Life Support (The Breathe Series Book 2) (36 page)

“Yeah. Why?”

His response is stiff. He doesn’t look angry, which is even more discomfiting. I can’t make out the blankness on his face, or the tone in his voice. I can’t read it.

“You just look... I don’t know…” I shake my head as if to clear it. “I’m going to get a bottle of water. Do you want anything?”

“No, I’m good,” he answers as he leans to the floor to pick up his laptop.

I hadn’t seen it charging on the floor. It’s a smart move, as it will give us something to do until the power comes back on. Not that we normally need something to do. We usually know
exactly
what to do with idle time like this—sex. Lots and lots of amazing sex. But I feel fairly certain that sex is not in the immediate future for me.

I stand and walk to the kitchen, getting myself a bottle of water and returning to the living room. Owen is engrossed in something on the laptop, so I lean against the wall, just watching him. My eyes scan his face, which is illuminated by the laptop screen, for some tell that will clue me in on what’s going on in his head.

“I see you watching me, Olivia,” he calls from the couch. “You wanna watch Orange Is the New Black with me?”

“Sure.” I walk back over to the couch and sit next to him.

The last episode’s recap plays as I place my water bottle on the floor and curl back up on the couch, pulling the blanket that hangs on the back down and around me. Other than asking me to sit next to him, Owen hasn’t made any moves to touch me. In fact, since I came out here, he’s barely looked at me. By the time the opening scene starts, I realize that his body has tensed and his breathing has changed. I can’t help but look up from the screen at his face. His jaw is visibly clenched.

“Owen…” I start, but I don’t finish as he simultaneously and abruptly closes the laptop. The room darkens considerably without the light provided by the screen.

“Actually,” he pauses, searching for words, “I’d like to talk about something.”

My heart falls into my stomach. This sounds bad. Here it is. The talk. He doesn’t want the baby.

Owen places the laptop on the coffee table and faces me on the couch, his knee bent under him and his arm lying across the back pillows. Without thinking, I turn toward him too, mirroring his posture as he reaches his hand out to take mine, rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb. Like most of the gestures Owen makes toward me, it’s intimate. However, this time it feels out of place. The physical gesture is there, but the loving look that should be in his eyes is not. He suddenly takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“Olivia, I know I’ve been, at times, a little distant since the accident, but I… I guess…”

Bile rises in my throat and I’m sure my fear is written across my face. I start to involuntarily shake my head.
No. No. No.

Owen looks me in the eyes, and for a second, they soften. “Olivia, you know I love you and…” He pauses, looking for the words. “Shit. Okay, here it is. Why did you not tell me about the baby? Why didn’t you
want
to tell me?”

I am stunned silent. I did
not
see this coming. Even though I’ve been waiting for this to come up, I’m unprepared and, therefore, am sure I look like a deer in headlights. Without thinking, I pull my hand out of his. I don’t mean to, but it’s a reaction. Fear maybe?

I stand and move toward our bedroom, walking to the far wall of the living area. After a beat, I turn, feeling full of emotion. “I
did
want to tell you.”

“Then why didn’t you?” His face looks genuinely baffled, and my stomach sinks.

“I spent days trying to think of the best way to tell you. I agonized over it.”

“Over how to tell me? Like you wanted to surprise me with a pee stick or something? Because you had weeks to do that, Liv, but you didn’t. I had to find out from a stranger, as I
agonized
about your fucking accident, that you were carrying my child. Do you have any idea how that felt?” he bites out, gripping the T-shirt at his chest.

My eyes fill with tears as I watch the anguish in his face. “I didn’t show you one stick because I had four. And I didn’t show you those four…because…because…” The tears are now streaming down my face. I’m not gasping for breath or sobbing, but the tears fall like a valve has been opened in my eyes.

“Because what, Olivia,” he grinds out, clearly irritated but trying not to sound angry.

“I told you this at the hospital! Because I thought you wouldn’t want us. I thought you would think that I was trying to trap you into marrying me. I thought you would just walk away, tell me to get out. I was terrified.”

