27 Truths: Ava's story (The Truth About Love Book 1) (21 page)

I take a deep breath and nod.

Thank God
, I think.
Thank God
.

In our bedroom, I begin to pack. Tomorrow, we fly to Chicago where I will meet seven women whose children have disabilities that will forever affect them.

“Why?” I ask myself out loud.

An arm snakes around my waist and pulls me back until I hit a warm hard body. “Why what?”

I turn and hug him. “Those poor women.”

“Page ten,
Love shows in her empathy
.”

I look up at him and smile slightly.

“Page eleven,
Love is in the compassion she carries
.” He smiles, making me smile.

“Page twelve,” I tell him, “
her love is because of his
. Thank you. Thank you for today, thank you for yesterday, and thank you for tomorrow.”

He cups the side of my face and kisses my forehead. “No, Ava, thank
you
.”

“Are you scared?” I whisper.

“No. Things won’t change, Ava. We won’t let it. Regardless.”

“When are we going to get married?” I ask as quickly as I feel it. It sounds needy, and honestly, it is. I need to be his wife.

His smile … God, his smile makes me love him even more.

“Tonight,” he answers, and I laugh. His eyes widen. “We can.”

I look at him, hoping he sees the thoughts and words I can’t even begin to put into a sentence, because it wouldn’t make sense. It’s yes. It’s I want my family to be present. It’s I don’t care if they are if it will make him at all uncomfortable. It’s all weighted down by the doom and hope that hovers over both of us.

“Let’s get packed and get through this week,” he says. “Then maybe we can take a trip upstate.”

I feel the weight of our world lifted off my shoulders, and I can’t do anything except lean into him as he rubs my back and kisses my head.

“Thank you, Thomas.”

***

“It’s too early,” I whine as he kisses the back of my neck and chuckles as the alarm goes off at four in the morning.

“You booked the flights,” he points out, pulling me until I am on my back, looking up at him.

I smile and lean up to kiss him, and then nausea suddenly rears her ugly head.

I roll off the bed and run to the bathroom, covering my mouth.

He snickers as he pulls my hair back while I throw up in the sink again.

“I was hoping we were past this.”

“Two more weeks,” I tell him, blindly reaching for the faucet, but he is there, already rinsing the white porcelain sink out.

“Love you,” I mumble as I push myself up.

He hands me a washcloth. “Yes, you do.” He winks.

I don’t know if it’s the fact that I should still be in bed for another two and a half hours, that I just threw up, or that he didn’t say it back for the very first time ever, but I shoot daggers at him.

He literally steps back as if he thinks I am a demon possessed. “Okay, what was that?”

“You didn’t say it back.” I turn my back on him.

“Page thirteen,
Love needs not a word. It’s in the way we treat each other
, Ava.”

I look up and see him smirking at me in the mirror. I roll my eyes.

“Page fourteen,
Love’s moods are dependent on physical feelings, so forgiveness is necessary until the second trimester
,” I retort.

“Yes, and page fifteen,
Love needs no excuses
.”

“That can be taken in a couple ways,” I tell him after rinsing my mouth out with water.

“Beautiful girl, then you take it in whichever way pleases you.”

I close my eyes and press my hand to my belly, hoping it will ease the feeling that the water I just drank wants to come up.

I feel his fingers lightly pinch the middle of my ear. He doesn’t move when I look at him questioningly.

“I’ve been doing some research. This is supposed to be a pressure point to help stop nausea.”

I lean back and sigh.

***

We walk hand in hand out of security at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport. He is wheeling my carry-on with his bag slung over his shoulder. I smile to myself, picturing T carrying a pink frou-frou diaper bag.

He squeezes my hand, and I look up to see the question in his eyes.

I shake my head. “It’s stupid.”

He winks. “Perfect, let’s hear it.

“You carrying a pink diaper bag.”

He grins and pulls me closer to him before releasing my hand and throwing his free arm around my shoulders, kissing my head. “Can’t wait.”

“But we have to.” I smile sadly up at him.

He looks at his watch for the time. The doctor will be calling us with the test results at any moment.

