Page 97 of Conception
When I try to take her hand, she moves it away. But I’m undeterred. I cup her chin and coax her gaze towards me.
“What is it?” I ask her. “What’s wrong? Why are you here? How long have you been here? Just tell me what you need, Amelia. I’ll do anything.” The words are rushed. Desperate. I need to know what the hell is going on.
“I’m fine. We don’t need anything from you.” She clamps her mouth shut, her eyes darting away from mine.
If I wasn’t so damn concerned about her condition, I’d take her over my knee until she gives me the truth. Eight excruciating months with an Amelia-shaped hole in my heart and this is all I get from her. A vague answer and not a hint of interest that I’m here. I don’t buy it. If I have to beg the truth out of her, I’ll go down on my knees.
“Bullshit, Amelia. I’ve missed you every goddamn second since I left this place. I dreamt of you night after fucking night only to wake up pissed at the world that you weren’t next to me. You can’t sit there and tell me you didn’t feel the same. That you don’t still feel the same.”
Sorrow fills her eyes. “I won’t lie and say I didn’t miss you. Of course I did. But things have changed, Knox. And I’m telling you right now: We don’t need anything from you.”
I missed it before, but when she repeats her words, I’m hung up on one.
We?
Before I can ask her what she means, there’s a knock on the door. I ignore it, not giving a damn who’s there.
My eyes don’t leave Amelia, even though she’s staring off behind me.
As the door creaks open, all the blood drains from Amelia’s already pale face. The shocking pallor of her skin unnerves me, and when I see who’s entered, it’s my turn to be utterly rocked to my core.
I can sense idea how much my world is about to change. How much it’s already changed in the past twenty-four hours and I’ve been completely clueless to it—until the same pretty nurse who led me to Amelia’s room walks in with a tiny bundle cocooned in a blanket and cradled in her arms.
Until a piercing wail comes from her arms.
Until little arms lift into the air like he’s already fighting the Great Ali in his sleep.
Until she smiles at Amelia, who’s holding her arms out.
I push my chair back and stand, wanting to both run from the room and haul Amelia into my fucking arms. Because as the realization hits me, only one thing crosses my mind
This.
Is.
Mine.
No.
Sheis mine.
No. Something in my brain tells me even that’s wrong.
They.
Theyare mine.
“Someone’s hungry and missing his mommy,” the nurse coos.
His. Mommy.
Amelia.
His mommy.
Amelia.
His.
