Page 72 of Tell Me No Lies

“Speaking of Rapunzel,” Lydia motions at my hair, “did you get an appointment to have your highlights put back in?”

“I booked her an appointment for the same time I’m getting mine done next week.” Myra lowers her own armload of bags to the floor and gives me a sheepish smile. “We’re going to have lunch and do a little shopping while we’re out.”

Tate’s brows lift higher.

I roll my eyes. “She said next week.” I cross both arms over my chest, forcing myself not to wince at the twinge it causes in my injured shoulder. “By then I’ll be able to throw a football.”

Lydia cackles. “You couldn’t throw a football before you were shot.” She stacks the rest of the bags onto the bed beside me. “So I wouldn’t use that as the determiner of recovery if I were you.”

“Fine.” I peek into one of the bags she and Myra picked up for me after I spent the morning putting in online orders for everything from pots and pans to bathmats. “Then by next week I’ll be able to taze an idiot in the nuts with a full range of motion.”

Lydia grins. “Much better scale.”

Myra thumbs over one shoulder as she starts backing toward the door. “I’m going to see if Simon can help me bring the rest of the stuff up. Some of the boxes were pretty freaking heavy.”

“She’s not kidding.”

Lydia starts unloading and organizing, separating out the kitchen items from the bathroom stuff. That’s where I started since those two rooms are the closest to being done and the ones we’ll be using the most.

“Oooh.” She holds up the set of dish towels I chose, looking over the selection of tan, teal, and brown. “I like these.”

I purse my lips as I look over the piles of stuff. “They match the runner I picked out. It should have been in the same order.”

She and Tate spend the next few minutes making sure everything I ordered is there while Simon and Myra make three more trips bringing it all upstairs. It’s a lot of extra trips to the second floor when more than half the stuff has to go back down, but since Tate won’t let me leave the bed for anything besides trips to the bathroom, he’s just gonna have to haul it all back down later.

I don’t think he’ll mind.

His dark mood from earlier seems to lift more and more as he sifts through all the things I chose for our home. And when he finally gets to the bags Myra carried in, I think all the scary shit that’s happened recently is totally forgotten. At least for a minute.

I watch his expression as he gently unfolds the gray and yellow printed sleeper I bought, his calloused fingers running over the brushed cotton fabric. It’s both so tiny and shockingly huge. I don’t have much experience with babies so it’s hard to imagine such a small human.

It’s also hard to imagine shoving something that big out my fun hole. That’s why I decided to buy just a few items. I’m struggling to wrap my head around the knowledge that in thirty-four weeks, I’ll be a mother.

Tate’s eyes lift to mine and there’s so much lingering in those blue depths. Love. Excitement. Hope.

He’s the main reason I haven’t had a single second of panic or fear over the discovery that a person is growing inside me. Because no matter what happens, I know that little person is going to be loved so fucking much it won’t be able to stand it. And not just by me and Tate, but by all the people around us.

Peanut will never feel the abandonment or shame Tate and I were both burdened with so early in our lives. They’ll never have an uncut grilled cheese. Or have to question if their mother loves them. Because I will fucking destroy anyone who tries to hurt them and burn down the world to protect them.

And they’ll never carry the weight of our mistakes or the pain of our rejection.

“I’ll run some of this downstairs to the kitchen.” Lydia backs toward the door, averting her eyes as she hurries out into the hall, leaving us alone as Tate continues to stare at me.

I press my lips together, holding my breath as I wait for what I know is coming.

I don’t have to wait long.

The lap desk he put in place thinking it would entertain me while he worked is shoved away and Tate’s big body takes its place, hovering over me on his hands and knees. “You bought baby clothes.”

My heart starts to race at his nearness. Tate’s always attentive, but between the nausea and that whole pesky bullet wound, he’s been almost scared to touch me the past few days. That was fine for a couple of them, but now that the aching sting is starting to subside, I’m finding I could stand to have an orgasm.

Or three.

“I know it’s early, but they were so cute and I figured we’ll need them eventually—”

Tate leans closer, sliding his nose alongside mine. “Buy anything you want, Sugar. Whatever makes you happy.”

I smile. Not because he’s given me free rein with his credit card. I don’t really give a shit about that. Not in the unlimited spending sort of way.

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