Harkham's Choice (Harkham's Series Book 2) (39 page)

“She
loves
you, and your beautiful milk. You’re doing it, Mari. You’re being the best mom ever,” he said, glowing.

“But I . . . I was . . . I can’t even remember her name,” she said, racking her mind. She shook her head, and a tiny little fist kneaded into her sore stomach muscles. Mari dipped her head down, took her daughter’s top fist in her hand, nuzzled and kissed it. The moment her lips met her child’s, it hit her. “Shara . . .”

“Shara . . . Our perfect baby,” Adam exclaimed to the room.

Everyone turned toward them and bowed down.

Mari’s insides froze. This was wrong.
 Don’t worship me!

“She’s beautiful,” Mari whispered, “but I don’t deserve her, you, or this.” She motioned to the people around them, still on their knees, not daring to look at them.

“Mari?”

Her shoulder shook, rattling her awake.

“Yeah?” She bolted upright, her brow sweaty.

There was a blanket in his hand.

“Why are you sleeping out here?” Adam asked, staring down at her. “Are you mad at me? I thought you might want a blanket at least if you don’t want to sleep with me.” His eyes were soft and filled with concern.

“No, I . . . Shara . . . God, that was a . . .” She licked her lips, her mouth was dry, but it was easy to ignore. Her head went from foggy to clear when she realized her fears were unfounded. That was not who she was anymore—irresponsible and self-centered.

She cared about Adam more than anything—thought of his needs before her own most of the time.

“We had a baby girl in my dream—Shara,” she began, looking up at him through her lashes. “And I think . . . I think I want to have your baby, if you want one, too.”

“Really?” he squeaked, dropping to his knees before her. “You want my baby inside you?”

“I do. More than anything,” she whispered.

She leaned in to kiss him, but he dragged her off the couch, into his lap, then kissed, cradled and rocked her.

“A baby of our own? A baby we can love and share together?
Shara
?” His shoulders rose.

“Yeah, that name . . .” She gazed in his eyes, gauging his reaction. “It’s strange. I don’t know if we—”

“No! I love it. It’s beautiful, and Share-ah. It means we both share her—love her together. It’s perfect, like you.” He kissed her deeply.

She didn’t dare mention it seemed to be some sort of variation on his mother’s name of Sarah.

When they broke, she said, “But it was just a dream. We don’t know if we’d have a girl or not. You used to say you knew we’d have a boy. I’m sure this dream was a reflection and direct result of that little girl, Kimber, we met at the grocery store. It doesn’t mean we have to—”

He cut her off again. “We do too. We’re gonna have a girl first, then later a boy. I can feel it. In here.” He put her palm on his hammering heart. “And you feel it, too. I know you do. I can see it in your eyes, behind the fear.”

“I’m not afr—well, okay, I’m petrified,” she admitted when he gave her a no-nonsense look. “But I’ll have you to help me, so you’ll make sure I love this kid and don’t screw up like my parents did.”

Ten-year-old Jeremiah, Dr. Harkham’s case number three, drifted into her mind, solidifying her decision. She wanted a child just like Adam and Jeremiah.

She stared at Adam with reverential awe.

“And I’ll never leave this child like my mom did, even if Samara comes at me with a knife,” he teased.

She moved like a cat on the prowl, pushed him gently down onto his back, started pulling his clothes off and she got straight to work on making this baby. No birth control would be a part of their near future. No control at all.

Just a man and his woman, making love on the living room floor of their small apartment.

It was the second time she cried tears of joy, and this time, her face was wet for reasons she loved.

Chapter 21

Adam ate whatever he wanted at his party. Nobody cared.

Mari would bring it to him, and she looked pretty with her hair up in a messy bun.

It made it easy to kiss her neck from behind.

Zach slugged him a few times for doing that, but he was allowed. She was his wife, and sex was good.
Really
good.

In fact, it kept getting progressively better and better each time.

She was finally talking about having a baby with him. It made his hands touch her every chance they got.

“That’s my wife. Isn’t she beautiful? I really love her, and she’s so sexy to me,” Adam told Victor’s boyfriend, Rodney.

“Yeah, I guess for a woman, she is pretty hot,” Rodney replied, disinterested.

He stared at Victor all the time.

Adam handed him the plate of chicken wings. The guy ate a lot. Not as much as Vic, but close.

Victor was always coming over and eating their food. And now with Vic and Rodney finally moving in a week, after a year of saying they were moving back east, he seemed to be stocking up. How many times had Adam explained to him they lived on student loans, grants, scholarships and Mari’s part time job as a waitress? So many, Adam almost lost track of those numbers.

“Weren’t you guys supposed to have moved forever ago?” Zach asked Victor, nudging him.

“Yeah, but things got kind of complicated with Rod’s job. We’re good to go now. No more trouble.” Vic stared at Rodney.

“With the law? Trouble with the law can be really bad. You shouldn’t do that,” Adam told Victor.

“The only trouble I have with the law is that my hotness causes men and women to get into car accidents when I walk by and they’re driving. They can’t take their eyes off me.” Victor ran his hands through his hair and sucked in his cheeks.

He looked kind of like one of those singing fish plaques. Adam always liked those. They were kind of like a friendly reminder that fish were nice and liked music, too.

“Whatever, man.” Zach shoved Victor over playfully and left to go find different company in the room.

Adam roamed around, saying hi to Amelia, talking to his dad about his work, and smiling at how his dad laughed more now than he’d ever heard in his life.

“Attention—if you don’t like piano music, now would be the time to take a bathroom break,” Adam announced. “I wrote a new song for my loving wife, and I wanted her to hear it today on my special day I’m celebrating with all of you.” He grinned at her.

