Them (Him #3) (4 page)

“I made a doctor’s appointment for next week. Will you come to it with me?”

“Yes.”

Silently, he holds me. I watch the light peeking through the slats of our blinds travel across our bedroom until the room darkens and they disappear altogether. Will pulls away to go downstairs and make us dinner. I stop in the bathroom first before following him. It doesn’t happen often but there
are
times, even after almost three years of marriage that I wonder if I’m good enough for him.

He has this uncanny ability to make me feel worthy of his love nine times out of ten. It’s just that last one time where my own insecurities doubt him. It’s silly—stupid, even—and I try to convince myself I deserve him. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, it’s clear that crying for most of the day did me no favors.

Will looks delicious all the time. How is that fair? From the moment he wakes up—even when he’s still sleepy—to the moment he lays his head back down to go to sleep. He had the flu last year and still looked gorgeous. I wonder if people see us together and think he’s too good for me.

I don’t look gorgeous the moment I wake up. When I’m tired, you can tell by the dark circles under my eyes. I wear makeup most days to look average. Not a ton, just a touch of foundation and blush. If we’re going out, I’ll also wear eye makeup. Without it, I don’t feel pretty. Will needs nothing to look so yummy. He’s all mine, and still there are times when I’m struck speechless by how handsome he is.

Even now, he’s downstairs making me soup in an attempt to make me feel better. I don’t understand what he sees in me. I wash my face, brush my hair and change into a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and one of Will’s old t-shirts before going to join him.

Our kitchen is bright and cheery. White shaker-style cabinets and subway tiles set off our granite countertops. Our island matches the cabinets but has a butcher block-style top instead of granite. The island helps with storage since we don’t have much of a pantry. The picture window looking over our back deck and yard make up for it, though.

His back is to me as he stirs the soup, our toaster oven dinging as I walk in. Soup and warm bread, pure comfort food. As he turns to pull out the bread, he sees me hovering in the doorway. He sets the bread on the counter before coming to me.

His hands are on my hips, lifting his shirt until they can rest warmly on my bare skin. “Feeling any better?”

I nod before pressing my face into his chest and wrapping my arms around his waist. My Will. Maybe it doesn’t matter that I don’t feel so great about myself. Maybe as long as I have him, I can try to not be so hard on myself. I can’t be that bad; he wouldn’t love me if I was. I trust him. Maybe I can also trust that if he thinks I’m deserving, then I am.

“Hungry?”

I nod. “A little.”

We sit side by side, each on a stool, pulled up to our island as we eat. Between bites, he rests his hand on my thigh and I cover it with mine. By the bottom of my bowl, I feel better. There’s warm soup and bread in my belly and the love of my life beside me. Even if it would only be the two of us for the rest of our lives I know it would be enough.
Well, I hope it would.

I clean up while Will hangs out, keeping me company. It’s like he doesn’t want to let me out of his sight. I’m glad, because his presence alone is keeping my negative thoughts away.

“Want some dessert?” I ask, once I’m finished.

“Come here,” he teases.

I round the island as he turns so I can stand between his legs. He drops his lips to mine and feasts as I coil my arms around his neck and cling to him. His hands move down my back to my waist and wrap around me tightly. He bends me backward, deepening his kiss. I’m breathless by the time he straightens. He lifts his head slightly, breaking our kiss, but doesn’t move beyond that.

My eyes flutter open and his handsome face is all I see. I grin, my smile widening when I see him do the same thing.

“So sweet,” he whispers.

My heart is so full it feels weighted in my chest. I close the distance between our lips as I crawl into his lap.

“I love you so much,” I tell him as I kiss him.

He returns my kisses and repeats my words, sealing me in his embrace. “The things I want to do to you.”

We won’t, though, not while I’m on my period. Knowing Will, he probably wouldn’t care, but I do. That doesn’t mean I can’t take care of him. So I do, pulling back and dropping to my knees in front of him.

Crazy as it sounds, I love getting him off. When we make love, Will is absolutely in control. He’s physical, moving me, powering into me, taking me. He’s so different when I’m in control, though. He’s almost frozen by what I’m doing to him, except for his face. There’s no hiding he’s enjoying every single thing I do. We lock eyes, and the lust in his sears my soul.

I recognize that expression. It’s the one I wear when I’m looking at him. We were made for each other. If he is my perfect match, I need to stop second-guessing that I’m not his. I give him everything I can, all of my love, all of my desire, and I receive his, every last drop.

He pulls me up and back into his lap, cradling me, kissing me, loving me. It’s early, but he carries me back to bed. He sets me down, quickly shedding his clothes until he’s just in his boxers before climbing into bed and tucking me against him. We have a king-size bed, not that we need one so big since we always seem to end up together in the middle every night.

“Everything is going to be all right,” he promises.

“Yes,” I agree, because in this moment I can see there isn’t another alternative.

As long as we are together, no matter what else happens, everything will be all right.

“Why are you so sure there is something wrong at all?”

“Sawyer and I both went off birth control around the same time.”

His fingers coast up and down my arm. “Sometimes it takes longer for some people.”

“It’s been a year, Will,” I argue.

He stills. “What if I’m the problem?”

I hate his choice of words. “Impossible.”

He chuckles. “That’s your expert medical opinion?”

I look up at him. “You’re perfect.”

He shakes his head. “No such thing.”

I huff and he laughs at me, so I glare which only makes him laugh harder.

“It’s not funny,” I fume.

“Darling, it’s outside of our control. But you are seriously adorable when you try to look mad.”

