Reviving Haven (34 page)

H
aven

“Mom,” I yell, tossing the laundry basket on my bed.

“Yeah, honey?” my mom replies, poking her head into my room.

“I think I
’m going to go to the outlet mall for a few hours. I need clothes. Nothing fits because I’m fat.” I frown as I fold my laundry.

“You
’re not fat, Haven. You’re pregnant, for God’s sake.” My mom snickers at my “growing” predicament and me.

Okay, so maybe I
’m not fat, but at seven months, I am huge. I had to ask my new OBGYN, Dr. Carlson, twice, if she was positive that I’m not having twins. She was sure. She had run a test when I was five months to check for possible abnormalities. So far, so good, and I am told that my baby is healthy and so am I. I yearn for the days of sleeping on my stomach again; I’m so uncomfortable now, and I’m not sure if I’m going to make it through the next two months.

Weezie has been flying down every other weekend since I moved, but she keeps the conversation limited when it comes to Latch. Keenan always keeps Weezie updated on his recovery. I
’m sure he hopes the information will filter down to me. I really do miss Latch. Sometimes I google him so I can look at all the photographs. There’s only one picture of us. It had been taken at the gala, a night I was still trying to forget. I got rid of my old cell phone, so I no longer have the photo of him that I took with my phone.

I have been keeping a calendar, marking off the days of Latch
’s rehab stay. He completed his rehab six days ago. It’s only a matter of time before I see him on Google enjoying his brand new life with a brand new woman. I can’t fault him for it. I have chosen to let him go and raise our child by myself. I want to be happy for him, but it hurts in my heart. I always had doubts about him actually loving me because he’d never been in love, so how could he know? Maybe I’d just been someone he wanted because I kept pushing him away. We always want what we can’t have. I tried to run from him, but running from Latch was like being in quick sand—the more you struggled to get away, the harder you sank.

Once Latch begins his new sober life, I will be just a memory to him. I
’m blessed because I will always have our child to remind me of what we had and how much I had given up for Latch. At night, sometimes I remember how his lips felt on mine. How he whispered
leannán
in my ear, and how much I loved him being inside me. Boy, do I miss the sex. After Latch, my battery boy toy didn’t even come close— at all. I miss the foreplay. And even though Weezie would most likely swallow her tongue if I confessed this, I miss cock—I miss
his
cock. I assume all this pent up sexual frustration is due to my pregnancy. My hormones are going ballistic. Pregnancy is weird. As big as I feel, I’m horny. Sex is all I can think about, maybe I need a bigger vibrator.

I throw on some black stretch pants and one of my maternity tops. I cringe as I look at myself, thinking my days of pencil skirts are over. I thought I had big boobs before, but now they
’re ginormous. I so despise maternity bras. Yeah, they’re functional, but extremely unattractive. When I get to the mall, maybe I can find a bra that doesn’t scream
sexless and old forever
. I brush out my hair and pull it into a ponytail. One thing about pregnancy though—my skin is flawless. That glow they talk about is definitely true. I grab my purse and run downstairs.

“Dad, is it okay if I use the car for a few hours?” I ask as I grab the keys off the kitchen bar.

My dad is propped in front of the TV watching football. He’s not going anywhere.

“Remember, the roads are slick from the rain
—be careful,” he replies, not looking up from the sofa.

I shake my head, smiling. I only hope their great parenting gene rubs off on me. As I drive to the mall, my thoughts fill with Latch. I
’m convinced the lack of sex and out of whack hormones have caused me to fixate on him more than normal. He’s in my thoughts twenty-four-seven, even in my dreams. I groan. I know now, without any doubt, that what I feel for Latch is true, unbridled love with a boatload of lust. I can never see myself having those feelings for anyone else.

At least I was having his child, our child. Latch had given me the greatest gift.

I end up staying at the mall for four hours. Now I
’m exhausted and my feet are killing me. I call my mom before I leave the mall and tell her that I’ve bought out the store and I’m on my way home. My mom sounds odd when I call. Distracted.

Twenty minutes later, I pull into the drive and struggle with all my bags. I throw open the front door, letting the packages fall to the floor. My mom comes out to help me. She
’s acting strangely and looks agitated.

As she bends down to pick up the bags, she whispers, “You should have told him, Haven.”

She takes the bags and walks upstairs, leaving me to ponder her cryptic message. I don’t have long to wait to find out what she means. His height fills the doorway to the den. My purse falls out of my hands as our eyes meet. I swallow hard as I take him in. Latch looks amazing, healthy and perfect. Blue jeans mold his muscular thighs. A dark gray turtleneck stretches across his chest. A black knit cap is pulled over his hair just enough that his curls fray out. His eyes are clear and bright. His cheeks are tinted from the cold and he’s kept the beard. Damn, he looks hot! I swallow hard again. My cheeks begin to burn. He scrutinizes me from top to bottom. Guilt rocks me to my foundation. Now I’m scared and panicking big time. He found me, and now he knows everything.

“How . . . how did you find me?” I ask, my voice shaking.

