Tap, Page 28

  I love this man so much. “Yes. I’ll be your wife, the mother of our children, and your business partner.”

  He slides the engagement ring down my finger. “Sometimes the heart doesn't know what it wants until it finds what it needs. And you’re it for me.”

  Meeting Brou the weekend of the beer festival was fate. Deciding to try out a long-distance relationship was a choice. But falling in love was beyond our control.

  I’ve never been afraid of the word different; there are far too many ordinary things in life. Love shouldn't be one of them.

  Epilogue

  Lucas Broussard

  “I’m late.”

  “Late for what?” I’ve heard those words from Wren two other times. I know what she means but I ask her to clarify in hopes of getting a different answer.

  “My period. It’s late.” Well, fuck.

  We just went through all of this a couple months ago. It hasn’t been long enough.

  I’m not ready.

  I wish I could be ecstatic. I would love to wear a fucking grin on my face for days and tell everyone I’m finally going to be a daddy. But I can’t. I have to stay disconnected so it doesn’t hurt so much if we lose this one too.

  I swore to Wren I would marry her and give her babies. I’ve done both. Sort of.

  But things haven’t gone as planned.

  We married almost three years ago. I had the vasectomy reversal a month later since we knew it might take a while for it to function well enough for Wren to get pregnant. It took over two years but we’ve conceived naturally twice in the last six months. Both pregnancies ended in miscarriage.

  Now, here we go again.

  The doctor said both were random and not an indicator for any future problems. But I wanted to wait, give her body more time to heal so we’d have a better chance at being successful this time. Wren wouldn’t have it any other way. She’s eager to hold a baby in her arms.

  “You don’t look happy, Brou.”

  “I’m scared, Wren.” Fucking terrified. I don’t want to walk this path again. Lose my fourth child. Her third. It’s brutal.

  “Don’t think about everything that can go wrong. Think of the sweet, precious baby we’ll have because everything finally went right this time.”

  “Lawrence Broussard.” I’m sucked back into the present when I hear my wife’s name called.

  “This is it.”

  We follow the woman down the hallway into an exam room. “Dr. Nichols wants your ultrasound done before she sees you.”

  “Yay.” Wren is beaming. So giddy and bubbly. She’s never made it this far in her pregnancies. Never had a bump before. Never had that lovely glow.

  My wife makes a beautiful pregnant woman.

  She reaches for my hand. “Come up here so you can see better.”

  I’m wearing a smile but it’s all for show. I’ve never been so fucking scared in my life.

  Wren is twenty weeks, halfway through the pregnancy. If something is wrong with this baby, we’ll find out today. Right now.

  She stretches out on the exam table, legs fidgeting. “Oh, I’m so excited. It’s been a month since the last scan. I can’t wait to see our baby and how much he or she has grown.”

  “You won’t believe the changes from sixteen to twenty weeks.” The woman is busy pushing buttons on the keyboard. “Just need a minute to enter your information and then we’ll get started.”

  I cup both of my hands around Wren’s. I lean forward, bringing them to my forehead as I close my eyes and say a silent prayer. Please, please, please let our baby be healthy. I don’t think I’ll make it through losing another one.

  “You’re shaking, Brou.” I am. Because I’m a fucking mess.

  It’s my job to protect Wren and our child. But I’m helpless to do anything if something has gone wrong again. I just need this test to be done and hear our child is healthy.

  The woman shakes a bottle and squeezes gel on Wren’s stomach. “Wet goo on your tummy.”

  Here we go. I watch the computer screen although I don’t have a clue what I’m seeing. Just looks like a bunch of blobs to me. “I’ll do the diagnostic requirements first and then we get to do the fun stuff.”

  That sounds reassuring. I don’t think she’d have used that word if something were wrong. “Fun stuff?”

  “We spy on the baby and take pictures. Maybe see if it’s a boy or girl if he or she is cooperative today.”

  “We don’t want to know the sex,” Wren is quick to inform her. She’s been adamant about not finding out since the beginning.

