Page 64 of Never Really Mine
As I rub the lotion over my stomach, one of the babies kicks my rib. I wince, and press my fingers down on the spot. “Stop it,” I scold, as if they know what they’re doing to me. Like they’re responding, they kick back. I shrug the shirt over my body,cringing when it’s tight across my stomach. It used to be a loose tee on me, and now it barely stretches across my large stomach. I sigh, mournfully, knowing I still have weeks of pregnancy ahead of me.
I leave the bathroom, heading toward my room. Thankfully, I’m not quite at the waddling stage of pregnancy, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. Seems like time has sped up since the day we found out I was pregnant.
Beau stands in the hall between my room and his, leaning against the wall as he scrolls on his phone. When he hears me coming, he slides it into his pocket, looking up with a glint in his brown eyes. It’s surreal to me that the man I’ve called my best friend my whole life—the one I’ve trusted with everything, the one I’ve pushed away more than once out of fear of getting too close—is here, and this is the path our lives have taken. I’m standing here, swollen ankles, huge pregnant belly wearing a shirt that no longer fits, no makeup, and my hair up in a towel atop my head, and he’s still looking at me like I hung the moon. Like I’m the one he would sacrifice everything for.
I swallow the sudden lump in my throat and step closer to him. He reaches out his hand, taking mine without question. He leads me into my room, and unwraps the towel from my head. My damp hair falls down my back, bangs strewn across my forehead in what, I’m sure, is a ridiculous style.
“Where’s your brush?” Beau asks. He makes his way toward my dresser, where I have a random collection of things. “Nevermind, I found it,” he says, holding it up like a trophy.
“Thanks,” I say, holding out my hand to grab it from him.
Beau holds his finger up in between us, shaking it back and forth. “Nuh-uh.”
I raise my brow, confused, until he guides me to sit on the edge of my bed. He climbs onto the mattress behind me, fingers already gliding across my shoulders.
“I can do it, Beau,” I try to reason, but he gently squeezes my shoulders.
“Let me, please,” he murmurs in my ear, and I catch the scent of his body wash. The clean, familiar smell of him makes me pliant and agreeable.
I nod, leaning back slightly. Beau starts by separating my hair into sections, then slowly runs the brush through the pieces of hair starting at the bottom. The touch is so soothing and relaxing, I find my eyes falling shut. When the brush reaches my scalp, I open my eyes.
“I think I’ll have to cut my hair once the twins are born,” I confess, voicing something I’ve thought about for the last few weeks.
“Why?” Beau asks. His tone is curious. “Not that it matters to me, you’re beautiful with long or short hair,” he rushes to clarify. I reach behind me, squeezing his leg.
“I know what you mean,” I say. “Babies are grabby, and sometimes, hair is the closest option.”
Beau scoots off the bed, ready to head to the dresser with the brush. I snap my fingers. “Hey, it’s my turn,” I scold.
He turns, brows pinched. “Your turn?”
“To brush your hair.” His hair is still in a knotted mess after showering. I gesture to the floor, and he smiles, handing it over, and sitting down between my legs. With one hand holding the brush, I run the other through the damp waves on his head. “You might have to cut your hair too.” The thought makes me sad, because I love his long hair.
“Nah,” Beau says. I can see his face in the mirror, and he’s all smiles as I run the brush through it. While his hair is long, it’s still much shorter than mine, and less tangled, so it takes just a few strokes of the brush before it’s done. “I think I’ll keep it.”
“Yeah?” I ask. “Babies can be really strong.”
“There’s no way they’re that strong,” he tries to say, but I narrow my eyes at him through the mirror.
“Whatever you say,” I tell him. He stands, taking the brush from my outstretched palm. “I won’t cut it right away, but it might have to happen once they’re a few months old.”
Beau nods. He stands in front of me, almost awkwardly now, as if he’s waiting for something. I slowly stand from the bed, and pull back my sheets and comforter. My trusty pregnancy pillow is strewn across the middle of the bed. I feel some of the awkwardness radiating from Beau, and it’s making me uncomfortable, because… what now? We still aren’t together… at least I don’t think we are. It’s not like we had a conversation about it while he was inside me. Does he want to sleep in here? Do Iwanthim to sleep in here?
My internal answer is almost an immediate resounding yes.Yes, I want to fall asleep with Beau’s arms around me, around our babies.
“You’re thinking awfully hard.” Beau rounds the bed to the other side, and pulls the sheets down.
I stare down at the pillow. “It’s just…”
Beau interrupts me. “Marley, I want to sleep in here. Is that okay?”
I nod. “I want that too,” I reply instantly, looking up at his handsome face.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“It’s… I take up a lot of space.”
His eyes narrow.
