Page 199 of Treason's Temptation
“Stop playing.”
“Stink, I swear!” She grabbed my hand and placed it on her stomach.
A grin spread across my face, I couldn’t hide. Every leftover worry I carried melted against that tiny flutter.
“Can’t believe you’re having my baby.”
She nodded, leaning into me, her hand still over mine. “You? I can’t believe I let a man trap me.”
The uncertainty didn’t disappear completely, but it didn’t feel as heavy listening to Blue tell me all about her day. Not when our little boy was already reminding me that this family was worth every risk.
Breaking News
Epilogue
ONE YEAR LATER. . .
Chapter 33
Ihated him for dragging me out of bed, lacing my gloves, and standing across from me in this gym like I had anything left to give. My body still didn’t feel like mine, my reflection in the mirror felt like a stranger, and I’d convinced myself I’d never beheragain.
Cyan Bleu Westbrook was worth every ounce of darkness I felt inside. His daddy was another story. He got the shiny new toy, Cyan Bleu Wesbrook, while I got weight gain, stretch marks, and too many changes to keep track of. It was hard not to resent him at times, but Treason never took it personally.
My arms already felt like noodles, sweat stinging my eyes as I tried to keep up with Treason’s rhythm. Every punch he called for landed sloppy, off-beat, and weak, and the smirk on his face told me he noticed.
“Keep playing, and we’ll stay down here all day. Do it right this time,” he ordered, tapping his gloves against mine like I wasn’t dying on the inside.
“The State Assembly Leader can’t stay in the gym all day when there’s a city to run,” I replied sarcastically.
“The city can wait, home can’t.”
“Who are you?” I joked.
He was a far cry from the workaholic I met at the Langston Gala.
“Throw those jabs as fast as you’re running that mouth.”
“I hate you.” I threw another one, imagining his face on the bag.
Treason leaned in, tapping his gloves against mine, his voice dropping low.
“You’re stronger than you think. Put all that hate into your jab. Let’s go.”
I had a postpartum plan that would’ve had me back at my pre-pregnancy weight by the time Cyan was six months old. He was a good baby, and we had plenty of help to make it happen. Then a guest I hadn’t planned for showed up, tossing mine out the window. Postpartum depression hit, making me snap, cry, and shut down while feeling guilty for all of it.
Now Cyan was seven months, and I still had fifteen pounds to go. Treason didn’t mind the extra weight. In fact, it had him glued to my skin every chance he got. I don’t even think the weight bothered me either. In my mind, I equated my pre-pregnancy weight with my pre-pregnancy self until Inez told me it didn’t work that way.
I couldn’t ask for better support from her and Treason. They refused to let depression pull me under. Even though Sloane didn’t completely understand it, she encouraged me anyway.
Depression can’t hit a moving target. Keep moving, and it’ll get better.
So I showed up even when I didn’t want to, and today was definitely one of those days.
“Nobody’s in a rush but you. Keep your left hand up. Don’t drop it.” I swung again, sloppy, and he caught my glove, spinning me slightly to fix my stance.
I hit the bag again, harder this time, feeling my strength return with every punch. Treason moved behind me, guiding my stance, adjusting my feet, whispering in that low, dangerous tone.
“You’re sexy as fuck when you fight,” he murmured, circling me slowly.