  “Oh, I love when parents don’t find out. That’ll be so much fun when you deliver.”

  The ultrasound tech hums and makes small talk as she scans Wren’s stomach. “Do you have a feeling about it? Most of my patients say they do.”

  “I think it’s a boy. He says he doesn’t know.” I haven’t been able to assign a gender to this little person. To do so would make it real and I can’t do that until I know this baby will survive.

  A galloping thud echoes through the room. “Heart rate is running around one fifty.”

  Mishaps at the cider brewery caused me to miss Wren’s last two checkups and ultrasounds so I’m hearing and seeing our baby for the first time. And it triggers something deep within my chest, a sensation I’ve not felt in a long time. That is my child.

  “I swear that is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. I could listen to it forever.”

  The tech points at the screen. “Well, if you think that’s sweet, take a look at this.”

  It’s a minute before I get my bearings but then it becomes clear. “Oh my God, Wren.” I laugh—maybe even sort of giggle. “He’s sucking his thumb.” I watch the screen, mesmerized by what I’m seeing. This is real.

  “Does everything look okay? Is he healthy?” Please say yes. I squeeze Wren’s hand and my entire body tenses as I wait to hear the verdict. Longest second of my life.

  “All looks good. He, or she, appears healthy as can be.” Thank you, thank you, thank you.

  I’m not even on cloud nine. I’m floating above it. We aren’t going to lose this one.

  I choke up and fight tears as I behold this tiny little person inside my wife. Part me, part her.

  The tech moves the probe and is able to get a perfect still frame of the face. “Look at that, Brou. Has to be a boy because that little face looks just like yours. Minus the beard.”

  “Woman, you don’t know what I look like without a beard.”

  She giggles. “I’ve seen pictures.”

  I can’t take my eyes from the screen as I study the image of our child. “I don’t know, babe. I think that’s your nose and chin.” Guess we’ll find out in a few months.

  “Man, there’s some flipping going on in there today.”

  I can’t believe how much he’s moving. I’m not sure I blink for fear of missing one of the somersaults. “Do you feel that?”

  “Some of it. Mostly feels like little flutters here and there.” Amazing.

  Our tech replaces the ultrasound wand on the machine. The fun is over too soon. “All right. We’re done. Dr. Nichols will be in to see you shortly.”

  “Thank you for the pictures,” Wren says.

  “You’re welcome. Glad we were able to get some good shots of the little prince or princess.”

  “I can’t wait to show the video and these pictures to our parents. You know our moms are going to have a fit.” Wren adjusts the stretchy band of her skirt over her belly. Pregnant and still dressing like a hippie. That’s my girl.

  “Josette Broussard will want her own copy.” My mom wanted to be present during the ultrasound so badly. Begged and pleaded like a toddler. I understand her excitement about the baby but this is our time.

  I have no idea what’s going to happen when the doctor comes in. She may not want me in here. “Would you like me to go to the waiting room?”

  “You’ve not been at many of my checkups. I’d really like you to stay.
” I haven’t been a part of this pregnancy as I should be. But that changes here and now.

  “I would love to stay with you, baby.”

  * * *

  “Where do you want me?”

  “On your side. Pillow between your knees and one under your head.”

  Naked Wren. Fragrant candles burning. Relaxing music playing. Lavender oil ready to be warmed in my hands when she’s in position. Perfect recipe for a prenatal massage.

  I dribble several drops of diluted lavender oil in my hands. I rub them together before placing my palms against the back of Wren’s neck. “Lavender oil is safe in second trimester. I checked.”

  “I know.” Of course she does. She’s the essential oil expert and natural healer of the two of us.

  I begin at her nape and slowly work my way down the muscles of her back, giving each one plenty of attention, until I reach her hips. I gently push and circle my fist into the base of her spine. “Feel good?”

  “Very good. I’ve been hurting there this week.” She hasn’t mentioned that.

  “Maybe it’s time you stopped working.” She’s on her feet all day at the cider brewery. That can’t be healthy for her or the baby.

