Love Me: Oakville Series:Book 5 (3 page)

S
itting on the bathroom counter, I close my eyes, praying for a plus sign. Five months’ worth of negatives and I’m beginning to get frustrated and scared. I know I’m probably overreacting, my OBGYN has even hinted to that fact a time or two, but patience has never been something I’ve had a lot of, and at the moment, mine is wearing very thin.

I’ve always had this dream of what my perfect life would be. I don’t want much and most of what I want I already have—a wonderful, loving husband and a happy, healthy son. The only missing piece is the sweet beautiful daughter. Not that I wouldn’t be happy if we had another boy; you can never have too many mini Marcus’ around.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly open my eyes. “Please be positive. Please be positive,” I repeat over and over, as if it will make any difference. My heart sinks when I see the minus symbol in the little window. Tears begin to flow heavily from my eyes. Disappointment and failure fill me. Something is wrong. I just know it. I have this gnawing feeling in my gut.

A knock on the bathroom door startles me, ripping me from my thoughts. I wipe away my tears with the hand towel on the counter. Quickly, I jump down off the counter, stuff the pregnancy test in its box, place the box in a plastic grocery bag, and hide it under the sink until I can throw it away later. I don’t want to tell Marcus I was taking another test. He’s beginning to get worried something may be wrong with one of us, too. I also see the sympathy on his face every time I’m crushed by a negative result.

“Are you almost ready to go, sweetness?” Marcus calls out through the door. I try to bury my sadness deep inside and pray he can’t hear it in my voice. He’s stressed out enough today because of his doctor appointment, and I can’t say I blame him. The whole sperm in a cup thing isn’t ideal for a man, but the fact that he didn’t think twice before agreeing to do it shows how much he loves me. I couldn’t ask for a better husband.

I check my face one last time, making sure my little breakdown doesn’t show, then open the door. The sight of him leaning against the wall takes my breath away. How can looking at him still give me the same feelings I got when we first met? You’d think after being together for so many years that would wear off a little, but it hasn’t, and I’m thankful for that.

“You ready, beautiful?” he asks with a grin, lust in his eyes. I never get tired of seeing how much he still wants me. This man is amazing.

“I’m ready. How about you?” I question, stepping into his embrace. With my face resting against his chest, I inhale his intoxicating scent—a mixture of his cologne and laundry detergent. I look up when I hear him chuckle.

“I’ll be just fine if you come in and help me fill up that cup,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.

“Can we even do that?” I ask, curious now that he mentioned it. It would make the process a lot more fun.

“I don’t see why not. They always have porn and nudie mags when they show this stuff in the movies. Why not make our own inspiration?” We both laugh. Neither of us has ever shied away from having relations in odd places. We aren’t exhibitionists by any means, but we have been known to sneak off at a party to find a dark closet to play around in.

“Works for me,” I say.

We walk into the doctor’s office, hand in hand. The anxiety is pouring off Marcus in waves. He’s squeezing my hand so tightly, it’s painful. My poor baby is so nervous. The office is completely silent. There are two other couples seated in the waiting area and the men look as nervous as Marcus. One of the women looks up and gives me a knowing smile. I can’t help but wonder what their story is. How long have they been trying? Do they have other children?

“Go ahead and sit. I’ll sign you in.” Reluctantly, he lets go of my hand and sits in one of the available cushy chairs. I quickly sign him in and make my way back over to him. He’s sitting with his head down, picking at a string on his holey jeans. After taking my seat, I place my hand over his. When he looks up, I give him a reassuring smile. He’s so worried he won’t be able to give me the baby I want. Little does he know, I feel the same way. I’m afraid I’ll be the one responsible for us not having another baby.

Before long, we’re the only couple left in the waiting room. Small beads of sweat form on his forehead as his leg bounces up and down nervously. I grip his hand tighter. Marcus turns and looks at me, his eyes filled with worry. Giving him the best smile I can muster, I attempt to ignore the twisting in my gut.

“You know that no matter what happens, nothing with us will change,” I say. He sighs and slowly shakes his head.

“But you want another baby so badly.” I take his face in my hands, forcing him to look into my eyes.

“If it doesn’t happen, I admit, I’ll be disappointed. But in no way will it change us or our family. Besides there’s always adoption.”

“Do you really feel that way or are you just trying to make me feel better?” he questions. I narrow my eyes at him.

“Marcus Winters. Have I ever lied to you?” I say, feigning anger. Quickly, he shakes his head no. A smile crosses his face before he leans in and kisses my forehead.

“Mr. Winters,” a nurse calls out, and Marcus and I both stand. He squeezes my hand, and together, we walk to the door. No matter what the outcome, at least I know I still have this man by my side forever.

