out of the picture inadvertently ended the only leverage she had with Porter.
Everyone in our inner circle believes I’m in Mobile caring for Kit—my mother-in-law-to-be. It’s a huge lie to tell the people we love, but we will have saved ourselves a lot of pain and grief if Charlotte’s baby isn’t Porter’s.
But all of this will have been for naught if he is the father.
Each step I take toward the bedroom makes my heart race a little faster. I simultaneously want to run to him and stand right where I am because I’m terrified of what he’s going to tell me.
‘Mama, I'm Comin' Home’ is playing, and it grows louder as I get closer to our bedroom. He doesn’t hear me approach so I stand in the doorway, taking a moment to study him as he gazes out the window.
He’s so beautiful. And I love him.
He’s mine no matter what.
He turns and smiles when he sees that I’ve entered the room and shut the door behind me. “Baby…”
One word. It’s all he gets out before we’re crossing the room to crash into each other, him clenching me so tightly I can hardly breathe. He buries his face in my hair and his body shudders.
He’s crying.
Oh no. The news isn’t what we were hoping for.
My chest aches and I shudder with him, sharing his pain.
“It’s okay. I love you. We’ll make it work somehow.”
He loosens his hold and presses his forehead to mine, cradling my face in his big hands. “Charlotte’s baby is not mine.”
“Say it again so it can sink in.”
“The baby is not mine. The Charlotte nightmare is over.”
“It’s finally over.”
I smile and Porter’s mouth crashes against mine. He grasps the back of my thighs and lifts me, carrying me to the bed. He lowers me, but we don’t fall together in the middle as an entwined mess of arms and legs. Instead, he sits me on the edge and goes to his knees in front of me. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too.”
He pushes his hand into his pocket, pulling out a black ring box. “I bought this weeks ago. I’ve been carrying it around in my pocket to give me hope. Hope that no mattered what happened, you would one day be my wife.”
He cracks open the box and takes out a white-gold and diamond ring just like the one we discussed. “Frances Ameline Dawson. You have been my constant, endless, loyal beacon. The blind faith and steadfast love you’ve given me is more than I ever expected or deserved. There’s been a thousand times you could and probably should have left me. But you didn’t. You stayed and weathered the storm by my side. And that’s where I want you for the rest of our lives. Will you marry me?”
I hold out my hand for him to slide the ring on my finger. “Yes. I will marry you and be by your side for the rest of our lives.”
I’m helping Adelyn clean up the kitchen while Lawrence nurses Emeric. “I’m sorry y’all are having to do that without me.”
Adelyn slings her hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it. Not a big deal.”
“Emeric’s done well with being weaned but he downright refuses to give up his bedtime nursing.”
“One or thirty-one. None of them want to give up tit.”
Adelyn stops mid-swipe over the counter. “Frankee speaketh the truth.”
“You know I ain’t lying.”
“Is Porter obsessed with your boobs? Because Oliver is completely fixated on mine.”
“Yesss.”
“Boobs, beer, and ball. The three B obsessions.”
“You forgot booty.”
“The four B obsessions.”
Tap, Stout, and Porter are in the living room drinking beer while they watch the football game. Typical Monday get-together for these guys—the men of Lovibond.
Emeric jolts when a string of loud cuss words carries into the kitchen. “Guess the wrong team scored.”
A few minutes later, warm rock-hard arms wrap around me from behind. “Hey, baby momma. Game’s over. You ready to go?”
“Yup.” I’ve been ready to go for an hour. My ass is hurting from sitting on this barstool.
“Thank you for having us, Lawry. We enjoyed it.”
“Maybe we’ll miss our get-together next Monday because y’all will be holding a baby.”
“I’d be okay with that.”
I drop my seat back when we get into the car. “Having pains?”
“My ass is. I sat on that barstool too long.”
“Ass pain could be good.”
“Trust me. Ass pain is never good.”
“Think you can pull off giving birth tonight?”
“Well, that would be okay with me.”
“Good. Because I’m going to fuck you into labor when we get home.”
“You’re going to do what?”
Porter chuckles. “Don’t get mad.”
“Don’t get mad at what?”
“Stout and I made a bet.”
Porter and his bets with Stout. “What kind of bet did you make this time?”
“He bet me he could fuck Adelyn into labor before I could fuck you into labor.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No. We put a thousand bucks on it.”
“A thousand dollars? You don’t think you should have consulted me about this first?”
“You know I can’t back down from a bet with Stout.”
“I’m tired.”
&
nbsp; “I’ll do all the work. And I’ll make you come. Hard.”
I’ve never been one to turn down orgasms. “I guess.”
“Will you wear something sexy for me?”
“I will if anything fits.”
I actually find a few pieces of lingerie that fit but I go with a black and red baby-doll gown because it’s always been one of Porter’s favorites.
My breasts are spilling out of the top and my belly is making the gown split open, but I don’t think he’ll mind. Gives him a nice view of the tiny matching G-string.
He’s sitting on the side of the bed naked and with a huge erection when I come into our bedroom. “Damn girl, you look good enough to eat.”
I put my hand over the black triangle between my legs. “Hope you’re hungry. ‘Cause this is an all-you-can-eat buffet.”
Damn. That was sort of gross, but I’m rolling impromptu with the nasty talk. I’m not as good at it as Porter. But I try.
“Mrs. Beckman. Do you eat with that filthy mouth?”