Swap Out (38 page)

And she must know what I’m thinking because she sniffles and lets my hand go, then turns and reaches for her purse.

“I um, I went and had another ultrasound done two days ago,” she says, and my eyebrow arches. “I told them you had been deployed and were coming home, and that our dog ate the sonogram picture and we needed a new one.”

She hands me a long strip of paper with pictures of a back, a profile and arms and legs, and ten fingers, ten toes. My jaw trembles and I clamp it closed because these pictures are different, and there’s a printed date on the side that matches exactly what she said.

“I figured I would need proof, for you. And I wanted to hear the heartbeat.”

I glance up at Zoe, and even though she’s starting to smile, tears are still steadily running down her cheeks.

“It was so incredible, Luca,” she says, leaning over to look at the pictures. “I wish you could’ve been there with me. But they recorded the whole thing so as soon as you can come home, we can watch it together.”

“Zoe…” I start, setting down the sonogram, and her mouth twists as more tears flood her eyes.

“You’re not going to come home with me, are you?” she says, her voice cracking, and I exhale.

I’m still so angry, so fucking angry at her I can barely stand it. And some of the things she accused me of doing during that God-awful fight, of caring only about the baby and never about her, it makes me wonder if she ever figured out who I am, or if she just knew exactly the right things to say to hurt me the most.

I search her eyes and they’re full of fear and remorse. I’ll probably never know the answer to that question. All I can do is defend myself from what she thought was right, or knew to be wrong.

“I didn’t love you because you were pregnant, and I didn’t want to marry you because I thought it was the right thing to do,” I tell her, and when she nods, I wonder if that’s the answer I was looking for. “I loved you because frankly, you scare the shit out of me.”

A broken laugh escapes her, and I soak in the sight.

“I wanted to be with you because when you smile, you make me feel alive in a way I can’t describe. But every time I turn around, you’re pushing me away. I tried to do the right things not because I was attempting to manipulate you, but because it’s how you deserve to be treated, and you used that as a weapon against me.”

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “And I don’t expect you to forgive me, but if you’ll give me another chance I promise I’ll do better.”

“I’ve heard it before, Zoe. How many second chances is it going to take for you to make up your mind?”

“It’s made up. Almost losing you,
really
losing you, made me realize that I can’t bear to not have you in my life, no matter how much I told myself that it was the right thing to do. But it
isn’t
and the only thing I’m scared of now is being apart and I…” Her voice trails off like she’s searching for words, then she gasps out, “I want our family, Luca. But more than that, I just want
you
and I need to know we’re going to be okay.”

I don’t say anything, and she waits, but when I continue to stay silent she seems to give up on me: leaning down so her forehead rests on the back of my hand, sobbing.

And it’s not that I’m trying to punish her, but I just…I don’t even know where to begin. Doesn’t help that my head is still pounding and everything is hazy and I’m having trouble decoding all the things she just said. Probably because my muscles are taut with pain and my throat is killing me, I’d murder someone for some food and some morphine and she smells so fucking good that it’s not fair.

All I want is to be somewhere else, where there aren’t blinding lights streaming down but where the curtains are just the right weight to tell me that it’s daytime, but also keep it dark enough to sleep; to be under blankets that aren’t itchy and instead, caress my skin and smell like the too-expensive fabric softener that I think is frivolous and Zoe can’t live without. I want to sleep and live to fight tomorrow, because today, I’m done.

Doesn’t help that the longer I lay here and don’t talk, the more tired I become, but I have a faint recollection of Zoe saying something about being scared of me going to sleep and not waking up, and I can’t really fault her for that. Not when I’ve been in a freaking coma for a week and she just sat here, day after day, not knowing if I’d come back to her and what would happen when I did.

I force my eyes open to finish this, but before I can say anything she sniffles and sits up, mumbling, “You probably want this back…”

My brow furrows when she pulls my dog tags out of her shirt and over her head, except they’re not the only thing on the chain anymore. My eyes drink in the sight of the black diamond engagement ring hooked onto it, and I risk a peek at her.

She ducks her head, tucking her hair behind her ear as the chain dangles from her other hand like she doesn’t want to let it go. “I just…I needed to wear it.
Them
,” she quickly corrects.

I clear my throat. “I know the feeling.”

“I hope that’s okay,” she says, then looks down at the chain, and whether it’s subconscious or not, she wraps it tighter around her hand. “Do you…do you think you could ever love me again?”

I settle a little more comfortably, but still wince at the pain. “Is there ever going to be a day when you ask the right questions?”

Her eyes lift up to mine, and I exhale slowly, breathing through the ache that’s burning up my right leg.

“You want to know if I forgive you for scheduling the abortion the morning after I proposed?” I grit my teeth. “I don’t know if I’ll ever accept that: the memory of how I spent hours at the store thinking I’d come home to you asleep in our bed and wearing my ring, and instead I found…” I huff out a breath and shake my head, my voice as battered as the rest of my body when I tell her, “I don’t know if I can survive another round of this, Zoe.”

I hold my hand out expectantly and her bottom lip trembles as she hands the necklace over: letting the dog tags and the ring touch my palm first before the rest of the chain pools around them. But just as she sets the clasp against my skin, my hand closes, trapping her fingers inside mine.

She gasps, and the corner of my lips pulls up into a bittersweet smile.

“
But
,” I start, fresh tears glittering in her eyes, and I don’t give them a chance to fall. “I’m choosing to trust you because the simple truth is that I’d rather have five minutes of perfect with you than a lifetime of nothing. And whether I could ever keep from loving you?” I ask. “Despite everything we’ve been through…what made you think I
stopped
?”