  “It’s just sciatica. Most pregnant women get it from time to time. No reason to stop working.”

  We forewent buying Savan Cider after Wren and I got engaged. As newlyweds, we didn’t need to tackle running a company in Birmingham and another in Savannah. Been there, done that, and it didn’t work. So we started our own cider brewery, a sister company to Lovibond. Stout didn’t want Savan Cider anyway. He knew how miserable our separation was making both of us. And I think he suspected I was on the verge of changing my stance about marriage and children. He knew how much I loved his sister. And all I needed was a little push. The whole thing was a ploy to bring Wren and me back together. And I played right into his hands. Best scheme ever.

  I tap Wren on the hip. “I’ll do your other side if you’ll roll.”

  “Definitely if it means you’re going to keep this up.”

  I move in the opposite direction this time, ending up at the back of her neck, before moving on to her calves and feet. “That was so good, Brou. Thank you.”

  I finish Wren’s massage and lie down behind her, spooning. My hand goes to her swollen abdomen. “How is our little one?”

  “Very active. You must have stirred him up. There are lots of flutters going on in there.” Just like earlier today when Wren had her ultrasound.

  I hold my hand still and concentrate on trying to feel them. Nothing. I think it makes me a little jealous. “How long have you been feeling the baby move?”

  “A couple of weeks.” That long?

  “You haven’t said anything about it.”

  “Because you withdraw every time I talk about the baby.” I hear the hurt in her voice.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and press my forehead to Wren’s bare back, powerless to stop the tears. I’m such a selfish bastard. I made this about me and how to guard against another devastating blow. I never stopped to consider how much disconnecting was hurting my wife. “I allowed my heart to disengage from the baby and pregnancy in case we lost this one too . . . so it didn’t hurt so much. I haven’t been here for you, or our little one, and I am truly sorry for that. You can’t begin to imagine how much.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay, Wren. I swear I love this baby. He’s already in my heart and I can hardly wait until he’s in my arms.”

  She puts her hand over mine and presses it against her lower belly. “I know. I’ve always known . . . even when you didn’t.”

  “I think it’s time I see someone. A therapist.” My unresolved feelings about Eli’s death have held me back from embracing this precious life inside Wren as I should. That’s not what I want for my child.

  “Oh, Brou.” She turns in my arms and wraps her body around mine. Her embrace and tears tell me everything she doesn’t say.

  Lawrence Thorn Broussard. My lover. My wife. Mother of my child. Her love and unwavering faith in me has the power to conquer any darkness I face.

  * * *

  It’s the final countdown. Baby Broussard could hatch any time now. “You should be resting, Wren. Not up, cleaning the house.”

  “I can’t help it. I feel good for the first time in days. I don’t want to wallow on that couch another minute.”

  If she won’t listen to me, maybe she’ll listen to another woman. “Tell her, Mom. It isn’t good for her to be running around the house like a mad woman.” Wren says I’m overprotective and worry too much. I disagree. It isn’t possible to be too concerned for the health and well-being of my wife and child.

  “Leave her alone, Luc. She’s nesting.”

  I’ve heard of that but I don’t have a clue what it means. “What is that?”

  “Her motherly instinct to clean and get the house in order before the baby comes.”

  “For real? You think it means the baby is coming because she’s dusting like a maniac?”

  “Could be.” A woman’s pregnant body does weird things.

  Wren nests all evening. My mom says it’s normal behavior so I let her have at it. I’m hoping Mom is right and this is a sign the baby is coming soon. I’m ready to meet my son or daughter.

  Her burst of energy isn’t even close to being at an end at bedtime. “These pregnancy hormones do crazy things to me. Wanting you hits me in waves. Right now, I'm drowning because I want you so bad.”

  Whoa. She hasn’t been like this in a while. Lucky me.

  Wren gets on all fours and then moves over to straddle me. “I’m big and slow these days.”

