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This time, I knew exactly where I was going. I was going back to the hospital to be with Monica to beg for her forgiveness, and to prove that I was ready to be the father to our baby. She was the love of my life, and as scared as I was to be a father, I wanted to do it with her. Thanks to my own father, I knew exactly what not to do. That was enough confidence for me.
The cab could not get to her fast enough. Our life together could not start fast enough.
Chapter 57
Monica
“You’re sure?” asked Troy, holding a paint roller and looking at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes, I’m sure.” I ran my own paint roller through the tray on the floor.
It had been a feat just to crouch down to do that. I wasn’t sure how I was going to paint an entire nursery. Of course, I had asked the doctor if it was safe for me to do so, and he gave me the green light. Although, it had been hard for me to give the green light on which color to use for the nursery, until I found the perfect shade of blue.
Blissful blue.
Blissful.
A juxtaposition to what my life was like three months ago when I almost lost my life, and then found out I was pregnant, and then I lost Troy.
“Okay,” he said hesitantly as he rolled the paint onto the wall, watching me from the corner of his eye.
“Will you stop that?” I rolled my eyes.
“I just want to make sure. It only took you seventy-five paint swatches to find the one you wanted.” He laughed.
It was more like eighty-five, but who was really counting. I tried to pull myself to stand, but my round belly made it hard. Troy put down the paint roller and came over, taking my hands in his and helping me to my feet. He didn’t let go of my hands as he looked down at me with warmth in his eyes.
“I just want it to be perfect,” I said.
“It is perfect,” he whispered. “You’re perfect.”
He leaned down and kissed me, his hands moving to my belly gently. I closed my eyes and soaked in the moment, remembering when I thought this life would never be ours. Becoming parents and painting our son’s nursery, being completely in love.
Three months ago, when Troy had left me in the hospital after I told him I was pregnant, I thought my world was over. It hurt more than any of the bruises or my banged-up head that had been inflicted by the accident. I remember watching him leave out the door as I clutched the ultrasound in my hands, the glossiness slick against my fingers.
He came back almost two hours later, avoiding getting smacked upside the head by his sister and pulling me into his arms with tearful apologies. I remember holding him, his face pressed against my stomach as he clutched onto me. I couldn’t turn him away. The entire day had been something out of a thriller, a shock to us both, and then to throw in the news of me being pregnant. It would be a lot for anyone.
“I’m scared to be like my father,” he had whispered, almost to the baby more than me.
I had run my fingers through his dark hair, my heart breaking, knowing that Troy, this wonderful man, believed he would be like that awful man. I was guiltily impressed when I heard he had decked his own father in the face. Maybe it would be the wakeup call that the powerful, almighty Bryson Gunner needed.
“The only thing you two have in common is your DNA,” I’d said.
It made him laugh softly.
“Only you could make me laugh after the day we’ve had,” he’d replied, looking up at me.
I smiled down at him.
“Move in with me,” he’d said.
“Wh-what?” I had asked in surprise.
Just an hour ago, I thought that I had lost the love of my life, and now he was asking me to live with him.
“Move in with me. Let’s do this right. I love you and I love this baby. I want to be the best father I can be, and the best partner to you.”
My eyes began welling up with tears.