“A
re you okay, sweetness?” I ask Taryn as I walk into the kitchen. She’s sitting on a bar stool at the counter with her head in her hands. Sitting on the stool next to her, I run my hand along her back in an attempt to comfort her and kiss her temple. She gives me a weak smile. The last few days, she’s seemed to be either tired, stressed, or both. I hate what all this is doing to her. The happy, bubbly Taryn I know is hiding lately. She covers it up well, but I can see it—I know her better than she knows herself. The whole idea of soul mates or love at first sight always seemed absurd to me until the night I first laid eyes on her.

After a few too many beers at my favorite bar, Last Call, I stepped out into a stormy night. Normally, we didn’t see much rain here in L.A., but it was down pouring that night. Standing under the awning, attempting to stay dry, I lit a cigarette. I really needed to quit this habit—that was what I keep telling myself at least.

Taking a long drag from my smoke, I stared out into the rainy night. A man and a woman were arguing about twenty feet away from me. The rain was pounding on the ground so loud, it made it impossible to make out what they were saying, but it didn’t matter—their body language said enough. The man was tall, taller than me, but that wasn’t saying much since I was only five-seven. He towered over the woman, who was probably about five-two, and kept getting right in her face. She backed up, trying to put space between them, but he just kept closing the gap.

I moved closer to them while still staying far enough away, not wanting to draw attention to myself. Just by looking at the no-neck muscle-head, I could tell he was a cocky son of a bitch. He got louder and the more he yelled, the more scared she looked. She backed up against the wall, trying to escape him, leaving her with nowhere to go, but being cornered seemed to make her brave. She stood up straighter and began shouting back while poking him in the chest with her finger. He grinned down at her, obviously getting some sick pleasure from her brazenness.

Leaning back against the wall, I made myself more comfortable. This was most likely some stupid lover’s quarrel that would end up with some hot make-up sex. Ah, make-up sex—that’s the only thing I enjoyed about being in a relationship. Every other aspect I could have done without.

She seemed to be giving as good as she got, but then that abruptly changed. She tried to move away from him and his fists clenched at his sides. Reaching out, he grabbed the woman by her hair and slammed her up against the brick wall. It really was none of my business, but I couldn’t stand by and watch him manhandle this woman. The fear in her eyes was evident. Throwing my cigarette down, I walked over to the couple. She saw me first and her eyes begged for help. Mr. No Neck followed her gaze, moving his grip from her hair to her throat.

“Walk away. This doesn’t concern you, pal,” Steroid Boy spat as he made a production of looking down on me. Did he think his height scared me? I wasn’t afraid of him. After all, the bigger they were, the harder they fell.

“Can’t do that, buddy. Why don’t you just let the lady go and I won’t have to hurt you,” I stated. He began to laugh, one of those deep belly laughs, and it pissed me off that he automatically thought he could take me—even though I was sure he could. I wasn’t much of a fighter and he was a lot bigger than me. I could hold my own when I needed to, I just didn’t try to make a habit of needing to.

Mr. Muscles wasted no time. He shoved the woman and she fell to the sidewalk on her hands and knees. This guy was a real piece of work. He stalked over to me, never taking his eyes from mine as he cracked his knuckles. I broadened my stance, bracing myself for what was about to happen while telling myself I just needed to endure long enough for the woman to get away. Unfortunately, she froze, her eyes wide, sitting there like a deer caught in headlights. I didn’t have time to think about her any longer when the man’s fist slammed into my face and I began to fall backwards, landing on my ass. A sharp pain radiated through my head from the powerful blow. The meathead stood there laughing. I needed to at least get one good punch in if I had any hope of salvaging even a thread of my dignity. My heart pounded in my chest, sounding like a freight train in my ears. My fists balled up at my sides as if they knew what was coming next.

He charged at me again, but this time, I was ready. I jabbed up, slamming my fist into his jaw. The man stumbled back as I brought my hand toward my chest, clenching it to ease the ache before shaking it out. “Fucking hell,” I muttered under my breath and looked up. He didn’t even look fazed by my punch.

“Hey!” the girl yelled. Meathead turned around, took a couple steps toward her, and I watched to see what she was going to do before stepping in. When he got right in front of her, she hauled off and nailed him square in the nuts. I cringed a little, my thighs tensing on instinct. A proud smile spread across her face and in that moment, I could feel myself beginning to fall for her. It was absurd. I didn’t even know this woman’s name.

“Just in case that wasn’t clear enough...we’re done. Stay the fuck away from me,” she spat out before walking toward me and sticking her hand out. “I’m Taryn. Can I buy you a drink?”

“I’m good. Just anxious to find out your results,” Taryn confesses. That scared yet sad expression on her face hurts my heart. My job is to make her happy, but there’s nothing I can do to make this better or easier for her.