The Rebound, page 12
If I’m being completely honest with myself, I kind of like the idea of others thinking that we’re together. It’s flattering. I like living in this fantasy where I never friend-zoned Saint for the sake of my brother’s comfort. Can I justifiably blame Walker for all my heartache? If it weren’t for him—
No, I’m not going there.
With a little encouragement from Summer and Camille, Aspen dives into the story of how the two of them fell in love, dropping in the surprise twist that Alex and Eden were once an item.
Wait, what? I had no idea.
“That’s wild,” I sputter, honestly shocked.
Eden doesn’t seem like the kind of woman who would have patience for a man like Alex. That’s probably why they aren’t together anymore. Alex seems so playful and mischievous, and Eden is a buttoned-up professional. I don’t see them together at all.
“It was all thanks to Saint, really. Has he told you about the cabin he owns up in Canada?”
A little dumbfounded, I blink. “No, he never told me.”
“Well, I had nowhere to go after my ex kicked me to the curb, so Saint offered to let me stay there for the summer. Keep things in order, you know? Alex was up there doing some work around the property for him too, and . . . I guess the rest is history.”
I smile and give her a small round of applause for the story, but my thoughts are elsewhere.
I guess there’s a lot about Saint I don’t know. I’ve only known him for six weeks or so. The thought that there’s so much more to the man than I realized is both exciting and daunting. Exciting, because I want to know everything about him. Daunting, because I’m worried my feelings for him will grow the more I learn.
I miss him. Is he as miserable as I am right now?
I’m surrounded by intelligent and compassionate female friends, and all I can do is pine for a man who will never be mine. I’m pretty much the worst.
After a couple of rounds of drinks for the table, I finally cave and obey the voice in my head begging me to just go home. I tell the others that I’m tired and my feet hurt—both very true statements—and they give me hugs and promises of more get-togethers to come.
“Thanks again for inviting me,” I say into Aspen’s ear as she hugs me tightly.
“Thanks again for coming. Go get some rest, okay?”
I wish it were as easy as that. The Uber ride back to the complex is quick and painless, but I still feel uneasy and weirdly wired now that I’m alone with my own thoughts.
Stepping out of the elevator, I glance down the hall at Saint’s door. Before I can psych myself out, I hobble on my swollen feet until I reach his welcome mat. I knock, but there’s no answer.
“Still out partying, huh?” I say to the peephole, almost expecting a response.
He must not be missing me as much as I’m missing him if he’s still out on the town. Lucky guy.
I sulk back to my condo and shut the door behind me with a hollow click, peering down at my belly with a heavy sigh. “Just you and me again, kid.”
17
* * *
KINLEY
I wake with a startled gasp, realizing that my sleep shorts are soaking wet. Trying to get my bearings, I take in my surroundings.
Sunlight streams brightly through the window and across my bed, and I blink my eyes against it. I push myself upright and reach out with a shaking hand to confirm that my sheets are absolutely soaked. There’s also an achy feeling in my lower back and pelvis. My water must have broken while I was sleeping.
Whoa. Okay then. I guess this is happening. I need to get to the hospital.
I grab my phone and call my brother. His phone rings for what feels like eons before I hear his voice.
“This is Walker, leave a message.”
Ugh. The idiot probably drank too much at Alex’s bachelor party last night and is still sleeping it off. I try three more times before I give up and call Saint.
He picks up after only two rings. “Hey, you okay?”
I sigh in relief, immediately calmed by his deep, warm voice that wraps around me like a comforting hug. “My water just broke. Can you come?”
Saint inhales sharply. “Yeah. On my way.”
He makes it to my place in record time, probably three minutes or less. It’s enough time for another achy feeling to grip my stomach down low. This is what contractions feel like, I’m guessing.
When I let him in, his hands fly up to my face, smoothing my hair into place and gazing down at me in concern.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I think so. Thanks for coming.”
