First Surrender (Chance Encounters #3)

Chapter Thirty-Three

Jackson

“ H ow did we conceive a baby? It nearly killed me but I pulled out. That has to be a one-in-a-million chance,” I ponder against the top of her head.

“4 in 100. I looked it up.” She sighs. “It probably wouldn’t have happened if I took some sort of birth control, but I haven’t in years. I went on it after-” She hesitates. “I went on it when I was 15 and it made me suicidal. Not an exaggeration. The synthetic hormones and the shit show of my life combined to be almost fatal.”

I squeeze her body tighter. The thought of her leaving this world in that way, and so young, makes me want to hold onto her and never let go. “But, you’re okay, now?” I ask, hesitantly.

“Some pretty dark thoughts were going through my mind earlier today, but I would never leave Dec that way. I’m better, now.”

I grasp her hand in mine where it was drawing faint circles on my chest and kiss her fingers. “Can you promise me something?”

“I can try.”

“Come to me next time, whatever it is. You don’t have to handle everything on your own. You can lean on me.”

Her silence worries me slightly, it’s a big ask but I mean it. We both know what it’s like to carry everything on our shoulders without support but it doesn’t have to be that way.

“I promise that I’ll try,” she finally responds.

“I knew you’d warm up to me eventually,” I brag with a contented sigh. She scoffs before laughing gently.

“You are different than any other man I’ve ever met,” she whispers suddenly, sobering me.

“How so?”

“Well, you show up and you’re consistent. Even when you’re a pain in my ass you’re inherently kind to me. I know that I can be hard to be around, it’s why everyone leaves. Or, calls me a bitch.” She laughs humorlessly and it makes me squeeze her tighter.

“You’re allowed to be angry with all you’ve been handed in life. That doesn’t make you a bitch and any guy who tries to call you one isn’t a real man.”

“Guess I’ve never been around any real men before,” she teases but I hear the sadness in her tone. I could be that man if she’d let me, but I don’t dare say it. That’s not a thought she needs to worry about right now.

“I don’t know what it takes to be a dad, but I would have been a good one. I would’ve helped you with every step. Gone to every appointment. Even if that’s all we were, kick-ass coparents, I would have been happy to do it with you. I hope you know that.” It’s probably not the time to bring it up because I don’t want to upset her, but I need to get it off my chest. Her words about not thinking I would love our baby are torturing me.

“My dad didn’t love me enough to stick around and my mom didn’t love me enough to be a good mom. I guess it was a deep-rooted fear that I was projecting onto you. I’m sorry, Jackson. I do believe you’d be a good dad. The best.” She squeezes my wrist where her hand has been resting before she continues.

“I always thought being a mom would be the best job in the world. I couldn’t understand why my mom was so bad at it. When she had Dec, I doted on him. He was so sweet and innocent, I did everything in my power to give him the childhood that I didn’t have. I took his picture all the time because I wanted him to have the memories.

“I’ve already started making photo albums for him, documenting everything. That’s what I’d do for my kids. I’d cook big family dinners on Sundays like they do in TV shows, decorate for Christmas every year, and just take care of my family. Make their lives better, not harder.”

“You should have had all of that, you deserved that type of life,” I insist. “You can still be that type of mom someday.”

“Honestly, I gave up that dream a long time ago. Going to culinary school was my way to secure a career that I could always fall back on because I knew Dec would need me. I wanted to be prepared because I knew my mom would inevitably fail him like she did me. It just happened sooner than I planned. She relied on men her entire life and it never did her any favors.”

“You’re not your mom,” I state definitely without even knowing the woman who ruined Natalie’s outlook on life. Who destroyed any chance she might’ve had at a real family growing up.

I would love a life like she described and I’ve never realized it until now. A house full of kids. A home, with her.

She’ll make me work for it, but I’ll do whatever it takes to earn her. I’ll show up every day until she chooses me.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” she whispers the words as if they’re stuck in her throat.

“Thank you for letting me.” We lay in silence for a few more minutes as the sun sinks in the sky, darkening the room, until her stomach growls.

“Hungry?”

“Uh, yeah I haven’t eaten all day. I should go make something.” She starts to get out of bed and I stop her.

“Stay here, I’ve got it.”

“You’re going to cook?” She asks, skeptically.

“Not quite.” I make a quick trip to the kitchen and return with the to-go boxes from my lunch. “My lunch meeting was cut short. She practically ran out of the place,” I laugh to myself but when I look up, Natalie’s gone still.

“She as in Mrs. Porter,” I clarify. “Who is like 50 and might be into some shady business.”

Her shoulders relax and she opens the box in her lap. She looks at her Club sandwich but her eyes flick to my Reuben and she switches the boxes. I have a feeling that no matter which way I placed the boxes the first time, she would have made me switch.

I’m still stuck on her little display of what I hope is jealousy when I mentioned having lunch with a woman.

I’m right here, sweetheart. All yours.

She starts cramping again not long after we eat but insists she only needs ibuprofen. The doctor told her that some pain is to be expected but I’m a worried mess.

Luckily, she doesn’t resist when I crawl back into bed with her and is actually the one pulling me closer.

I end up spooning her, cradling her body while she cradles her aching stomach. Her head rests on the bulge of my bicep while my other hand massages the soft curve of her waist. I dig my thumb gently into her lower back attempting to help give her some relief.

She moans quietly and mumbles, “Harder, please.”

That word is the most powerful weapon she holds against me and she doesn’t even realize it. There is nothing that could stop me from doing whatever she asks. This time it’s simple because I’m desperate to make her feel better, but I imagine that one day it won’t be. She’ll plead for something that I can’t give her and she’ll leave.

Massaging her skin is all I can offer her for now so I do it diligently, rubbing her body until her muscles ease and she relaxes deeper against me. Just as she’s about to drift to sleep, she clasps my hand in hers and tucks it against her belly.

She holds our hands together against her aching womb, where our baby grew for a short time.

With her safely asleep, I let myself feel the loss fully for the first time.