Page 58 of Brood
It takes a long time for the afterquakes to level off. Then Will finally lowers me back to the bed and collapses beside me, turning onto his side and pulling my body so he can spoon me.
I’m hot and sweaty and messy and deeply sated. My breathing is still raspy, but I smile as he wraps an arm around me.
“You’re making me hot,” I tell him.
He laughs, soft and tired. “I don’t care. I get to hold you right now. I spent way too long without.”
“Is that my fault?” It’s an honest question. Not an indirect accusation.
He takes it seriously. “No. It’s mostly mine. And partly circumstance. And maybe a little because you’re still afraid of trusting me.”
“I’m not afraid.”
He doesn’t reply, but his silence is speaking.
“Okay. Sometimes I am. But not because I think you’ll hurt me.”
“No. Because you’re afraid I’ll let you down again.” He nuzzles the crook of my neck. “But I won’t. I don’t care what it means for my future, I’m never going to let you down again. We aren’t safe here. Not the way we thought we were. But you’re not alone, Cadence. Not ever again.”
“You’re not alone either,” I tell him.
He lets out a thick breath.
I feel better. In almost every way.
And another feeling washes over me as he gently caresses my body, eventually resting his hand on the curve of my belly. It’s not very big yet, but it’s noticeable.
For the first time since we found out the news, I’m fully happy. Excited and proud and possessive and happy.
Like having this baby with Will is exactly what I want.
ChapterEight
It’s still dark in the room when I wake up, having to pee for the ninth time tonight.
My due date was two weeks ago, but I still haven’t gone into labor. Dr. Cameron says not to worry, which doesn’t make me feel better. Bella also says not to worry because first births are often late. While that’s reassuring, it doesn’t relieve my discomforts—both emotional and physical.
For the past month, all the pleasure and excitement about this pregnancy transformed into intense impatience.
I need to get this baby out of me, and it won’t come.
After I pee, I glance at myself in the dimly illuminated mirror.
I don’t like what I see.
The braid I slept in is half-undone, loose strands tangled haphazardly around my face. There are deep shadows under my eyes, and my face looks slightly puffy.
My breasts and belly are more than puffy. The oversized white gown I’m wearing makes me appear three times my size.
I want to look and feel like myself again.
As soon as the thought hits, I brush it away in a surge of guilt. Giving birth means the baby will start living in the nursery. I can’t stand the thought, but there’s never been any choice in the Refuge. Babies get better care in the nursery, which means they have a better chance of survival.
That’s all that should matter to me, but I hate the thought of giving this baby up. At least inside me, he or she is still ours.
With a quick shake of my head, I wash my hands and trudge back into the bedroom.
Will got into my bed yesterday evening to give me a back rub, and he’s still there. I managed to get up without waking him the other times, but he blinks at me groggily as I climb back into bed now.