“Of course. Have you had a—”
“Contraction? Yes, a couple minutes ago. Can you grab the—”
“Hospital bag? Closet, right?”
While I slump against the side of a chair, Saint rushes past me and grabs the duffel he helped me pack a few weeks ago—complete with a robe, a few fresh changes of clothes, a bag of toiletries, and a bag filled with baby clothes and necessities. Oh, and a phone charger with an extra-long cord, of course.
My second contraction hits me in the parking garage. This one is longer and even more intense than the first.
I groan against the pain, leaning my full weight against Saint, who holds me up like I’m just some cotton blowing in the wind. Meanwhile, I feel like there’s an entire planet’s worth of gravity dragging me down.
“Take a deep breath. I’ve got you,” he says, his deep voice rumbling pleasantly as he just holds me in the middle of the parking garage.
I think I’d be more panicked if he weren’t here with me. But in Saint’s arms, I feel safe. Secure. Even if things are about to spiral out of our control.
I’m not sure how many contractions hit me before we make it to the hospital and I’m tucked into a bed. Five? Six? As the nurses prep me, I hold Saint’s hand with the grip of someone hanging off a cliff’s edge.
“Am I hurting you?” I ask him.
He shakes his head and presses soft kisses to my white knuckles. “Not at all.”
“This is awful.” I scrunch up my face, tears of pain leaking from the corners of my eyes and sliding down my cheeks. I feel delirious, like a scared little kid.
“I know, baby,” Saint murmurs. “You’re gonna get through it. Just breathe with me.”
He takes a breath, and I stare into his eyes as I follow his lead. We breathe together. In and out. Together, we breathe through the next contraction and every one that follows.
Saint stands beside me when I get my epidural, and waits for hours with me in the little hospital room. When his stomach rumbles, I kick him out to go get some breakfast in the hospital cafeteria. He walks back into my room not half an hour later, and the doctor says it’s time.
Together, we breathe through the doctor’s commands to push, push, push. We breathe through every second, on and on for what feels like hours until a tiny, shrill cry signals the very first breath of my healthy, newborn baby.
I have a son.
• • •
“You sure he’s safe back there?” Walker asks as he turns the key in the ignition.
We both glance into the rearview mirror to quadruple-check on little Caleb. He’s sound asleep, safely bundled away in the car seat. I thought about riding back there with him, but I don’t want to seem like a crazy lady. It’s only a few minutes’ drive back to the condo.
“Seems like,” I say, gazing at my son’s sweet face.
He’s so perfect and tiny. Though, he sure didn’t feel tiny coming out of my . . . unmentionables. Walker checked his voice mails after sleeping late, and made it to the hospital about an hour after Caleb was born.
“What else can I do for you today?” my brother asks.
He’s been bending over backward, trying to make up for sleeping through my phone calls when I was going into labor. I’ve told him over and over again that it’s okay, everything worked out just fine. But despite my reassurances, he’s still pretty remorseful.
Or maybe he’s just not pleased knowing it was Saint who was by my side through it all.
After my brother arrived at the hospital, Saint stayed just until he knew the baby and I were fine, and then he left, saying he wanted to give us some time as a family. I didn’t want him to go, but I couldn’t exactly make him stay either.
That was two days ago. Saint has texted me several times, and I’ve sent him an obnoxious number of pictures of Caleb sleeping.
“Walker, you’ve done enough. Really. Fielding friends and family and making sure I’m eating were my two big concerns. You’ve been a big help. Thank you.”
“I can order you dinner tonight if that would—”
“That’s not necessary. Saint’s ordering us a pizza later.”
Walker’s fist clenches and unclenches against the steering wheel, and I brace myself for whatever he’s going to say next.
It’s no surprise that he doesn’t approve of my evening plans with his least favorite teammate. But what ground does he have to stand on? Saint was the one who stepped in without a moment’s hesitation when Walker dropped the ball. Or the puck?
