Page 84 of Pregnant in Plaid
The answer should be simple.
But it's not.
And as I drift off to sleep in Trace's arms, I'm already planning my exit strategy.
Running is what I do best.
It's what kept me safe all these years.
And it's what I need to do now.
Chapter 13
Trace
Iwake up to the best morning of my life.
Patrice is still asleep in my arms, her hair spread across my pillow, one hand resting on her belly. The early morning light filters through the curtains, and for a moment, everything is perfect. Still. Peaceful.
This is my family.
The thought settles over me with absolute certainty. Not just the baby—though I'm excited and terrified about that in equal measure—but her. Patrice. The woman who makes me laugh, who challenges me, who walked into my life and turned everything upside down in the best possible way.
Last night proved that. The way she looked at me, the way she said she was falling in love with me—people don't say things like that without meaning them. That's got to mean something.
Still, there's this nagging voice in the back of myhead. The one that remembers Lauren telling her about that job in Florida. The one that knows she still hasn't officially said she's staying.
But she will. She has to. After last night, there's no way she's seriously considering leaving. Right?
I push the thought away and press a kiss to her shoulder, careful not to wake her.
She stirs anyway, making a small sound of protest.
"Morning," I murmur.
"Too early," she mumbles into the pillow.
"It's almost eight."
"Still too early."
I smile and pull her closer. "How are you feeling?"
"Pregnant. Sore. In need of approximately twelve more hours of sleep." She rolls over to face me, wincing slightly. "Also, I need to pee. Again. Your child is using my bladder as a trampoline."
"Want me to help you up?"
"I'm not an invalid." But she takes my hand anyway and lets me pull her to sitting. "Though I appreciate the offer."
She shuffles to the bathroom, and I lie there, trying to ignore the anxiety creeping in. She's not leaving. She can't be. Not after everything.
She comes back a few minutes later, moving slower than usual, and sits on the edge of the bed.
"You okay?" I ask.
"Yeah, just—" She stops, pressing a hand to her stomach. Her face goes tight.
I'm on my feet immediately. "What's wrong?"
