If Forever Comes (Take This Regret #2)(54)
Author: A.L. Jackson

Joy reigned here.

That didn’t mean there were no bad days. There were still times when I found Elizabeth on her knees in the huge walk-in closet adjoining our bedroom. Lillie’s blanket would be balled in her arms. She’d rock it as if she were rocking the child she never truly had the chance to. She’d cry and she’d whisper incoherent words, she’d love and she’d adore. Then she’d dry her eyes and climb to her feet, tucking those precious tokens away until she felt compelled to be immersed in them again. She’d never had the strength to leave them out, to put any of it on display, but instead hid it away as her own buried treasure.

I’d be waiting for her, leaning up against the doorframe. Elizabeth would cast me a mournful smile as I pulled her into my arms, and she’d mumble into my shirt how much she missed her.

And we were okay with that, welcomed those days because, even though they hurt, they belonged to Lillie.

Another wave crashed, and the ocean stirred.

Behind me, our bed creaked, a soft rustle of sheets. I looked over my shoulder.

Elizabeth sat up on the side of the bed, arching as she pressed her hands to her lower back. Her long hair fell in waves as she lifted her chin, brushed along the bed as she stretched her neck.

My breath caught.

Beauty. There was no other way to describe it.

She’d always reminded me of honey, the golden glow of her skin, the sweetness of her mouth, the warmth in her eyes.

I started toward her, whispering, “What are you doing awake, baby? You need to rest.”

She blinked at me through the shadows of the darkened room. She almost pouted. “Too uncomfortable.”

She blew a strained breath between pursed lips.

I crouched down between her knees. My fingers crawled up the top of her legs and around to her back where I massaged deeply into her hips where she always seemed to be sore.

She whimpered out a subdued moan. “That feels so good.”

“I wish I could do more.”

“Just keep doing what you’re doing and I’m a happy girl.”

Her fitted tank top had ridden up, bunched just below her swollen br**sts. The huge protrusion ballooned out between us, her belly button stretched thin.

Elizabeth was five days passed her due date.

A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

Apparently my son was stubborn.

Three months after our wedding, we found out Elizabeth was pregnant again. News of this pregnancy hadn’t been met with the thrill of the last, with the wild expectation for what was to be. Instead it’d been met with trembling hands and trepidation.

But we’d realized this life was worth the chance, that we had to breathe and live and love, and we couldn’t allow fear to hold us back.

It didn’t mean there weren’t the nagging worries, the panic that would tighten Elizabeth’s eyes if she thought it’d been too long since she last felt him move.

For our peace of mind, Dr. Montieth had recommended that we get a home heart monitor. She’d taught us how to use it, what to look for and what to be concerned of, the quickened whirl of his heartbeat a promise that he was okay.

Elizabeth looked down as she ran her hand over her stomach, bit her lip as she glanced up at me under the hedge of hair that had fallen in her face.

I reached up and brushed it back.

She cradled him between her hands. “I wish he would come,” she whispered. A smile trembled at her mouth. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

I slipped my hands around her sides and to her front, covered Elizabeth’s hold in mine as we swam in our anticipation. “I’ve never been more ready for anything, Elizabeth.”

She smiled a little before a yawn overtook her. She chuckled as she tried to conceal it behind her hand.

I nudged her chin with the hook of my index finger. “You need to get some rest. I have a feeling you’re not going to get much of it really soon.”

She giggled in the cutest way. “Yeah, I guess he can’t hide out in here forever.”

I crawled in bed with her, pulled the covers over us as I nestled her back against my chest. She curled into me, her tender hand covering mine where I rested it on the distended wall of her belly.

Contentment thrummed between us.

Her breaths evened out like a soothing balm, and she quickly drew me into sleep.

A thrill of energy rose up in the room, a cheer of encouragement. “You’re almost there, Elizabeth. Give me one more big push,” Dr. Montieth coaxed.

Sweat drenched Elizabeth’s forehead, soaked her hair. She clenched my hand as she bore down and cried out.

For a moment, there was silence as our son slipped into Dr. Montieth’s hands. Time seemed to stop as I watched the frantic movements that had slowed in my mind. The doctor held him in a blue blanket, one hand at the back of his neck as she almost tipped him upside down, the other suctioning out his mouth and nose.

Blood stained him, covered him whole, this little boy that already held my heart.

My vision blurred.

Then he cried.

These shrill, shocked cries that welcomed him into this world.

Another blanket was tossed on Elizabeth’s belly, and they set him on his side, the two nurses roughing it over his tiny body.

And he was crying and crying. The precious sound rattled through the room as his little arms and legs flailed.

Shaking uncontrollably, Elizabeth reached for him, palmed his head with an unsteady hand. He reacted, tilting against her touch as if seeking her out, a stutter in his cries as his mouth twisted at the side because the child already knew her.

And she wept, tears of relief and tears of joy, a torrent of emotion spilling from this amazing woman. From the woman who held my dreams, the one who held my future.

I rushed to smooth her hair back that was drenched in sweat, dropped my forehead to hers, lost myself in the warmth of her brown eyes. “You did it,” flooded as a desperate whisper as I kissed her mouth, as I kissed the woman I loved with all my life, “You beautiful girl. You did it.”

I stood at the window, peering out into the night, rocking in a slow sway. Waves rushed in, crashed on the shore. A contented sigh flowed from me as I rocked from side to side.

Myles squirmed in the safety of my hold, cradled in my arm. It was a writhe, the little guy worming around with a restless roll, extending his head back.

I couldn’t hold in my smile.

I’d been right.

My son was stubborn. He knew exactly what he wanted and when he wanted it.

Stretching his free leg, he flexed his foot, digging his toes into my skin. Tight against the side of his face, he clenched and unclenched one tiny fist. He jerked his open mouth toward my chest, his tongue jutting out between his lips as if he were searching, hunting.