Whatever. I’m a tired mama running on power naps and sheer willpower. I’m allowed to mix sports metaphors.
When Walker remains silent, I try again. “You can stay, you know. For some pizza.”
“I’ve got a meeting with my agent later. Thanks, though.”
Okay, so maybe he hasn’t completely come around to the idea of Saint being a fixture in my life, but at least he’s not vehemently opposed to it anymore. Pressing him any further on the subject would push my luck on them reconciling their differences. Better to let sleeping dogs lie.
By the grace of some higher power, Caleb snoozes all the way back to my condo. That “home sweet home” sensation has never really occurred to me here in Boston until this very moment.
Good-bye, weird hospital smells, and hello, familiar comfort. It’s so nice to be home. Once I’ve removed Caleb from his infant carrier and placed him into his new portable bassinet in the living room, I sink into the couch.
There’s a quick knock on the door.
Walker opens it, but not before visibly bracing himself. “Saint,” he says, his voice stiff.
“Hey, Reeves. Good to see you. Congrats on becoming an uncle.”
There’s something so unnatural in how they talk to each other, even after all this time, but I have to appreciate the effort. I know it’s for my sake. I can barely see Saint through the doorway with Walker blocking the way, but some shuffling suggests that they’re shaking hands.
Progress.
“Thank you. And thanks for your . . . help. With Kinley.”
I peer around Walker’s back and shoot Saint a wide-eyed look as if to say, I guess he’s trying?
Saint gives us both that trademark lopsided grin. “Happy to help.”
I know my brother well enough to know he’s wondering about Saint’s time with me in the hospital . . . and if he saw anything he shouldn’t have.
Gross.
When an attractive man who is definitely not your significant other assists you in childbirth, you make sure he doesn’t see your lady parts. Trust me. I had a very strict nothing below the knees policy when it came to what Saint was allowed to see. Still, I can tell how squeamish my brother is. It would be almost laughable if things weren’t so tense right now.
“All right, Walker, let the man inside,” I grumble at my brother.
Walker mutters under his breath, something about how he was getting to that, but he ultimately beckons Saint inside before leaning against the door frame himself.
“You staying for pizza, Reeves? I’m about to put an order in.” Saint taps his phone screen and holds it up to his ear, presumably having saved a local pizzeria’s number on speed dial. I don’t know why that’s so hot . . . it just is.
“I’ve got a meeting, but you two enjoy. Call me if you need anything.”
While Saint’s on the phone, I pull Walker in for a hug and squeeze him tight. “See? He’s not so bad.”
“Not so bad doesn’t mean good, Kinley.” Walker sighs, but I can see a trace of a smile lurking. He reaches out to brush what little hair Caleb has with his fingertips and whispers good-bye for now.
Watching my big brother fall so naturally into the role of sweet, attentive uncle fills my heart with a profound sense of pride. But I know Caleb’s presence here is going to make my brother even more protective of me. Of us.
When the door closes behind Walker, it’s Saint’s turn to dote on Caleb. He walks over to where the baby is resting and reaches out to touch his belly with an adoring smile on his face.
“You made this,” he says to me, then stares at Caleb’s tiny sleeping face. The tone of his voice is boyish and filled with wonder.
I cozy up next to Saint, and he wraps his arm around my shoulders. I lean against his side, happy to have him here.
“Couldn’t have done it without you,” I say, nudging him.
Saint doesn’t spare it a second thought. “Psh, you absolutely could have. I was just there to mop the sweat off your forehead.”
“A vital part of the process.”
“If you say so,” he says, leaning in to drop a casual kiss on the crown of my head.
We both freeze, and I know—I just know—that we’re wondering the same thing.
Are we really just friends? After everything?
I almost consider broaching the subject until a giant yawn interrupts me. Saint squeezes my shoulder comfortingly, and I lean into the touch.
“You must be exhausted. How about you take a nap?”