“Not that it changes the fact that I will be carrying a bag full of diapers, but we only have another hour, Ava.”

I sigh. “I don’t think it was smart to give myself only an hour to absorb the information before going into today’s meeting.”

He winks. “I can be quicker than an hour.”

I laugh and shake my head.

He presses his lips to the top of my head. “It’s ours, Ava … regardless.”

I nod as I take in the tingling sensation caused by the adoration he has for me, for us, for our love.

“I know. I know it is.”

Traffic is horrible, which makes me anxious. T isn’t bothered by it at all. He is sitting next to me in jeans with a gray long-sleeved tee under his black vest, tapping some beat with his fingers against mine.

As the car comes to a stop, he sighs. “Traffic,” he states, pulling out his phone.

I gave the nurse his phone number. He is stronger than I am; it’s obvious. And yes, it makes me feel horrible that I can’t bear the burden of being the one to tell him if it is him or Luke who is the father of the baby. How selfish of me. How selfish of me to put that on him.

Self-awareness trumps selfishness in this case. I can’t break his heart. I can’t, and it’s possible I will.

I lean in closer, which isn’t close enough. It will never be close enough.

Unlike Luke, T is a love I can touch and feel and depend on to hold me up.

Am I asking too much of him?

I allow the thought to cloud the reality of what we are. He holds me, kisses me, and hugs me every time the thoughts get to be too much. The fact that we are stuck in traffic after we planned out the flight time, travel to the hotel, and the doctor’s call with the results to a T … This messes with our plans. We were supposed to be in our room when we received the call.

“Talk to me,” he whispers.

“Page sixteen,
Love is vulnerable
.”

And as if fate knew when to hit me at my lowest again, his phone rings, and I hold my breath for what seems like forever.

The ringing in my ears and the way my heartbeat is so loud drown out his conversation. Instead, I watch him.

His face is red. He is rubbing the back of his neck. His gaze bounces from me to the ceiling. He lets out a held breath. His mouth moves, and I can read his lips. “
Yes
.” He looks as anxious as I feel.

He leans back into the seat and lets out a breath as he sits up. “And what does that mean in laymen’s terms?” His shoulders slouch, and he lets out a slow, steady breath. “Thank you.” He hangs up his phone and sits back, rubbing his brow.

I want to scream, “Tell me, dammit!” but I can’t. I can’t do that. If he needs time, I will give it to him. At this moment and for the rest of my life, I will give him anything he needs.

He lets out a silent chuckle, and I feel like all hope is deflating.

As the car starts moving, he opens his eyes and releases my hand. He wipes his palms down his jeans to dry them.

“Sorry, Ava.” He takes my hand and wipes it down his pants, too. “I was trying like hell to stay calm for you. I wasn’t sure if you’d leave me if this wasn’t our child.”

“I’d never leave you,” I reply shakily. “Please don’t leave me, T. Please.”

He sits up, and a smile starts to form. “Oh, Ava, that is never going to happen.” Now his smile is full-on and beautiful. “Ava, our baby likes drums. We’re having a baby.”

I nod my head, still needing to hear the words even though I see it in his eyes. T loves me, though. He would be happy, regardless.

He grins. “The lab results are ninety-nine percent sure that Thomas Hardy is the luckiest man in the world.”

“So it’s yours?” I ask, needing affirmation.

“My goddess, my love, my Ava, yes.” He smiles and laughs as he pulls me onto his lap. “Yes,” he breathes out against my neck, kissing it a dozen times. “Yes,” he says again as he holds my face in his hands and looks into my eyes. “Yes,” he repeats, his breath hitching.

A tear forms in his eye, and I throw my arms around him, pulling his head against my shoulders.

“Thank you, God,” I whisper, hugging him more tightly.

“Thank you, God,” he repeats.

***

All week, I have had meetings in a rented hotel conference room. It has been me, a stenographer named Lizzy, and women who trusted in the FDA’s ability to do what they are supposed to do: govern what they were designed to and review test results to determine if a drug is safe for use.

