Page 39 of Ripple Effect
“I did. Cal didn’t.”
“And that angered you?”
“No, what angered me was the reason why.” I hesitate. “This isn’t really part of our story.”
“But it ultimately affected it,” Dr. Powell counters.
True. And it’s not like this information isn’t public knowledge by now. “I’d been dating Cal for roughly six months, yet he deflected any mention of his birth parents. He’d mentioned being a foster child on occasion. And I knew the man I fell in love with enough to know when to push and when to bring issues to me on his own time.”
“And that happened that morning.”
“Yes. When he mentioned he declared he never wanted to have a child carry on his name.”
“His full name?”
I shake my head. “No, his name at all. He didn’t want a child to carry the Sullivan name. Frankly, he didn’t want me to carry a child of his at all.” Smoothing a hand over my bulging stomach, I mentally reassure our soon-to-be blessing that’s not the case now.
“Why on earth not?” Clearly, I’ve shocked Dr. Powell.
“Because deep down, Cal was ashamed by his past. He was always so self-assured, I assumed he had moved past it. I was wrong. But it took us having it out that morning to prove differently.”
“How?”
Shifting to get more comfortable, I lay my hand over my baby bump. “Cal surprised me with breakfast in bed,” I begin.
24
Elizabeth
Twelve Years Ago from Present Day
Sunlight streams through the windows, only tempered by the sheers protecting my bedroom from any potential eyes that might try to peek in from the street. It’s not enough to stop the light from catching the facets of the ring that’s such a new yet beloved weight on my hand and sending little rainbows dancing all around the walls of the room.
“I can’t believe it.” My voice still holds all the heartfelt amazement when I said a version of those words last night as Cal slipped the ring on my hand.
The clatter of dishes startles me away from my bliss. “Believe it, Libs. This is it. You and me, forever.” A shirtless Cal crosses the threshold of my room carrying a tray of coffee, mugs, and pastries.
I mock pass out against the fluffy pillows behind me. “I must’ve died last night. There’s no way I managed to get the guy and breakfast in bed. Things like this just don’t happen.” Using the heel of my hand, I jostle the side of my head as if to knock everything back to rights.
Quirking a brow as he sets the tray on the bed, Cal asks, “Did this”—he runs a hand up the inside of my leg. I shiver in response—“scramble your brains?”
Dreamily, I arch into his gentle touch. We both moan when I reach out and trail my fingers up and down the rigid length rising up behind his jeans. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” I complain. I shift the leg his hand isn’t on against the tousled sheets in invitation. My other hand smooths the place in the bed where he lay next to me in between long bouts of lovemaking all night long.
Quickly, he shifts my hand before shucking his jeans. They fall to the floor with a thunk. Moving the tray from the side of my bed to the nightstand, he crawls on top of me. “The coffee will keep.”
“This won’t,” I agree, just as the hair on his chest brushes against my sensitive nipples. A surge of warmth builds below, waiting for Cal to release it.
He pushes my tangled hair away from my face before he runs the tip of his nose against mine. “Did you sleep well, my beautiful fiancée?”
I sink my hands into his hair, positioning him just where I want to kiss him. “Never better,” I assure him. “You?”
He shakes his head.
My brow furrows. “Why not?”
“I spent the night holding you, marveling at how everything’s changed since we met.” His lips touch mine, too briefly in my opinion. “To be honest, if I could be awake every moment we’re together, I’d sleep through the parts of life where you’re not by my side.”
My fingers tighten against his as he deepens our kiss. It’s worshipping and reverent at the same time. His tongue plays against my own, driving thoughts of anything but this out of my head.
