style="font-size:15px;"> That was the most he’d said to her at once since she’d woken from her coma. And also very revealing words. “We sound attached at the hip.”
He rested his elbows on his knees, staring into his empty teacup. “We were trying to make a baby.”
His quiet explanation took the wind right out of her sails. She’d guessed as much since they were adopting and had no other children, but hearing him say it, hearing that hint of pain in his words, made her wonder how much disappointment and grief they’d shared over the years while waiting for their son. Then to have that joy taken from them both because she couldn’t remember even the huge landmarks in their relationship that should be ingrained in her mind—when she’d met him, their first kiss, the first time they’d made love...
“And starting our family didn’t work the way we planned.”
He looked up at her again. “In case you’re wondering, the doctors pinpointed it to a number of reasons, part me, part you, neither issue insurmountable on its own, but combined...” He shrugged. “No treatment worked for us, so we decided to adopt.”
Thomas. Their child. Her mind filled with the sweet image of his chubby cheeks and dusting of blond hair. “I’m glad we did.”
“Me, too,” he said with unmistakable love.
The emotion in his voice drew her in as nothing else could have. She sat beside Porter, their shoulders brushing. It was almost comfortable. Or did she want it to be that way? So many emotions tapped at her, dancing in her veins. “He’s so beautiful. I hate that I don’t remember the first instant I laid eyes on him, the moment I became his mother.”
“You cried when the social worker at the hospital placed him in your arms. I’m not ashamed to say I did, too.”
Oh, God, this man who’d not once mentioned love could make a serious dent in her heart with only a few words. It was enough to make her want to try harder to fit into this life she didn’t remember. To be more patient and let the answers come.
She touched his elbow lightly, wanting the feel of him to be familiar, wanting more than chemistry to connect them. “This isn’t the way Christmas was supposed to be for us.”
“There was no way to foresee the accident.” He placed his hand over hers, the calluses rasping against her skin, another dichotomy in this man who could pay others to do anything for him yet still chose to roll up his sleeves.
“I never did ask how it happened. There have been so many questions I keep realizing I’ve forgotten to ask the obvious ones.”
“We picked up Thomas at the hospital. Since it was so close to our beach house, we considered staying here for the night, but instead opted to drive back home to Tallahassee. A half an hour later, a drunk driver hit us head-on.”
“We wanted our son in our own house, in his nursery.”
“Something like that.”
“What does his nursery look like at our house in Tallahassee?”
“The same as here, countryside with farm animals. You said you wanted Thomas to feel at home wherever he went. Even his travel crib is the same pattern. You even painted the same mural on the wall here.”
She remembered admiring the artwork when she’d laid the baby in his crib, enjoying the quiet farm scene with grazing cows and a full blue moon.
“I painted it?” Finally, something of herself in this house of theirs. Her eyes filled with tears. Such a simple thing. A mural for their son in their two homes—or did they have more?—and yet she couldn’t remember painting the pastoral scene. She couldn’t remember the shared joy over planning for their first child, or the shared tears.
And right now she was seconds away from shedding more tears all over the comfort of Porter’s broad chest.
When would she feel she belonged in this life?
Porter woke from a restless sleep. He would have blamed it on staying in the guest room, but he’d bunked here more than once as his marriage frayed. He knew that wasn’t the reason he couldn’t sleep. Sitting up with the sheets tangled around his waist, he listened closer and heard it again. Someone was awake.
The baby?
He swept the bedding away and tugged on a pair of sweatpants. Even having a night nanny, he couldn’t turn off the parenting switch. Over the past few weeks, the accident and time in the hospital had kept him on high alert, fearing the worst 24/7.
A few steps later, he’d padded to the nursery, determined to relieve the night nanny and watch Thomas himself. He’d worked with minimum sleep before. Actually, this past month had made him quite good at operating on only a few hours of rest. He was still so glad his son was okay that being with him was reassuring, even in the middle of the night. Those quiet hours also offered the uninterrupted chance to connect with his child.
Stepping into the doorway, he stopped short. Instead of the matronly granny figure he’d hired to help out, he found his wife feeding their son a bottle in a rocker by the crib.
“Hey, little man,” she said softly, propping the bottle on her arm, “I’m your mommy. Forever. And I do want to be your mother. Who wouldn’t love that precious face of yours? I wish we could have had the past month together, but that wasn’t my choice.”
Alaina took his breath away.
Though her pale pink T-shirt was crumpled from sleep, it still hinted at the shape of her curves and the matching pale, striped shorts exposed her beautiful legs.
But Porter couldn’t see her face. Like any new mother, she was focused, homed in on her child. Her head was tilted down toward Thomas, blond hair spilling over her right cheek and shoulder.
She was beautiful and the warmth of her love for Thomas pulled at him. For the first time since she had woken up from the coma, she looked at ease. She looked almost happy. If he were being honest with himself, it was the first time she had looked truly happy in months.
A pang of guilt welled in his chest. Porter wanted to do anything—give anything—for her to stay like that. For her to be happy with him again. And she deserved it. Relationships hadn’t always been kind to her.
When they’d first started dating four and a half years ago, she had recently left an emotionally abusive boyfriend. He had controlled all aspects of her life, telling her who she could and couldn’t see. He’d shown up to check in on her. Slowly isolating her so she would have no one to turn to for help.
That was one of the reasons she didn’t have friends around to help now. She’d told him it had been hard to make friends after that experience. Possibly that was why she was struggling so much to trust him now.
He couldn’t blame her for feeling that way.
Five years ago, she’d tried to take charge of her life when she’d left the boyfriend. But the abuse hadn’t stopped. He’d stalked her. Only the restraining order had given Alaina her life back.
And