All the air she had just inhaled rushes right back out, and I turn our connected hands over so her palm is now the one facing up. And with a movement I hope tells her everything I want it to, I take the chain and rewrap it around her hand, setting the tags and the ring in the center of her palm. I close her fingers around it, squeezing tight.

“I need you to do something for me,” I tell her, and she nods, wiping at her eyes. “You have to accept the fact that I know exactly what I want. And what I want is you, every day, for as long as I’m alive.”

Her eyes close but she doesn’t resist when I bring our hands up, resting my cheek to the back of her hand and letting my eyelashes fall shut.

God, it feels so, so good to touch her again.

“I need you to believe me,” I tell her quietly. “And I need you to stop trying to save me from spending my life with you, because I don’t need to be saved.”

She sniffles, and I open my eyes.

“Can you do that for me?” I ask, and she nods.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” I smile. “And can you maybe do
one
more thing?”

“Of course. Do you want me to get Scott or a nurse or—”

“Lay down with me?” I ask, and she shakes her head, but also can’t stop smiling.

“No,” she says, the overhead lights glinting off the chain around her hand when she pulls it away from mine to wipe at her eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t, and even if you do, I’ve survived worse,” I promise. “Besides, I’ve always been fine as long as you’re with me.”

She beams a smile at me, then rises and steps out of her shoes and very carefully, sits on the edge of the bed.

“The minute you flinch I’m moving,” she says and I nod seriously, and it must work because cautiously, she lays down, her body molded into my left side and head on my shoulder. My arm settles around her, my knuckles brushing down her side and when I turn my head so I can breathe her in, I swear she is the ultimate pain killer. But even that doesn’t numb the shock: that she’s still here.

After everything I said to her in my apartment, after slashing her tires and telling her that she would burn in hell, it didn’t stop her from being here for me when I was hurt. When I really needed her with me, even as nothing more than a voice I couldn’t hear and a touch I couldn’t feel, a scent I couldn’t smell. But I think some part of me knew, deep down, that she was beside me over the last eight days. That I had something worth fighting for, a reason to wake up.

A long breath trickles out of me, praying I’m not hallucinating all of this, but I know it’s real when she shifts my hand a little so I can feel the entirety of the bump in her belly, and it’s bigger than it used to be.

“I missed you so much,” she whispers, her shoulders curling tighter into my chest. “I was so scared you’d never wake up.”

I smile. “Good thing you always get what you want.”

And I didn’t mean to upset her, but something about that statement was apparently too much for her because she turns her head and hugs my neck with one arm, her cheek wet against mine and her breath stuttered over my ear as she cries.

For a while we don’t move, just holding each other in this too small bed, her body as close to mine as she can get while I run a hand down her hair. But when I turn my head so I can nudge my nose against hers, she takes a calming breath and tilts back, her eyes searching mine.

I cup her cheek in my palm, my fingertips slipping into her hair and when I sweep my thumb over her skin, she shivers.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” I promise and she nods, then after a moment that is too long and too short, she bends down to me and brushes her lips against mine.

I melt into the familiar silkiness of her lips, the tears from her eyelashes tangling with mine and I can’t help but smile at the sensation, drawn into the memory of kissing her in my kitchen for the very first time and how she cried then too. But I know now, like I knew then, that it was only because the tie between us is too strong to be broken, that she must have felt my vow to be her last first kiss. And on that crazy Sunday morning she was undeniably daunting, her thumbnail cutting into my cheek and her teeth scraping my lip, but on this Sunday she’s the same, and different.

Because I can still feel the edge of her fingernail, but now it’s just a whisper of a touch. And when she cradles my bottom lip between hers, she’s so careful it’s almost unreal. But I don’t want her to be afraid of hurting me anymore because it’s done nothing but cause problems, so I devotedly press up into her and when her lips part, my tongue dips inside to gently massage hers. The smooth, lazy strokes send my heart racing, a slightly embarrassing fact pronounced by the quickly accelerating chime coming from the monitor beside my bed and when she giggles into my lips, I nip at her.

“Shut up,” I breathe and she shakes her head no, then kisses me even deeper than before. My pulse thunders through my ears when she moans and teases her tongue against mine in the way she knows drives me crazy, evidenced by the fact that I can feel myself hardening and
thank God
that still works.

And then the door blasts open.

“If you two don’t stop fighting I’m going to separate—oh!” Allie exclaims, blushing bright red and her hand splayed over her chest when Zoe and I look over to her. “Well,” Allie says, clearing her throat, “I’ll just leave you two alone to—”

“Okay, I got tacos!” Scott’s voice cuts in as the door swings open again. “Plus some—
Aww
,” he croons when he spots us. “Look who made up all nice and—”

“Shut up,” I snap, and he holds his Styrofoam-box laden hands up in surrender.

“Zoe, can you
try
to keep him calm, please,” Allie says. “And get out of that bed and let that poor boy get some sleep, for Pete’s sake. You can do that later once he’s no longer on a heart monitor that sends off an alarm at the nurse’s station.”

“Sorry, Allie,” Zoe says bashfully and I chuckle, but when she moves to get up I tighten my arm around her, shaking my head at Allie.

“I need her, for health reasons.”

But as soon as I say it, shooting pains begin stealing my concentration. My eyes squeeze shut as more and more sharp jolts and aches surge through me, and I turn and hide my face in the curtain of Zoe’s hair, hearing as she sucks in a breath.

“Luca, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Just…hurts,” I grit out, my neck straining as my body protests and desperately wants to run from the anguish. But it’s a little easier to stomach when Zoe’s hand wraps around my head protectively, hiding me in the safety of her and shielding me from everyone else.