The tears are raging rivers now, and my entire body is trembling as I recount my fears from those first weeks. It feels like all the torment from before Owen found out plus all the anguish
since
he found out is being unleashed at once. I should feel relief from letting this go, but all I feel is fear and terror at his potential response. I lean against the wall behind me, wrapping my arms around my middle and shaking from head to toe.

Owen stands from the couch, and in three strides, he is in front of me, crushing me to his chest. My tears don’t stop, and he lets out a deep breath as he slowly rocks me back and forth. After a moment, he bends down and scoops me into his arms, cradling me and making his way down the dark hallway to our bedroom. He kicks open the door with his foot and lays me down on the bed.

Without thinking, I roll away from him and onto my side, burying my face in the comforter to hide the new onslaught of tears. My body shakes almost violently with my crying. Then I feel the bed dip, and suddenly, he is behind me, and molding my body against his.

“Baby, how could you ever think those horrible things? I love you, Olivia. I love this baby,” he whispers, laying his hand on my stomach and drawing small circles with his finger. “This isn’t how I thought things would play out, but I’m not mad at you and I would
never
have kicked you out because you are pregnant. I may be a pussy and not ready to be a father, but I’m not an asshole.” This last sentence is less a whisper and more an irritated statement.

There is a pause before his hand grabs my shoulder and he pulls me back, turning me over so I’m on my back and I’m forced to look up at him. He is propped on his elbow, watching me.

“Olivia—” he begins, but I cut him off because I have something I finally need to say. He had his turn to spill the truth. Now, it’s mine.

I look in his eyes. “Owen, it wouldn’t have been the first time,” I murmur softly.

“The first time?” he asks, not following.

“I have been through this scenario before, and it didn’t end with the white picket fence and the handsome-but-scared boyfriend. It ended with my world shattered. You are not Jay—I know this—but all I could think when those sticks came back positive was…now I’ll lose you too. I waited all that time, and now I would lose you.”

The tears come back with a vengeance and I throw my arm over my eyes to block Owen from seeing them.

I feel Owen’s hand grip my forearm and he pulls it away from my face.

“Olivia, open your eyes and look at me.” His voice is commanding, but there is understanding there too. “First, I’m sorry that that didn’t occur to me. To be honest, I was so wrapped up in my own feelings about you not telling me that I had forgotten that part of your history, and that was a jackass move on my part. Second, I’m really fucking glad you can acknowledge that I am not Jay. I, unlike that motherfucker, realize that, in order for you to have gotten pregnant with my child, I would have had to be involved. Therefore, my responsibility too.”

He pauses in his tirade to take a breath and then continues. “Third, regardless of all that, I see you not telling me as a version of running from conflict, and that’s an old behavior I don’t want to see creep back into our lives. So, from today on, you need to be honest with me—no exceptions. I’m going to flip out about things, Olivia. I’m a man, and I’m irrational and frankly pretty stupid a lot of the time. But I’m pretty sure couples have disagreements and they have big, crazy, huge things that happen to them that they don’t plan for. But I think the purpose of being in love with someone is to share those things with each other. I took a chance on trying commitment and sharing my past with you and found out it was what I had been wanting all along. You need to take a chance on me now, to let me sometimes have an emotion or two that you don’t like, and not expect I’d be fucked up enough to just walk out on you when that happens.

“You’re not losing me, baby. I’m yours to keep. We will be fine—I promise you. It’s going to take a little bit to sink in, but this is good news. Now, I know my boys can swim,” he jokes, trying to lighten the heavy mood.

I huff out a groan, but I offer him a smile anyway.

He continues. “I get that you were scared and unsure how to tell me while still protecting yourself, but I need you to know that I was hurt by it. That’s all. You weren’t purposefully trying to hurt me. I know that. But if we’re going to make this work, we need to be honest with each other. And we
will
make this work.”

I reach up and run the back of my fingers over his dear face. “I’m so sorry, Owen. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I swear I didn’t.”

He nods his head at me, understanding. Then he takes my hand, the one still stroking his cheek, and pulls it from his face, kissing my knuckles one at a time. My eyes flutter closed at the contact. I love him so much that it terrifies, excites, and calms me all at once. He lays my hand back on my chest before leaning forward, just barely pulling my tank top up, and planting a kiss on my stomach. He whispers something I can’t make out and kisses, over my tank top, between my breasts, up to my neck, and finally on my mouth.

