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“I’ll tell you a secret few people know. When I fell in love with Noah, I learned he didn’t want children. He had, in fact, gotten a vasectomy.”
Hope leaped within Olivia’s heart. She had seen Noah with his kids. She knew he adored them and was completely devoted to his family.
“How did you convince him to change his mind?”
“I didn’t. He made up his own mind. He knew I wanted children, so he had the procedure reversed.”
It had happened for Samara and Noah, could it happen for her and Nic? How could she convince him that he would make a wonderful father? She didn’t know. The only thing she did know was that he was going to be a father. Whether he wanted to be involved was entirely up to him.
“Does Nic know he’s going to be a father?”
“Yes. I sent him copies of the ultrasound.”
She refused to hide anything. Even though he had done this for her, given her the baby he knew she wanted, she intended to make sure he was aware of everything. There would be no secrets. Even if she never saw him again, he would know what was going on with his child. She would send him photos, videos, pictures of school projects, and report cards. He would know his child, even if he never knew his child.
There would never be secrets between them again.
“Have you heard from him?”
“No.”
“And?”
Olivia smiled, knowing it likely looked sad, but it wasn’t, not really. She was at peace with her decision.
“And,” she said quietly, “I’ll wait forever if I have to.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Marco Island, Florida
The house, made of wood, stone, and brick, had five bedrooms and four-and-a-half baths. A large porch wrapped all the way around to the back, where a glistening pool separated the house from the white-sand beach. It had an open floor plan, a gourmet kitchen, and a giant bonus room on the third floor designed to accommodate a large family. It wasn’t the largest home in the neighborhood or even the fanciest, but the welcoming exterior gave only a hint of the warmth within. To Hawke, it represented the beauty that was Olivia Gates.
Not that Olivia had shown him around the house. Instead, he had toured the home when she’d been gone. Breaking in had been easy, which reminded him he needed to ensure her locks were changed. They were good, but they could be better.
Stalking his ex-wife had never been on his radar. Stalking in general was creepy and wrong on so many levels. Although, was it technically stalking when the one you were watching not only knew you were there but openly invited you inside?
Olivia had a routine, one Hawke had become accustomed to following. Around six thirty each morning, the shutters would be pulled back, the front door would open, and Olivia would appear on the porch. She would stand there, looking directly at him, sometimes for a full minute, sometimes less. Then she would turn and go back inside.
At seven, she would take a run or walk on the beach. At eight, she would return home, prepare breakfast, and eat in the sunroom attached to the kitchen.
Her day varied from there. Recently, she had been receiving furniture deliveries. Last week, when the baby furniture truck had arrived, Hawke had watched with great interest, trying to determine what she’d purchased and picture where she might place each piece in the nursery.
The day he’d received the ultrasound photos had been one of the most painful and exciting days of his life. He had stared at the images a million times. One moment, he was railing that they existed. The next, he was thanking God they did.
Yeah, he was about as screwed up as a man could get.
He knew what she was doing. Knew that she was putting no pressure on him to be involved, but wanted him to know what was going on because, dammit, he was the father of her child.
On the bad days, he would hear his father’s voice, remember the bitter hatred in his eyes. Cooper Hawthorne had been born with a hatred of people in general. He’d died, hating his son most of all. His last words were a testament to that.
You’re just like me, boy. Stop trying to pretend you’re not. You get yourself a kid or two, and you’ll see. We ain’t no different.
Hawke had tried to deny that all of his life. Had gone to great lengths to make sure he never ended up like his old man. And what had he done two years ago when Livvy had told him she was pregnant? He had turned into the bastard. No, he hadn’t hit her, but he might as well have.
And then, when she’d told him he no longer had to worry about the pregnancy, he had gone full Cooper Hawthorne on her.
Did you get rid of it?