“But Caleb—”
“I’ll babysit.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“You’ve got nothing to worry about. The kid is fast asleep. You should take a page from his book. Really leads by example, doesn’t he?”
I chuckle, the idea of snuggling into my bed for a quick snooze sounding more and more appealing by the second. “A quick nap. If I’m not up in twenty minutes, come get me, okay?”
Saint pretends to contemplate this before ultimately shrugging. “Nah. I’m not gonna do that.”
“Saint,” I whine. “Please? I don’t want to miss anything.”
He steers me toward the hallway, giving me the gentlest of pushes toward my room. “And you won’t. You deserve to rest, Kinley.”
I give Caleb one last longing look before accepting defeat. Saint and my exhaustion win this time around. Next time, it won’t be so easy.
“Fine,” I grumble, a little annoyed by his insistence, but mostly grateful for it.
The walk down the hall is a blur. I don’t remember turning off the lights or crawling under my duvet. I don’t even remember what I dream about.
• • •
When I wake up, I feel like a brand-new person. A brand-new person with really swollen boobs. And based on the sound of Caleb crying from the other side of the condo, it’s time to feed him.
“Is the pizza here yet?” I ask as I shuffle into the living room, my voice a little froggy from my nap.
Saint is cradling the tiny shape of my son in his arms, whispering words of comfort with that deep, velvety voice of his. When he lifts his gaze to mine, I don’t think he’s ever been more gorgeous than he is right now, holding my child so gently in his burly arms.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Saint says, that signature smirk giving me goose bumps. “Pizza arrived about three hours ago.”
My jaw just about drops to the floor. I whirl around to look at the clock and find he’s right. It’s been three hours since I lay down. I must have really needed that rest.
“Holy cow.” I laugh a little breathlessly. “I’ll take him.”
Saint slips Caleb into my arms with a smile I feel all the way in my toes, murmuring, “He needs his mama.”
I catch myself blushing at his word choice. Turns out I really like it when Saint calls me that.
“He needs something.” I pull at my maternity top without thinking, undoing the clasp to free one of my breasts. Before I completely expose myself, I look up at Saint. “Um, is this okay?”
His eyes widen and a blush crawls up his neck. He blinks between my eyes and my cleavage, clearly very distracted. Maybe this is a bad idea, but I need to feed my kid. Besides, it’s kind of fun catching him off guard like this.
“Go ahead. Don’t stop on my account. Unless you’d like me to . . .” He gestures toward the door, offering to give me some privacy.
“I’m good if you are.”
We settle onto the couch again, sitting in the exact same spots we did in the beginning moments of our first hookup. Caleb is still learning how to latch, so it takes him a while to find my nipple. Saint fusses with the remote control, scrolling through the TV channels and looking at just about anything but me. Maybe this is too much for him after all.
“Am I grossing you out?” I ask through a cringe.
“Not at all,” he says, meeting my eyes earnestly. “It’s the exact opposite. I’m trying not to stare. You’re beautiful, Kinley.”
My heart thumps so loudly that I wonder if Caleb can feel it. “Charmer.” I giggle, because if I don’t laugh, what am I supposed to do? Kiss him?
“I mean it, Kin. Motherhood suits you.”
“Thanks, Saint,” I murmur. Just hearing that I’m doing a good job makes me feel all warm and gooey inside. “You’re not too shabby at the whole caretaker thing either, you know.” I shoot him a smile.
“Well . . .” Saint chuckles, leaning back against one of the couch arms. “It’s all an act. I’m just trying to impress this girl I like.”
My breath catches in my throat. This is it. We’re finally having the conversation.
“And . . . that’s me?” I ask slowly. I need to be crystal clear on every word if we’re going to really talk about it. I don’t want to misunderstand or assume.
Saint looks around. “Are there any other beautiful women here?”
“Maybe not, but there are plenty of beautiful women who aren’t single mothers.”
“And the moment you’re ready to not be single anymore, I’ll be here.”