He lightly brushes his lips over mine, giving me a soft kiss. He murmurs against my lips, “I love you, Olivia. Nothing—not even a baby—can change that.” He tilts his head to the side and kisses me again, this time with more passion.

My hands wrap around the base of his neck before finding their way into his hair, relishing in the silky feel of its strands between my fingers. Then I part my lips and his tongue slips into my mouth, lapping and stroking it tenderly. He starts to move over my body, his lips never leaving mine, when he tenses and pushes himself up on his hands.

What now?

“Owen, what’s wrong?” I huff out, breathless from our kiss.

He looks down at my stomach and then back up at me, his eyes pleading. Ahhh…so this is what’s preoccupying his mind. I smile at him as I run my hands through his hair again, my legs relaxing and falling open for him. He nuzzles his face into my neck.

I murmur to him, “You can’t hurt the baby. You can’t hurt me. You can only love me. Why, oh why, is this so difficult for you to wrap your head around?”

His response to what I’ve said is visceral, his lips and mouth opening against my skin, his tongue gliding over my collarbone eliciting a moan from me. His hips settle between my legs, urging me to lift mine to rub against him. It seems my assumption about his concern was spot-on.

While he continues to kiss me, his hands grasp the bottom of my tank and lift it up over my body, finding my breasts. He kneads them, his thumb flicking over my recently hypersensitive nipples. He stops kissing me and bends to suck one into his hot mouth, causing my back to arch on the bed. My hand slides down his arm, gripping him tight as he licks and teases my nipples. I keep it moving to his hard abs and then to his crotch, my intrepid fingers finding his hard cock, wrapping around it and gripping him through the soft material of his gym shorts.

I groan as I feel how hard he is under the fabric. He continues to suckle on my breasts as I reach my hand under the elastic of his pants and into his boxers, stroking and extracting his silky erection. He couldn’t be harder if he tried. When I run my finger over the head, he halts his ministrations long enough to suck in a long, painful breath. The tip is moist with pre-cum and I whimper in response. I let go to push his shorts and boxers farther down, allowing him to spring free. Owen lifts himself on his knees slightly to help without taking his mouth off my skin.

“Owen?” I whisper.

He raises his head to look me in the eyes. We can barely see each other in the pitch black of the night, having not lit candles in this room yet.

“Baby?” Owen asks quietly. He’s asking permission, checking to make sure I’m over our deep conversation.

I give him his permission. “Make love to me, Owen…”

He scoots down my body and hooks his thumbs in the waistband of my shorts, pulling them down my legs and off my body. As he positions himself above me, he runs a finger along my slit, groaning when he feels how wet I am. I hear a guttural mewl escape his lips and feel the bed move as he strokes himself in the dark, sitting back on his knees. He can’t see my eyes, something he generally requires while we make love, but in the dark, all there is the sensation of him rubbing against my slick core. I already feel like I’m going to combust.

I inhale a sharp breath as his tip finds my opening, teasing it with a light pressure, but not penetrating. I whisper in desperation, “Please…”

He starts to feed his thick cock into me, inch by delicious inch, and I groan loudly with pleasure. Once he is seated fully inside me, he finally speaks.

“How does that feel, baby?”

I hear him, but I’m having trouble forming coherent words. As if brought together by the cosmos, he circles his hips and a clap of thunder rumbles through the house.

I scream, “Oh Jesus! So good!”

He is surely inspired by this, and with a grunt, he starts to move. He is still on his knees between my legs, his hands parting them, opening me to him. He pulls out slowly, dragging against all the most sensitive spots. When he is almost fully out, he lunges back in, eliciting another scream from me. He himself mutters something that sounds like a combination of ‘fuck’ and ‘Olivia’ and something that resembles ‘Jesus.’ He starts to build up a rhythm, and he leans forward, propping himself on his hands on either side of my face. His hips are moving fluidly, and mine lift to meet his in perfect synchronicity. It’s exquisite.