Page 101 of Pregnant in Plaid
"It doesn't feel like enough."
Gage gives me that look—the one that says he's about to drop some profound wisdom whether I want it or not. "Man, I watched Tessa plan a wedding while worrying about her best friend who was pregnant. You know what I learned? Sometimes being there is the only thing you can do. And it's more important than you think."
After he leaves, I unwrap the sandwich. It's questionable at best—some kind of meat situation that I'm choosing not to examine too closely—but I'm starving and it's food, so I eat it while watching Patrice sleep.
She's exhausted. Dark circles under her eyes, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. And still beautiful. Still the woman who makes me want to be better. Who makes everything make sense.
The thought settles deep: I love her. And I'm going to spend the rest of my life proving it.
If she'll let me.
"Trace?" Her eyes flutter open.
"Right here."
"Did you eat something that smells like sadness and regret?"
The sandwich wrapper. Right. "Vending machine special. Gage brought it."
"That explains so much." She shifts uncomfortably. "Can you help me sit up more?"
The bed adjusts, and she winces. "How's your hand?"
My fingers flex—a little numb but functional. "Still attached. Why?"
"Just checking. I think I might have broken a few bones earlier."
"You didn't."
"Are you sure? Because I'm pretty sure I heard crunching."
"That was my masculinity shattering because I can't help with the pain."
She almost smiles. "Your masculinity is fine. Fragile, but fine."
Her expression changes. "Trace, I need to tell you something."
"Okay."
"I love you." The words come out rushed, almost desperate. "I should have said it before. Should have admitted it. But I was scared, and stupid, and I hurt you, and I'm sorry. But I need you to know—I love you. So much it terrifies me."
My throat goes tight. "Patrice?—"
"I'm not done." She struggles to sit up more. "I know we can't just—I know there's stuff we need to figure out. But whatever happens with the baby,whatever happens next, I want to try. I want to be with you. If you still want that. If I didn't completely ruin it."
I cup her face in my hands. "You didn't ruin anything. And I want that more than I've ever wanted anything. I love you. I have since the beginning. And I'm not going anywhere. Ever."
She kisses me, and it tastes like tears and coffee and tomorrow.
A contraction interrupts us, and she breaks away with a gasp.
"Okay," she breathes. "We're tabling this conversation until after I'm no longer being torn apart from the inside."
"Fair enough."
Dr. Martinez returns around hour five, does another check, and her eyebrows rise. "Nine centimeters. We're almost there."
"Almost?" Patrice looks ready to cry. "Almost means not yet."
