Page 8

MERIT

Lying in bed, I move my finger quicker, trying to chase the orgasm that my body is craving, needing.

I do everything I can think of, definitely giving it the old college try—finger on the outside, dildo on the inside. And I do everything I can think of not to picture him.

Him and his rippling muscles.

Him and his cute freckled nose.

Him and his sexy-as-hell, flexed forearms.

Him and his gorgeous blond curls.

Him and his insanely hot, tight stomach.

Him and his fuckable blue eyes.

Actors. Musicians. At one point, my mind even plays images of Crutch, Ridge, and Cullen, like a slideshow on a loop. Of course, that feels completely and totally wrong, so I have no choice but to yank my hand from my panties and give up.

For the past five months I’ve touched myself and thought of nothing but him. But now? Now, he’s here. And he’s messing with my fantasies—making them real, making me want things I can no longer have—and he’s stomping on the ash of my charred heart.

I flip on my side and stare at the moon shining through my bedroom window.

I can’t wait for Holt Hill to give up and leave me the hell alone.

Because he gave up on me once before. My still-broken heart is sure it will happen again.

***

“Why is his truck here?” I demand the second I walk through the kitchen. I fling my purse and lunch bag on the table.

Mom and Granny look at one another before Mom finally answers. “He’s working.”

“What?”

“He showed up as soon as you pulled out of the driveway this morning and asked your father if he could work with him today. That way, he’d be here the minute you came home.”

I down a glass of water, trying to quench the fire of anger bubbling in my stomach.

Well, in all honesty, it could be acid reflux instead of anger. Pregnancy reflux is no joke. “And Daddy let him?”

Mom just shrugs. “Not like he gave your father a choice.”

“Why on earth would your father turn away an able-bodied man offering free help?” Granny says. “I can guarantee you Deke’s worked the skin off that boy’s bones. Making that young buck hurt as much as he hurt you.”

I bite back a smile. Good point.

I’m already walking up the stairs when Mom calls behind me. “What are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna wash my face and get out of these dumb clothes. Then, I’m gonna get a front row seat to the torture. It’s the least I can do to show Daddy my appreciation.”

By the time I make it outside, the work in the fields is already finished, and I spot Daddy at the back of the barn sharpening the blades on a hand-held sod cutter. “Hey,” I say, climbing the stairs, grabbing the underside of my stomach out of habit. My nonchalant attempt to glance around must not be too nonchalant.

Daddy jerks his head at the barn. “He’s inside.”

I shrug. “So.”

Daddy just rolls his eyes because he knows I’m full of it.

I lower my voice to a whisper, “Why’d you let him stay here today? I told you I didn’t wanna see him again.”

He lifts an eyebrow and puts his tools on a side table. “Well, we both know that’s a lie, isn’t it?”

I’m not sure how to answer without lying again, so I don’t.

“Did your mom say when supper will be ready?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, I better get cleaned up.” His stoic, fatherly expression breaks into a smile when he gets closer to me. “How’s our boy today?”

I catch his contagious grin, softly giggling. “Active.” Taking Daddy’s hand, I lay it on top of my belly where there’s been the most activity today, and we’re rewarded with a small bump.

I have to say that feeling my baby move has been the most joyous thing about pregnancy. It’s like my enormous love grows with every single kick and punch. And seeing the awe on my parents’ face when it happens, and knowing that I’m giving them a grandson? It’s beyond wonderful.

My heart catches in my throat the second Holt walks out of the barn and onto the deck. My mind instantly thinks back to last night, back to when I did everything I could not to picture him when I was touching myself. Of course, it’s just my luck that he looks downright sinful today. He’s wearing a Browning Sod Farm T-shirt, covered in dirt and filth. His legs are spattered with mud and grit, doing nothing but drawing attention to the muscular lines of his thighs and calves. His discount store tennis shoes are already torn, with the rubber toe flapping each time he takes a step. A bead of sweat escapes from underneath his ballcap and rolls down the side of his face.

The flare of desire pulsing between my thighs embarrasses me, instantly making me blush. He always said he could read my face. Can he read this? Does he know what I’m thinking? Does he know what I want?

Does he feel it too?

My embarrassment is of little consequence because he’s not paying attention to my face. He’s focused on my stomach. And Daddy’s hand. He looks… sad. Envious, maybe?

Daddy pats my shoulder and walks away.

It takes a few beats before Holt lifts his eyes to mine. A soft smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Hi.”

“Hey.” For a brief moment, I revert back. Back to my old self. I fold my hands in front of me—as best I can—and look down at the ground. Remembering I’m not that girl anymore, I look up, capturing him with my gaze. “What are you doing here, Holt? Why’d you come back?”

“I told you last night, I’m not leaving here without you. I’m taking you home.”

Home. He means the home he kicked me out of.

Before I can tell him that, he reaches up and shifts the ballcap on his head. His T-shirt catches against his sticky skin, and I can see the band of his boxer briefs. Normally, Holt does this on purpose. He knows I love it when he lifts his arms. I mean, I used to love it. There’s something about that small movement. It’s so graceful and predatory. Safe and dangerous. Kind and evil.