I roll my eyes as his body shakes. “Happy to amuse you.”

He shifts me to my back and kisses me hard. “You’re doing a bang-up job.”

I’m annoyed but I guess it
is
funny, and somehow his laughter is infectious. I fight it, I really do, pressing my lips together tightly as, in vain, I refuse to crack a smile. Will is on to me and sitting up, his legs straddling my stomach, he starts to tickle me.

Suddenly, I’m back in high school, on my back in the field by the parking lot as Will tickles me. I was so in love with him then. I had no idea that he even thought of me as anything other than a friend. In that moment, I could not have imagined that even after the time we were apart that I would be here someday. Here in bed with Will Price, married to him and in the home we share.

That does it. My face breaks and I’m not sure, but there’s a chance that I’ve never been happier than I am in this moment. It took Will unintentionally reminding me of my high school hopes and dreams to make me realize how lucky I am. Is it human nature to always want more? When will it sink in that I already have everything I ever wanted?

Will’s eyes shine as he looks down at me. “You are so beautiful.”

I reach for him, pulling him down until he covers me completely.

Will

This weekend was hard on Sarah. It was painful to see the longing in her eyes as she looked at Brian, Christine and Calvin. She knows I love her, even if she needs to be reminded from time to time just how much. What she doesn’t know is I feel like I’m failing her.

She wants a family, and I’m not able to give that to her. I’m going with her to the doctor today. I didn’t tell her, but I did some research on infertility online over the weekend. The first thing they normally check is the guy. What if I’m the problem? I’m not looking forward to jerking off into a cup. I’m even less looking forward to the possibility that something’s wrong with my sperm count.

I only want to make her happy. What if giving her a family is a physical impossibility for me? Would she be okay with adopting as an alternative? Maybe I should get her a puppy. Would she love it, or know it was a pathetic substitute to the baby she truly wants?

I’m losing my mind, actually considering replacing a child with a dog.

I hear the shower turn off.

I took a half-day from work. I wanted to take the whole day off, but Logan has been sharing lunch with me every day and I want to be there for him. He’s starting to open up. His grandfather was put on hospice at the beginning of the year, which is bad news since he was the healthier one of his grandparents before his health took a turn.

His father is still in South Korea and he has no idea what will happen to his grandmother after his grandfather passes away. He’s had a hard time getting his dad on the phone because of his schedule and the time difference. As far as he knows, his father has been informed and is working to get approval to come home.

Until then, Logan has become the main caregiver for his grandmother. The hospice people have been pitching in here and there as they care for his grandfather. That scares him. What if they tell someone? He’s afraid someone will take him away from his grandmother because he’s a minor and she’s so sick.

That’s a lot of crap for an eighth grader to be shouldering all by himself. Depending on how this doctor’s appointment goes, I’m going to talk to Sarah about seeing what we can do to help. If the appointment goes badly, I’ll do it by myself. I don’t want to add any more stress to what Sarah is already dealing with.

She walks into the kitchen, and I’m surprised by how dressed up she is. She’s curled her hair, is wearing more makeup than normal and is wearing a dress.

“Hot date?” I ask.

“Huh?”

“You look like you’re going on a hot date, not to a doctor’s appointment.”

She blushes. “I felt like looking nice.”

I tug her toward me. “You always look beautiful, but right now you look gorgeous.”

“Stop.” She lifts her hands to press against my chest.

I pull her closer. “How’d I get so lucky?”

Her mouth is right there so I kiss her. She melts against me so I kiss and hold her until we have to go. She acts annoyed that she has to fix her lip gloss before we walk out the door, but I know she really doesn’t mind.

She drives, which doesn’t happen that often if we’re in the car together. We’re going to her lady stuff doctor and since I’ve never been, I guess it makes sense. We have GPS, so I
could
have driven, but she wants to feel in control. I give it to her even though it makes me feel slightly out of control myself.

I’ll drive on the way back. Hopefully, it won’t annoy her. I’ll even remember to put her seat back the way it should be this time.

This appointment is only a consultation.
They won’t make me leave a sample today, will they?
Will I go into a room by myself while they all know what I’m doing?
Great, now I’m having performance anxiety.
Will they let Sarah go in with me?
I don’t know whether that would be hot or not. We’ve watched each other before, and that was sexy as hell, her hands all over herself. I’m not sure how that would translate in a sterile doctor’s office.

Her hand is on my leg now and I glance over at her. We’ve parked; I hadn’t noticed. Can she tell I’m nervous? Her hand squeezes my leg once before she gets out. I take a deep breath and get out, as well. We meet in front of the car, her hand slipping into mine, and walk into a grey brick building together.

“His name is Dr. Stacey,” Sarah tells me in the elevator.

We stop on the fifth floor and walk past the offices of a dermatologist and a psychiatrist before reaching her doctor’s office. I stand with Sarah as she signs in. The receptionist seems to recognize her, and they talk for a moment before she grabs my hand and we sit and wait. There’s a couple, the woman clearly pregnant, and one woman all by herself, also waiting.

The walls of the room are peach, the upholstery of the chairs, as well. The effect makes the chairs seem to disappear into the walls; the only thing stopping them are the wooden arm rests. The carpet is sage with a peach triangle shape pattern repeating itself.

The solo woman is called back first. Not long after her, the other couple is also taken back.

“Is there more than one doctor?” I ask, curious as to how long we’ll be waiting. The peach is getting to me.

“Yes, it’s a practice. They have another office downtown, so I’m not sure how many doctors there are.”

“This is a lot of peach.”

She laughs, turning so she can press her face into my shoulder.