Her mouth formed an oval, and she stopped what she was doing, standing still like a statue.

He sat at the piano and said, “It’s called ‘On Angel Wings.’” His fingers glanced over the keys, and he counted off in his head like a metronome. The beat was constant in his ears as he caressed the keys and poured each quiet sigh they shared in their bed together, the kisses and sweet touches, into the song. It was their loving nights of warmth laid out in a haunting melody.

His body swayed on the bench, his eyes were heavy, his breathing quick—he 
was
 each note.

I love you—this is how I kiss you.

The song shifted into a more melodic flow where the notes hung longer.

I have to be inside you and see your face when you fall apart underneath me.

The song morphed again, and there was a more consistent, punishing rhythm. It reminded him of the flapping of angel’s wings taking off into the sky—joining with the stars.

This is how I hold you tight and think I’ll die unless you say you love me while I make love to you.

The music chimed like a wind-up clock with bells and then died on a whisper of a breath.

Mari was crying by the time he was done, and the final note seemed to hang in the air like a promise of many more nights of euphoria.

The room was void of noise. Mari’s cheeks were shiny with water streaks.

She held herself—arms wrapped around her middle—and she smiled at him like he was the biggest surprise of all.

“Did you like it?” he asked her and nobody else, while he remained seated on his bench.

“I loved it more than a donut,” she whispered, then covered her smiling mouth.

His dad clapped, and everybody else followed.

Adam stood up, bowed like a dork and thanked everyone.

He joined the crowd, and after a while—once the party died down—Zach broke out a deck of cards with the last remaining stragglers.

“Anybody for strip poker?” Zach’s eyebrows danced up and down.

“Not tonight,” Mari said, cleaning up a few empty platters that had been covered with chicken wings on them an hour ago.

“Oh, come on!” Victor groaned.

“I’m a married woman. I only take it off for one man, and it does
not
require gambling or a few douchey onlookers,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder, pretending to be a snob.

Adam joined her in cleaning a few things. Their apartment had been packed pretty full, but now it seemed almost empty with only three couples left behind.

Baf, baf, baf, baf.

There was a timid knock at the door.

“No way! You cheat!” Zach bleated at Lorraine.

He then removed his shirt and flexed his pecs at her.

“I know I do—and damn good at it,” Lorraine said, laughing.

“I don’t need my man to cheat for me to take it off,” Victor said, and he disrobed quicker than Zach had. He flexed his muscles as well.

It was like an all-male review in their living room. How had an innocent birthday get-together turn into beefcakes-are-us?

Adam shot a questioning gaze at his wife. She shouldered past him, and said, “Now you’re getting a glimpse of what my life used to be like, but with drugs and a lot more skin.”

He stopped, and his Adam’s apple bobbed, trying to swallow, but nothing was happening.

“Get the door, will ya? We’re playing a game here,” Zach shouted.

Was someone still waiting at the door? Adam hadn’t even heard the knock the second time.

Mari squeezed around Adam to go answer it.

He brought out a few sodas to his guests.

“. . . yeah, but is he here?” the soft voice of his mother carried through the hallway and the small opening in the door.

“Mom?” He walked over and opened the door wide to stare, not at her green eyes, but a darker shade of blue than his own in a man standing next to her. His brown hair was tousled and had some very definite bronze in it.

“Who’s this?” Adam’s voice broke, and his knees locked. He set his hand on Mari’s shoulder and forced her to take a few steps backward.

“I think . . .” Mari turned her head slowly in his direction. “Adam—this is your father, Thomas.” She puffed her cheeks, blew her bangs out of her face and stopped breathing.

He’d never seen her look so uncertain.

Adam scrutinized every detail on this man as if there would be some further proof of his DNA matching his own.

“He can’t be—he’s too short. My dad’s really tall. I remember that.” Adam yanked Mari back behind him. “Why are you bringing a stranger to my door, Mom, and why are
you
here? I thought you lived in France.”

“We moved back. Samara . . . She wants us to stay away, so there was no reason to remain there, and Thomas has a new job here as a lead vocalist in a band cal—”

Adam held up his hand. “I don’t believe you.” He tipped his chin at this strange man with a similar jawline and chiseled cheek bones. “Prove it. I play the piano—you sing. Come inside and show me who you are. I remember two things about my dad—his height, and his singing voice.” He pushed the door the rest of the way open, and when they stepped through, Zach’s face paled instantly.

“Thomas?” Zach whispered.

“I’m so sorry to intrude, I realized you had guests about five seconds after I knocked, and then, well, we came all this way from Vegas, so we . . .” His mom stumbled on her words.

“It’s fine. We’re just celebrating my birthday.” Adam sniffed. Why were his eyes watering? He pointed to one of their four bookshelves and waved this maybe-Thomas character over. “Pick your music.” Adam looked at his mom impassively, then switched over to the man in front of the shelf.

The man went straight for one of the few jazz booklets Adam had. Of course he would do that. Adam rolled his eyes.

That was incredibly easy music for him. This was one of the first books he learned when he started back up with piano lessons. And he still disliked jazz.

The Thomas-guy leafed through it, found what he wanted and went to give it to Adam, but he stopped him.

“You keep it for the lyrics—I’ve got them all memorized. Just tell me which song you want,” Adam told him.

The man’s right eyebrow popped up like he was impressed. “How about 
Unforgettable, 
by Nat King Cole.”

Adam almost tossed himself onto the seat. This was going to be like playing chopsticks.

And that song wasn’t really jazz. His real dad never would’ve sung a song like this.