Except this time, he’s not doing it on purpose. He’s completely distracted. His eyes keep flickering up and down my body.

He’s nervous.

And that’s not usually something Holt Hill is.

“Are you… I mean, is…” he trips over his words. Sighing, he forges forward. “Is something happening?” He nods at my baby bump.

Our baby bump.

“I mean… is he okay? Your dad’s hand was on your stomach, and I didn’t know if something was wrong.” His brow furrows in concern and curiosity.

As much as I want to ignore him and kick him off this land—punish him the way he punished me—I can’t. We’re tied together forever now. We’re having a baby.

And fuck me for wanting to be the bigger person because of that.

“He’s fine. He’s just been kicking some today.”

His mouth opens and then closes, wrestling with the words that want to come rushing out.

Shit.

I wish I could kick and scream. Sometimes, it totally sucks being civil with the devil for the sake of your child.

Well, maybe I’m being a little dramatic. I don’t really think Holt’s a devil. Not all the time, at least.

“Come here,” I say, holding my hand out to him.

I start to shake in anticipation. And that makes me furious.

He grabs a towel from his back pocket and tries to clean the dirt. It’s a losing battle. But it doesn’t bother me. I grew up around this dirt. My son will grow up around this dirt.

When his fingers slide against mine, I nearly lose my shit. Calloused and powerful, they’re just like I remember. His blue eyes lock with mine, freezing us in place. He sighs deeply and contently, my name a heated breath passing through his lips. “Mer.”

My heart pounds faster in my chest, thundering like a train. Shaking my head, I break our trance, refusing to indulge every little flare of desire and longing that Holt stirs in my body. I guide his hand around my bulging belly, settling on top, where Daddy’s hand was. His forearm grazes against my breast, which was not part of my plan. So, of course, I curse myself to holy hell when my nipple pebbles.

But Holt’s more preoccupied with my stomach than with my boobs at this particular moment.

He stops breathing and bends closer, impatiently waiting for our son to kick.

He doesn’t. Our son doesn’t move.

Holt frowns.

Unable to bear his frown, and once again being the bigger person, I give him some advice. “He can hear you. That’s what I read. I talk to him. I think he likes it, because sometimes, he’ll start moving.” I place my hand back on top of his and press down on my stomach.

Licking his lips, he nods. “Hey. Hi, son. It’s me. Your dad.” He clears his throat. All of a sudden, the tension drains from his body, and his shoulders slump. “God, help me, I’m so sorry, son. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you and your mom. I promise that’ll never happen again. I love her, and I love you. And we’re going to always be a family. Please…please forgive me.”

The second the last word leaves his mouth, our son somersaults in my stomach. Over and over. It actually takes my breath away. He’s never done that before. He’s never moved like that.

“Oh, shit!” Holt’s eyes fire with excitement, and his other hand flies to my stomach, desperate to feel every single movement. The joy on his face is devastatingly heartbreaking. I blink rapidly, praying that my tears threatening to spill over don’t fall. Holt laughs loudly—free and unencumbered, filled with a levity that I haven’t heard since before his arrest. And that makes our baby even more excited. He bounces against the bottom left side of my stomach. Without even thinking, I move Holt’s hand lower so he can feel it. His thumb accidentally slips into the waistband of my shorts.

Everything stops.

I think the world actually stops spinning. It’s just dangling there in the middle of the galaxy, a suspended ball of blue and green, waiting to see what we do next.

Love and passion and lightning flash across his face. I feel like I’m suffocating. Suffocating in the unbearable beauty of knowing that the three of us are a family. That we could go back to the way it was between us—if only I’d yield to my fate, accept his apology, and surrender to my true feelings.

If only I’d…

And then my cell phone dings with a text message.

I don’t have to look to know who it is. It’s Mom, letting me know supper is ready.

The moment is over now, ripped away and gone, like so many of our moments. I take a step back, giving distance. His hands fall to his side, and he looks down at them, like he can’t believe what just happened.

“I… I need to go. Supper’s on the table.”

He drags his hand down his face. “Oh, okay. I was thinking maybe we could talk some more tonight?” He looks over his shoulder at the firepit to the right side of the barn. “Maybe we can sit by the fire? I don’t mind waiting. I can wait on you to finish eating. I’ll wait for however long it takes.”

Well, I don’t have to be a rocket scientist to know that declaration is about more than just me eating a casserole.

If given the chance, he’ll break through every one of my defenses. So I shake my head. “I don’t wanna talk tonight. This has been a little… much.” Grabbing the handrail, I walk down the deck steps, making the poor decision to glance back at him. The pitiful look on his face mimics the one I’ve been walking around with for months. “Well, I guess you gotta eat too, huh? No sense in Mom’s food going to waste.”

I immediately wanna punch myself in the face for saying that out loud, for extending that invitation. Those words slipped out of my mouth all on their own.

Fuck this ‘being the bigger person’ bullshit.