  “No, baby. You’re perfect.” I put my hands on her round belly and rub each side before gliding my hands to her hips. “No panties. You came to bed ready.” And with motive. Love that.

  “You have no idea just how ready I am.” A streak of white leaves her body and lands on the foot of the bed.

  Damn. She stripped that off fast. “I’d say you’re the opposite of slow.”

  Wren yanks my shirt over my head. “Get those pants off. Now.”

  “Yesss, ma’am.” She lifts, and I do too, so I can obey her orders quickly. “Damn, I am loving this nesting thing.”

  I push my fingers into the hair at her nape and pull her face to mine. She sinks over me and I’m inside her body. She moves up and down several times, sliding me in and out, but it isn’t like normal. “This isn’t working. I can’t get going. I’m too big and unbalanced.”

  “You’re not too big.”

  “Well, I’m too . . . something.”

  “Tell me how you want it.” I will stand on my head and give it to her if that’s what she wants.

  “Side lying, from the back.”

  “Not a problem.” I love rear entry.

  I ease inside her and it’s so good it’s impossible to suppress my groan. I pull back and thrust slowly, savoring the squeeze of her body around mine. “Fuck!” I can’t believe how tight she feels. “It’s sending tingles all over me.”

  I thrust a few more times. “Is this position good for you, babe?”

  She’s tilting her hips backward, rocking, to meet me with every stroke. “Mmm hmm.”

  I reach around her pregnant belly to that sensitive place between her legs. “Tell me when I find the spot.”

  She moans, and without a word, I know I’ve hit it. “Oh, right there.”

  I circle the whole area fast and hard. Slow and soft. Back and forth. Side to side. It’s anybody’s guess what will come next. “Almost there.”

  I move faster. My cock and fingers. “Do it. I want to feel your body quiver and contract around me because you’re coming hard.”

  “Ohh . . . I’m coming, Brou.” Yes, she is. And so am I.

  I bury my face in the back of her hair. “I love you, Wren.”

  She reaches over her shoulder and grabs the back of my head. “I love you, too.”

  Our arms, our legs, o
ur entwined bodies collapse like rag dolls. “That was fucking awesome.”

  “Our baby’s first word is going to be fucking if you don’t find an alternative soon.”

  “I think we have a little time until he says his first word.”

  “You always say he and him. Do you want a boy?” She says it too.

  “I guess it’s my default because of Eli. But I don’t care what we get as long as he or she is healthy.” That’s it. The only thing I care about.

  I pull out and reach for a pillow to place under her head. “Need one between your knees too?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I spoon behind Wren, wrapping my arm around her waist and rubbing her tummy. The movement beneath my hand is like a restless sea. “Feels like he’s awake.”

  “Yeah. That stirred him up.”

  “He’ll be stirring in our arms before too much longer. And keeping us up half the night. Mom thinks it’ll be soon.”

  “I would be completely okay with that.” She places a hand on her belly next to mine. “I’m ready to get my hands on our little snuggle bug. This has been a long wait.”

  It has indeed. But even miracles take a little time. I see that now.

  * * *

  Granola earth birth. Hippie style. All natural. Nothing for pain. That’s how Wren wants to labor and give birth to our child. I admire her for that. But damn. I can hardly stand seeing her in this much pain.

  “I didn’t know it was gonna hurt like this.” Her breathing is no longer slow and deep. She’s panting. “Uhh . . . it’s . . . baadd.”

  She’s writhing all over the bed. “Get the epidural, baby.”

  “No, no, no. I’ve come this far without it.”

  Wren was dilated seven centimeters last time she was checked. The nurse said she didn’t feel like the last three would take long. God, I hope not. This is horrible to watch.

  “Hold my hand.” She squeezes it. Hard. “I don’t think I can do this. It hurts too bad.”

  I move so we’re face to face. “Look at me, Wren.” Her eyes meet mine and I see agony there. “Will it be easy? No. Will it be worth it when you hold our baby in your arms? Absolutely. Remember that little face we saw on the ultrasound. The one with your nose and chin. You can do this for him.”