“My mother—she found you.” His eyes don’t look at my face but rather my expanded belly.

“Why would your mother bother to tell you anything in regards to me?” I ask defensively.

“I know about the gala, Haven.” His eyes meet mine. “I know what she said to you.” His voice is apologetic.

“It doesn
’t matter,” I reply nervously, wondering if his mother knows about the baby.

“It does matter. It matters to me. I gave her an ultimatum. Since she still had that private investigator on retainer, finding you was easy. I know you love to run, but honestly, Haven, you
’re not very good at it,” he says as his lips curve into a semi-frown.

“Why did you come here, Latch?” I ask.

“You’re having a baby?” he asks, his face an unreadable mask, but his eyes a piercing greenish blue that betray his emotions.

His look still shakes me to my core. My body hasn
’t forgotten—it still senses him, it still wants him. A hundred thoughts are racing through my head all at once. I don’t know how I should respond. What do I say? My initial reaction is to bolt, as usual, but I don’t think I can wobble very far at seven months along. Latch came here for me. He didn’t even know that I was pregnant. He came here just for me.

He came for
me.

I have no idea what possesses me just to blurt it out. “No—we
’re having a baby,” I say in a hushed tone, almost afraid for him to hear it.

Latch
’s face changes almost immediately from stoic to stunned. He stands there for a moment, then steps forward. I step back, my hands shaking. His face flashes regret.

“I will never hurt you,
leannán
, never again. I swear,” he says softly.

I almost lose it as he says that one word. My sex clenches hard. It takes me by surprise, but it has been so long.

“But you told me . . . you said . . .” he sputters in confusion.

“I guess they were wrong and that there was always a chance, no matter how slim. It was as big of a shock for me as it is for you,” I state, looking into his face. He
’s staring at me, watching me with eyes wide with disbelief.

“Did you know before I went into rehab?” he enquires.

“Yes,” I answer regrettably. “I didn’t want to tie you down with a child. What you were going through . . . you had enough to deal with. I’m sorry. I wish things had been different and I could have told you. I wish for a lot of things.” I glance around. My parents are noticeably absent.

“I asked them if I could talk to you alone. I like them, Haven. They seem nice. You obviously didn
’t tell them about us, and maybe that’s a good thing.” Latch looks at me pensively.

“The only thing I ever told them was that you were the love of my life, and that things were complicated.” I can barely speak the words. I
’m not even sure he hears what I just admitted to him.

“Do you love me, Haven?” Latch
’s voice cracks.

I
’m afraid to answer. He’s so breathtakingly beautiful that I can’t trust myself. It would be so easy just to say yes—when I know I should just say no. This child is all that matters.

“Don
’t answer that, Haven. The person you loved never existed. You fell in love with the persona I created. That man, the one who hurt you—I’m not him anymore. I’ll never be that man again. I need you to fall in love with
this
man,” he says, pointing to himself. Then the lips I miss so much curve into a small smile. “But you need to do it before our baby is born.” He grins.

He walks back into the den and returns with a file box. He sets it down on the floor next to where I
’m standing.

“I want you to read my journals, the ones I kept in rehab,” Latch says.

I look at him, my eyes wide with surprise. And since he’s pretty perceptive, then I know he can also see the reservation in them.

“It
’s only fair. I read yours. I want you— No, I need you—to read these. I want you to know how much I really love you and how much regret I have about everything. I’ve changed, but my love for you never has. I loved you then and I love you now. I just need you to read these, please.” His foot nudges the box closer to me.

“Latch, I
’m not sure we can go back—” He stops me mid-sentence, grabbing both my hands with his.

“I don
’t want us to go back; I want us to move forward. Just read the journals. I’ll be at the Inverness Hotel, room 301. Here’s my new phone number—call me. I love you,
leannán
.” Latch drops both my hands and he places a note with his phone number on it in my palm.

He glances upstairs and then moves toward the front door. I want so much to reach out and run my fingers across his cheek. As he goes by me, the scent of deodorant and his own musky smell fills my senses. My breath quickens and my body quivers. I feel a loss as the door closes. And that
’s when my parents come barreling down the stairs. My father has that stern dad look while my mom has disappointment written all over her face. I am a pregnant thirty-seven year-old woman about to be reprimanded by my parents.

“Haven, I
’m so upset with you. Why on earth didn’t you tell that man he was going to be a father?” my mom asks.

“It
’s complicated,” I reply succinctly, walking into the den. Both my mom and dad are on my heels.

“It must not have been
that
complicated. You did sleep with him,” my dad adds. My face burns bright red.

“Dad, please. I
’m thirty-seven and pregnant. It’s a little too late for the sex talk,” I quip.

“Evidently,” my dad says, frowning.

“Now, Richard, that’s neither here nor there. Will this child have a mother and a father?” My mom asks, as her eyes beg.

“It
’s more complicated than that, Mom. You know he’s only twenty-five, right? We have issues, problems. I told you, it’s
really
complicated. I’m confused. I need to go to my room and think,” I say with an exhausted tone.

