Page 104 of The Back Forty
But what I just uncovered accidentally in his safe presses heavily on my chest. I don’t want any secrets between us; I need to tell him what I saw. I can’t keep this inside. Not after the way he’s looking at me. Not when I’m starting to imagine a future together.
“Alright now, let’s get Beckham out of here,” Lawson says with a warm chuckle, slinging his arm around my shoulders and tugging me snug against his side. Then he bends just slightly, his mouth brushing my ear as he lowers his voice. “I’m jealous of everyone else getting to be close to you. Tonight, you’re mine.”
A smile spreads across my face as my hand finds his chest. I press a slow pat over his heart, feeling its steady beat under my palm.
“Possessive much?” I murmur.
“Only when it comes to you.”
"Alright," Doctor Walker says, breaking us out of our moment as he finishes typing on the computer. "He's all set to be discharged now. My nurse will get you situated to go. Are we still having family dinner this weekend?"
Lawson nods. "Yep, we'll see you there."
We leave the hospital wrapped in that quiet kind of joy—the kind you don’t want to talk about too loudly in case it slips away.
Two hours later, we’re full of spaghetti, the scent of garlic and basil still lingering in the air. Beckham’s propped up on the living room floor, controller in hand, shouting at animated monsters on a screen while I half-play along, tossing teasing jabs at his character every few minutes.
Lawson’s on the couch, my legs stretched across his lap, his big hands working lazy circles into the arches of my feet. It’s dark outside now. Soft lamplight warms the living room. I glance around and it hits me, not in some dramatic, lightning-strike way, but in a quiet, certain knowing:
This is all mine now too.
This moment. This man. This kid. This is my family now. And I’d do anything to protect it.
“I think I’m getting tired,” Beckham says, dropping the controller and rubbing his eyes.
Lawson’s off the couch in seconds. “Let me help you up to bed, bud.”
Beckham nods and stands, tucking one arm around his father’s shoulders and leaning into him, the other gripping his crutch. I watch them disappear up the stairs, and my chest squeezes at the sight. I can’t remember the last time I felt this soft inside.
Ten minutes later, Lawson’s back. He heads straight for me and grips my hips, guiding me gently until I’m straddling him, settled on his lap while he rests back into the couch. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath since he let me go. “That’s better,” he murmurs, burying his face in my neck and inhaling my scent deeply.
I giggle as his stubble scrapes against my skin and his hands slide along my waist, trailing over my hips and squeezing my ass like he missed the feel of me.
“I missed you,” he says rough with need.
“I missed you too.”
“Want me to show you how much?” he asks, fingers tugging at the hem of my shorts.
God, I do. I really do. But—
“Can we talk first?” I say quietly, placing a hand over his.
He stills beneath me. His brows knit together, and he leans back to look at me. “Of course, sweetheart. What’s going on?”
I hesitate, chewing the inside of my cheek. “I’m not even sure what I’m asking.”
“Hey,” he says gently, “you can come to me with anything. Did something happen? Did that girl who interviewed you say something else?”
“No, nothing like that,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “It’s not about her.”
He waits, patient and open, and I stare into his warm hazel eyes, hoping this won’t hurt him.
“So… earlier, when I was looking for Beckham’s insurance card in your office before coming to the hospital, I—I saw something in your safe.”
His expression shifts slightly. Not alarmed. Just… attentive.
"It was your birth certificate..."
