Page 88 of Parker

The following day, it was as if our argument never happened.

Pain grips my stomach, and my eyes fly open. My hands automatically cradle my belly when I try to maneuver myself out of bed. As my feet hit the floor, another wave of pain radiatesthrough me. Lowering myself off the bed to the floor, I crawl on my hands and knees toward the bathroom. I pull myself up to flick on the light as

A sudden wetness runs down my legs. Blood is my first thought. Miscarriage.

“Joel,” I shriek. “Joel.” My eyes scan the floor and my legs for the telltale red, but it’s not there. Moments later, he bursts through the door.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” His words spill out as he runs for me in the bathroom. He hits a wet spot on the floor and slides across the room, landing headfirst in the massive bathtub.

“Fucking hell,” he barks. His bare legs and tight ass protrude from the tub, but his dirty blond curls are nowhere to be seen. While pushing himself out of his predicament, the muscles in his shoulders flex as he bears his weight on his hands.

My heart flutters. Just looking at his body still turns me on. He turns to face me, red, probably both from humiliation and fury.

“Where’s the fire?” he snaps, and I burst out laughing. He looks glorious with his tiny boxers, utter frustration, and complete fuckableness. “And what the fuck was on the floor?”

“That means your son is on his way,” I tell him. “It came from me.”

“You’re in labor?” he whispers with a terrified look on his face.

I double over from another wave of pain.

“Shit. What do I do?” he asks, rushing to my side to take my arm and guide me back to the bedroom.

Realizing that I need to be the grown-up here and take control of the situation, I speak to him calmly and slowly like you would to a small child.

“Joel, go and get dressed. Then come back here and pick up the bag. We need to go to the hospital.” Another surge of pain hits hard. “Now.”

He bolts from the room, appearing focused on his task. I giggle under my breath before closing my eyes to wait for the next wave.

Ten minutes later, a much calmer-looking mafia boss appears at my door. He is gorgeous, dressed in jeans and a fitted white t-shirt, freshly ruffled hair. My heart somersaults as he walks toward me. The soft smile on his lips blows my mind.

Head in the game Nicky; you’re having a baby. Ogle your ex-husband later.

He holds out his hand.

“Are you ready to have a baby, Mrs. Parker?”

“Joel, we’re not married anymore,” I say quietly.

“To me, you’ll always be my wife. Our divorce is a document. A piece of paper. It doesn’t change how I feel about you, the part of me that never stopped loving you.”

His words hang in the air.

“Let’s get to the hospital and have our son. We can figure out the details later.”

***

“You were amazing,” he whispers into my hair, kissing my forehead as tears of happiness run down his face. Joel sits next to my bed, holding my hand as our baby boy sleeps in his crib. “Although, you terrified me, again,” he murmurs.

Things became complicated at delivery. After twelve hours of unsuccessful labor, I’d been rushed in for an emergency cesarean section when our son became distressed.

Exhausted and bruised, I was cut open like haggis, and a new human was extracted from me before being sewn back together. The two of us were left in this private room, as if we knew how to look after the tiny sleeping human.

“Have you thought of a name?” he asks. His intent eyes search mine for answers.

“I don’t want any visitors yet,” I tell him. “Except Soph.”

He scowls—I’ve dodged the question.