“Everything is always complicated with your generation. If you love this man, then complications be damned.” My mom looks at me, disregarding the age difference. I nod.

“Then you get married. That’s it,” my dad announces.

I look at my dad, exasperated with his simple solution. “Really,
Dad, are you going to go over to his hotel with a shotgun?” I fold my arms across my chest, but they rest unflatteringly on my rather large baby belly, so I glare at him. Ineffectively, as it seems.

“Very funny, Haven. I assume this young man loves you too; that much is obvious. He came all this way for you, not even knowing he was going to be a father, and his actions have to mean something to you,” my dad adds, sitting down on the sofa.

“I have to think . . . I never dreamed he’d just show up. He’s done nothing but surprise me since we met,” I sigh. “Dad, can you just bring this file box up to my room, please?”

My dad picks up the file box and proceeds up the stairs.

My mom gently takes my arm as I walk past her. “Haven, I don’t know why you two aren’t together anymore, but I do know that this man loves you. He told us five minutes after he showed up. He had no problem telling complete strangers that you are his life. Honey, him being younger is irrelevant; you two will figure things out along the way. Your dad and I had too, and so will you. This baby needs a father. And I know you . . . I know my daughter. If you loved him enough to make a child, then he must be something quite special. Don’t give up on you and him and your future together. Everyone deserves a second chance.”

I hurry upstairs, brushing past my dad. He sets the box on my bed then goes back down stairs. I feel tears start to form. I wipe my eyes with my sleeve and then take the lid off the file box.

There are ten journals, and I spend four hours reading them in their entirety. Some make me laugh. Some make me cry harder than I ever cried in my life. If I had ever doubted this man’s love, I would never doubt it again. Latch loves me fiercely, as no other man ever will. Anything he had done to me or to himself, he had gone to bottom and crawled his way to the top. Latch had suffered so he could redeem himself.

The fact is, most of the time
, individuals aren’t forced to write in a journal. It’s merely a suggestion. They just hope you will. Latch had chosen to strip himself to the bone, and bear his entire soul. And now he’s letting me read it. The candor and truthfulness amazes me. He is right; I loved the old Latch, but this new Latch owns my heart and soul. I send him a text the following day. He shows up about an hour later, out of breath. His face reflects obvious concern.

“Are you okay?
Nothing’s wrong with you or the baby?” he asks in an anxious tone.

I chuckle.
“Everything’s fine. I’m sorry . . . I didn’t realize my text sounded so ominous,” I apologize, walking him into the den, “but I need to talk to you.”

He appears tense. “You look beautiful,
leannán
,” he says, removing his jacket and undoing his scarf.

I shake my head in doubt. “Yeah, someone needs to notify Goodyear and let them know their blimp is missing,” I groan.

He’s next to me within seconds. I can tell he wants to touch me, almost as badly as I want to touch him. We both seem apprehensive.

“I
’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you. You still take my breath away.”

He
’s so close. I inhale his delicious scent. All the emotions mixed with my hormones hit me at once and there is no doubt that he is my forever. He puts his hand on my stomach and gently caresses it. I feel small electrical pulses prickle throughout my body. I close my eyes as he lightly rubs my belly. A small moan escapes and my hand flies to my mouth, trying to stifle it. Latch’s eyes spark with understanding.

“
Leannán
, you’re having my child—our child.” His voice cracks with emotion.

“What do you think we should name him?” I ask dreamily.

Latch’s eyes go wide. His entire body begins to tremble. “Him? I’m having a son?”

Latch squats down on his knees with his head in his hands, softly sobbing. Hearing him cry brings tears to my eyes. He embraces my legs as he presses his head into them.

“Tell me he’s all right, that the pills and the booze didn’t hurt him. I’m so sorry for everything. Please say you forgive me. Please,” he begs.

I look down at him, running my hands through his hair and twisting it around my fingers. I had forgotten how much I missed doing that and how just the simplicity of the act gives me so much pleasure.

“I love you, Latch,” I tell him without reservation.

He stands up and his height towers over me. He bends his head down to meet mine.

“Say it again,” he demands softly.

“I love you, Latch.” I repeat it while I stare into his shining eyes.

He reaches around my belly, not able to quite get as close as he intends. I cringe and he chuckles warmly. His mouth engulfs mine, his tongue sweeping between my lips and tangling with mine. I hear a quiet growl come from Latch’s throat, causing me to moan into his mouth. I try to press closer to him, but my belly isn’t cooperating. I have my hands running through his hair as his hands run up and down the back of my shirt. My breath quickens, but then I gasp when I feel his hardness pressing into my belly. I pull away, slightly shocked. I wag my finger at him teasingly.

“Are you kidding me, now, like this?” I ask, laughing as my eyes look down at the apparent large bulge in his jeans.

He looks almost shy, maybe slightly embarrassed. “What can I say? It’s what you do to me.” He shrugs. “I told you I’d always want to fuck you.” His voice is low, almost a murmur.