Page 68 of Hideaway Whirlwind
“All of them.”
“Why would he do that?” I ask Elliott when we sit together on one of the padded benches while the kids play at the provided sensory table, waiting to be called back to the examination room.
“He can be an ass sometimes,” Elliott grumbles, resting his hand on my knee, his heat penetrating the denim material of my black jeans that I can no longer button up around my waist. “But he also has the biggest heart of any man I’ve ever known and likes taking care of his people, simple as that.”
I’m stunned again to realize that there’s no question I’m now one of those people. ThatIhave people, too. A real family.
“Though I could have paid the balance myself,” Elliott says. “Or you could have.”
I cut a look at him, confused by his quip delivered without bitter sarcasm at my lack of funds, like it would have been if Quincy had said it. “What?”
Elliott grins. “You know, since you’re now part-owner of Berenson Trucking.”
“WHAT?”
The receptionist pulls her glasses down and peers over the counter, watching us with curiosity.
Elliott says, “I called my lawyers earlier—”
I cut him off when I ask, “You have lawyers? Multiple?”
“Yup. I’ve started the process of splitting my shares and updating my will to add you and the kids. You won’t have to work at the diner or dance hall, or anywhere else, for that matter, if you don’t want to. A pre-wedding present from me to you,” Elliott says in a raspy voice, now stroking the side of my face.
“Pre-wedding…” My heart trips over itself, rocked by another revelation—the revulsion at the thought of ever being married again, like I’d viscerally experienced each time Quincy proposed, is wholly absent when I look into Elliott’s eyes. “You want to marry me? Even after I…” I tip my head and lower my voice to the barest whisper. “Even after the way I dealt with my last husband?”
“Oh yes, I do. I very much do.” He kisses me, a lingering brush of our lips that we both want to take further, but sadly can’t at the moment. “I know just the spot where I want us to say our vows after wedeal withthe lurker situation.”
“You mean…?”
Elliott nods, and we pull apart when my name is called.
* **
With a mountain of relief, Dr. Patel doesn’t talk to me like I’m the worst mother in the world after I tell her why I hadn’t been able to go to the doctor sooner, careful with my language around the kids. Her kind, dark eyes are understanding, unlike my last OBGYN’s harsh judgment when I was pregnant with Kendallat my age.
Since I’m so far along in my pregnancy, once I’m done giving blood and am finished with my initial exam, a tech with hot pink box braids, wearing blue polka dot scrubs, rolls an ultrasound machine into my room for an anatomy scan. Sitting in a chair beside me on the examination table with Kendall on his knee, Elliott grips my left hand tight while Dustin and Sydney stand on either side of him. We’re all transfixed by the black and white images on the screen as the tech moves cold jelly around my abdomen with her wand, taking pictures and measurements.
“Hi, baby,” I say softly when we get a close look at their face and tiny button nose, my heart growing exponentially, already so in love with them.
Elliott hiccups, the sound the only thing that can draw my attention away. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.” His lower lip trembles as he tries to hold it together, tears gathering at the inner corners of his eyes. My big, intimidating, silver bear is crying.
The tech asks in an upbeat voice, “Do you want to find out the sex, Mom and…?” She stumbles over what to call Elliott as she looks back and forth between us, her eyes catching on his neck tattoo before darting away.
“Papa,” I tell her. I have to laugh when that doesn’t clear anything up for the tech, and the baby is jostled from side to side on the screen like a cocktail shaken by a bartender, whichthe kids find infinitely hilarious. “He’s the baby’s dad, not mine.”
Elliott hiccups again.
“Oh, ok.” She blows out a nervous laugh, embarrassed when she whispers, “Sorry.”
When I tell her that,yes, we would like to know the sex, she moves the wand higher and presses a fingertip against the screen.
Elliott drops his head onto my arm as he grips my hand tighter, unable to wrestle back any more hiccups, my sleeve turning wet with his joyful tears. “We’re having a son, Birdie.”
The tech leaves the room to give us a few private moments while the kids hug Elliott, and I stroke his hair until he can gather himself.
“Have you thought of any names yet?” he asks, swiping his tears away with a thumb.
“Don’t laugh,” I say, squirming a little. “But I was thinking maybe Killian? I know it’s unusual and kind of on the nose, but—”
