Page 12 of Justice

“I have been looking at job opportunities to pay for the things the baby is going to need. My dad offered to pay but I don’t want him to do that,” I tell him casually, scanning the job listings on the internet.

Christopher is looking at me like I’m insane.

“You don’t need to work, I can take care of you and provide everything you and the baby need,” he tells me, then he digs into his back pocket, pulling out a credit card and setting it on the table in front of me.

I’m shocked that he just handed it over like that. “I don’t want you to think I’m a gold digger. I can work,” I point out to him, reluctantly taking the credit card from him.

He pulls my chair away from the table, closing the laptop lid. “Angel, I know you can work, but I can give you everything and more. You never have to work. It’s your choice, but I need you to be safe right now until we find the fucker who hurt you.”

His reasoning hits me like a strike of lightning—he is right about that fact. No one knows who hurt me.

A smirk slides over his lips, knowing he’s winning. “Plus, I fucking love the look of you barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen when I come home from training.”

I laugh at that and settle my head on his chest, taking a deep breath and relaxing into him. “Thank goodness you agree, or I’d have to tie your ass to the bed.”

My eyes fly open in shock at his words, meanwhile he slips out of my arms, smirking at me as he walks out of the kitchen.

Well, fuck me.

Today is the day. My heart flutters with excitement as I run my hand over the slight curve of my stomach. In just a few hours, I'll know if I'm carrying a little boy or girl. The thought makes me giddy, imagining tiny outfits and nursery decorations.

I've been pushing myself hard with schoolwork these past few months, determined to graduate before the baby arrives. It hasn't been easy, especially with my so-called friends abandoning me after learning about my pregnancy. Their absence hurts, but I try not to dwell on it.

“Just one more stop at school," I remind myself, gathering my things for the doctor's appointment. I need to pick up some material for my science class, and then I'll be done. The finish line is so close, I can taste it.

"Ready, angel?" Christopher's voice breaks through my thoughts.

I turn to see him leaning against my bedroom doorframe, his eyes soft but watchful. Even here, in the safety of our home, he's on high alert. It's sweet and unsettling all at once.

"I'm excited to find out the gender," I say, crossing the room to him.

He takes my hand, pressing a gentle kiss to my knuckles. "Me too."

As we head out, Christopher tucks me protectively into his side. His eyes scan our surroundings, muscles tense beneath his shirt. I know he's thinking the threat still looms over us.

I’ve come to accept it in a lot of ways. For starters, I started therapy online and it helped me to talk about things that I won’t share with anyone else, like my fears and thoughts.

I've been working through it during my therapy sessions, but trust doesn't come easily anymore. Even now, I eye the sealed water bottle in my bag.

We reach Christopher's truck, and I place my foot on the step. The morning dew makes the metal slick, and suddenly I'm falling. My arms windmill, a gasp catching in my throat.

But I never hit the ground. Christopher's strong arms wrap around me, scooping me up as if I weigh nothing. My heart pounds as he sets me gently in the passenger seat.

“If you wanted me to hold you, you could have just said so.” He winks at me and I laugh at him.

“I do want you to hold me, always,” I confess to him, and I do.

Christopher's expression softens, his eyes melting into pools as they lock onto mine. The tension in his jaw eases, replaced by a gentle curve of his lips.

He leans in slowly, giving me time to anticipate the kiss.

When our lips meet, it's soft at first, a whisper of a touch that sends tingles down my spine. Then he presses closer, deepening the kiss with a passion that makes my toes curl in my shoes.

I sink into the sensation, my hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders. The world falls away, leaving only us. The heat of his body, the taste of his lips, the slight scratch of stubbleagainst my skin. My heart races, pounding so hard I wonder if he can feel it too.

I pull back, breathless.

Christopher's thumb traces my lower lip, his eyes dark and intense. "Elle," he murmurs, voice husky. "You have no idea what you do to me."

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