Page 23 of Till Cupid Do Us Part

She blows a laugh into my hair. “Did you just come up with that now?”

“Yep. Maybe it’s the whole soon-to-pop-out-a-baby thing I’ve got going for me, but I’m feeling way too wise right now. The name fits you. You’ve got a slightly hard coating but are sugar sweet inside.”

“Well, in that case, I love you back, Ivy,” she says with one last hug.

I scowl. “Just Ivy.”

“For now. I’ll think of something once you’re back and no longer carrying a giant baby in your belly.”

The smile I flash her doesn’t last long. When I hiss and paw at my belly when another contraction rips through me, Jill pulls back and all but pushes me into Niko’s waiting arms.

“Time to go, angel,” he says, his tone tight and tense.Scared.

I’m not scared in the slightest. Nine months of preparing for this, and while I’m not ready at all, I’m more cautiously optimistic and excited than afraid. Even if that doesn’t make sense at all.

My eyes are swollen and red, and I’m sure my cheeks are still stained with tear marks. None of that matters, though.

All that does is bringing our baby girl into this world.

9

PRESENT

NIKO

I leaveIvy sprawled in bed two mornings later and head outside.

My boots clunk along the small, poorly built porch and down the steps. I reach for the shovel leaned against the side of the house and start shovelling the snow from the sidewalk that fell overnight. It’s relaxing work, something to help clear my head.

I slept like shit last night despite having Ivy curled up in my arms. There were too many things plaguing my mind. Mainly my son and our lack of relationship.

We never had a father-son bond, but the more time I spend with Junie, the more I fucking wish I hadn’t screwed up with him so badly. I grew so comfortable with the chasm between us that I had myself convinced I was fine without knowing my son or having him be a consistent part of my life.

How terrible of a father does that make me?

Pathetic, more like.

I’ve got more regrets in my life than anyone should have. The way I’ve let my son walk away from me time and time again is the worst one. If I could convince him to give me just one morechance, I know I wouldn’t waste it. I’m incapable of doing that now.

Ivy wants closure with it, too. What Travis did to her . . . fuck, it has me ready to knock his teeth out. I’ll never forget the details she shared from their relationship before and after she learned of what he’d been sharing about her. But he’s still my son. And if the most important person in my life, who was hurt worse by him than anyone else, is encouraging me to make good with him, then I’m going to damn well do it.

Ivy is going to be my wife someday soon, and I want him to know that. Not for approval or permission. I don’t need that from anyone, let alone my son. It’s just so he isn’t blindsided again. I feel like after everything that I’ve broken between us, I owe him that much.

Having him at the wedding is something I crave deep down in my chest. He should be there. Not out of obligation or because he was forced to go, but because he wanted to see his old man get married to the woman who’s going to be there beside him for the rest of his life.

Wind bites at my face as I stretch my gloved fingers around the shovel and keep pushing the snow down the sidewalk. The woodshed across the yard has a drooping roof from how much snow has collected atop it. Wouldn’t be surprised if it’s got roof rot. That and an entire family of mice living inside of it. Ivy refused to help me carry wood in for a fire last night, claiming there was bound to be a dead body or stowaway in the shed.

I found neither, but I wasn’t staying around to look once I had the dry wood logs in my arms.

By the time I’ve got the walkway cleared and a sharp ache in my lower back, the front door creaks open.

“Look at you with a cute little red nose,” Ivy sings.

I sniff and jab the shovel into a snow pile before turning to face her. Even from far away, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

My shirt hangs off her body, the design on the chest faded and bottom hem ripped. The cold air has to be nipping at her bare legs and arms, but she continues to lean in the doorway, an up-to-no-good grin on her sleepy features.

“Call me Rudolph and I’ll make you spend your Valentine’s Day alone,” I say with a huff.

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