Thomas has met me in the lobby and taken me to dinner every evening. Then he takes me to bed and makes love to me: no hurry; no tying me up, although I hope we can try that again soon; and absolutely no stress.

We are now sitting at a pizza parlor across the road. Eating deep dish pizza seems to be our thing.

“I bought some books about pregnancy today.” He smiles after he allows me to wipe the corner of his mouth.

“Good, because we need to make sure I am doing everything right. And God, Thomas,” I groan, “I don’t even know if I can trust what the doctors say. This common over-the-counter drug used to treat cold symptoms, Sinexes, is a class A drug, which means, after all sorts of tests have been run, the conclusion is that there are no risks to a fetus. It’s supposed to be safe. Then our lovely government-run FDA reviews and approves it.”

He nods and holds out a fork. I take a bite.

“Then we must see that you don’t get sick, which means lots of fluids and rest.” His coy smirk is telling.

“Which means I’m in bed a lot.”

“Precisely.”

I wipe my mouth and stand up. “Then take me there.”

He looks up and smiles as if a prayer has just been answered. “Thank you.”

Our plane lands in Ithaca on Friday afternoon. Knowing I didn’t have to be in the office again until Monday, T changed our flights so we can go tell my father in person that we are getting married. I decided we should wait two weeks to let that settle in before telling him about our little drummer.

T insists I wait until he gets
our
—and yes, he says
our—
Land Rover out of long-term parking so that I don’t catch a chill. He’s so wonderful to me.

I walk out when I see him pull up to the curb, and he jumps out and opens the door for me. I can’t help myself. I jump into his arms and kiss him over and over and over again.

“I’m hard, Ava,” he whispers.

“You’re insatiable.”

He pushes his nose against mine. “I need you so fucking bad.”

The raw tone of his voice makes me want to give it to him right here. It echoes need. And in his eyes, I see it all: the insecurity when we are here and the need for affirmation that I am his and that this place won’t change that.

I get in the vehicle and shut the door behind me while he gets in the driver side, and then he puts the vehicle in drive. I glance over at T to see him gripping the wheel so tightly my heart feels it.

I grab my phone from my bag and snap a picture of him. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye and shakes his head, pulling his knit cap down lower as he lets out a slow breath. The sound calls to me, to every part of me that he has ever loved.

I reach over and place my hand on his tented track pants.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

I grip him as best I can and stroke him slowly.

“Fuck, Ava, just like that.”

I swallow down my desire, and it’s not a desire to be touched. Although I am warm and tingly everywhere, I don’t want him to touch me. I want to touch him, to please him, to take care of him like he takes care of me.

I lean over and place a kiss on his neck, his shoulder, his chest, his side where my name is tattooed on him. Then I bend down and kiss his hip, all while stroking him.

I reach inside his pants to find him bare—he always is. Leaning down, I lick the pre-come from his tip, causing his hips to rise slightly. I take just his head into my mouth as he pushes down his pants, fully exposing himself to me.

He’s beautiful
, I think as I stroke him slowly up and down, licking him, sucking him, tasting him, loving him with my mouth.

He glances down at me in utter adoration as he holds the steering wheel in one hand and cups my face with the other.

I move up and down slowly, making sure to let my tongue caress each and every ridge, every vein, every part of him.

“I don’t want it to end,” he hisses as I speed up, wet and wanton.

I slow down for him.

“Thank you.” His praise is in his words, his eyes, his touch as he caresses my face.

He pulls into my driveway, and I sit up. He is out of the vehicle before I even register that we are not going to Dad’s right now. My door opens, and he takes my hand.

At the door, I punch in the code that unlocks the door. Then I let go of his hand so that I can disarm the alarm so Dad isn’t alerted.

T wraps his arms around me from behind, sliding his hands down my belly then under my waistband and inside my panties. He cups me as we walk in from the garage to the kitchen.

His fingers on his left hand push under my panties while the other hand pushes under my shirt and squeezes my breast.

I gasp, “T, easy please.”

“Which hand, love?” he asks in a low rasp.