Page 133 of Burn

He’s holding himself back from me. Keeping his hands off my body, and it’s freaking me out because I have no idea what he’s thinking.

Please be happy.

“How?” he asks.

I laugh. “Well, when two people love each other, and they express it through intercourse —”

“Shut up,” he laughs, the first smile cracking across his face. “You’re…?”

I nod, summon every ounce of courage to reach for his hand, and pull it to my stomach. In the last few days, it’s gotten swollen, too. No one would notice, and he probably assumed I was bloated or getting my period, but it’s there. A tiny little bump of life, currently amplified by the four slices of pizza I devoured at lunch.

He presses his hand into me, and the warmth feels heavenly. Turns out early pregnancy is awful, and I’ve been souncomfortable and crampy. The heat from his touch eases every ache away, and for the first time in weeks, I feel incredible.

“I know this wasn’t exactly planned. Not yet anyway,” I say cautiously.

When his eyes meet mine again, there’s pain and fear in them.

Oh no.

When he speaks, my heart cracks wide open. “What if I’m not any good?” he asks quietly.

I hold his gaze, forcing myself to be strong and resolute when I say, “You couldn’t possibly be anything but good, Adrian. There is no one person on this planet I could pray to raise a child with. No one I’m more certain will protect us, love us, nourish us, and…”

I don’t get a chance to finish my speech because Adrian reaches out, grabbing me by the neck, and pulling my body into his. This time, it’s not a Hollywood-style kiss. He wraps his massive arms around my waist, pulling me into a tight hug. He buries his face into my neck, and I count the beats of his heart as it slams into his rib cage. He breathes me in, tickling my skin with each exhale. We stay like this for a moment, then he picks me up, wrapping my legs around his waist, and pulls back.

His eyes glisten with unshed tears. And this? This big, strong man, looking up at me with wonder? This might just take the cake as my favorite version of Adrian. He holds me, unwavering, in the kitchen of our house, while I carry our unborn child in my womb, and I could stay in this moment for the rest of eternity.

He reaches for the back of my neck, keeping me in place with one hand, and just before he kisses me, his deep, gravelly voice says, “Thank you.”

Me?

Thank me?

As if he isn’t the one who saved me and loved every part of me — the good and the bad — the one who put every broken piece of me back together with his strong hands.

I can’t believe I get to spend the rest of my life loving each broken pieceof him — even the ones that still burn.

The End