If You Leave (Beautifully Broken #2)

If You Leave (Beautifully Broken #2) Page 22

I glance at the clock. It’s barely eight p.m. He’s thirty minutes early. I have no idea how he managed to make it so fast, considering he had to drive from the airport in Chicago to Angel Bay. He must’ve broken some land-speed records of his own.

“How is she?” he asks worriedly as he pulls up the chair on the other side of the bed. “I got here as fast as I could.” His handsome face is ashen as he takes in the full picture of his wife, small and pale in the bed. “Oh my God. I can’t believe this. What did the doctor say? What caused this?”

I explain what the doctor said, and with every word Pax’s face gets paler and paler.

“This could actually threaten her life?” he finally whispers.

I nod. “If the placenta ruptures from the side of her uterus, yes. That’s why she’s got to stay in bed. The more she stands up, the more the force of gravity will pull on the weight of her uterus and could cause the abruption. She’s got to have complete rest.”

“Don’t worry,” Pax says firmly. “She won’t be moving. Not until the baby is born.”

“It’s going to be a long couple months,” I tell him. “But between us, we’ve got to keep her still.”

“If we have to tie her down, we will,” he says. At his words, Mila opens her eyes.

“That won’t be necessary,” she says softly, smiling at her husband. “I’ll stay in bed. And everything will be OK. Madison already promised.”

“Oh, because Madison’s in control of that?” Pax smiles back at his wife, bending to kiss her forehead.

My stomach tightens again at their obvious tenderness for each other. It’s practically palpable. I’ve never seen anyone love each other as much as they do, and while I’m happy for Mila, it makes me feel so very alone.

“You know she’d never let anything hurt me.” Mila nods, grinning. “Seriously, I have faith. Everything is going to be fine.”

“You’re right,” Pax agrees. “You’re going to be fine. And the baby is too.”

They curl up together with Pax half on the bed and half on his chair, his arms encircling Mila as if to protect her from the world.

Pax is a protector. Mila’s protector.

It’s a sight that causes that freaking lump to immediately form back in my throat, both because it’s heartwarming and because I’d like to have what they have… a pure and perfect love for each other.

And someone to protect me from everything that might hurt me.

Someone like Gabe.

Oh my God. I’ve got to get out of here before I embarrass myself.

I stand up and they both look up at me, their cheeks pink and warm from being cuddled together.

“I’m going to head home and shower since Pax is here now. I want to wash off the hospital smell. If you guys need anything, just give me a call. I’ll come out to the house tomorrow to check on you, Mi.” I bend down and kiss her cheek. “I love you. You’re going to be fine.”

“I know,” she tells me confidently. “I love you too.”

I walk through the hospital woodenly as all my emotions come down on me, the fear that Mila could lose her baby, the worry for Mila herself… and the overwhelming loneliness that encompasses me right now.

I don’t even realize until I’ve reached my car that tears are streaming down my cheeks.

Chapter Eleven

My house has never seemed so empty or quiet.

And I have never been quite so alone.

Jacey is covering for me at the Hill because there was no way that I could’ve left Mila to go to work. But now, as I sit all alone on my patio with a bottle of wine, I wish that Jacey were here with me instead. I’m stuck here by myself, with only my worries for company.

They’re bad freaking company.

I take a sip of wine and stare at the sky, watching the storm clouds roll in, heavy and dark.

I stare at my wineglass and remember when my mother bought it, and decide that I need to buy my own freaking glassware.

I stare at the sand behind the house, noticing the way it’s packed down, hard and damp.

I glance back at my watch and find that’s it’s only been one minute since the last time I looked at it.

I’m pathetic. I’m sitting here wallowing in my fear and worry and misery and it’s ridiculous. I can’t keep doing this tonight.

Just as I’m getting up to find something else to do to keep my mind occupied, my doorbell rings. For one split second, I’m panicked that it is bad news about Mila. And then I realize that’s stupid. If something happened, Pax would call. Not send someone.

I open the door and am startled to find Gabriel standing in front of me.

He’s strikingly sexy in his ever-present snug T-shirt and I somehow feel a marked sense of relief just at the mere sight of him.

He grins at me, holding up a silver tube of my lipstick.

“You left this in my car. I figured it must’ve rolled out of your purse. Since it’s not really my color, I figured I should return it.”

I reach for it and he deposits it in my hand, and when he does, the warmth of his hand transfers to my own. It’s the touch I’ve been thinking about for days: his strength, his power.

He smiles at me and I try to smile back, but I suddenly can’t.

My stomach clenches and a tear runs down my cheek.

Then another.

Gabe’s face sobers up and his eyes are veiled as he looks at me, assessing me.

“Are you all right?” Gabe asks, concerned as he stares at me, as his eyes search for what is wrong. He takes a step toward me, then stops. “Are you?” he repeats hesitantly.

I stand limply in front of him, an empty shell, but I nod.

“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. Would you like a glass of wine? I really don’t want to be alone.” My eyes burn, but I manage to get the words out.

Gabe looks at me, his stormy eyes focused on my face.

“Of course,” he finally answers. He doesn’t even say that he prefers beer and I know that he does.

He takes my arm as I lead him through the house to the terrace. His hand is gentle, and strong, and warm on my elbow. I revel in the feel of it, in the warmth of his fingers, and I hate the coldness when he pulls it away. But we’re on the terrace now, so he steps back, watching me, hesitant.

He’s waiting.

He doesn’t know what I want.

It’s lightly raining now, but neither of us acknowledges it. I pour him a glass of wine and hand it to him with shaking fingers. I see the crimson liquid splash upward against the side of the glass, sliding back down into a pool. In my head I see the crimson blood running down Mila’s legs and I cringe, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to block it out.

“Maddy,” he says uncertainly, his voice deep and husky. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

I open my eyes and am distracted by the shape of his mouth, by the slant, by the full but firm lips. The lips I’ve thought about for days. The lips that licked me from his fingers.

I swallow, then I lift my fingers and trace his lips, sliding my fingertips over the softness. He stands still, completely still, as he waits to see what I’m going to do. As his dark eyes find mine, I decide that for this moment, I don’t care what his issues are.

This isn’t a game anymore, if it ever really was.

“Maddy,” he murmurs quietly, but firmer this time, his eyes frozen on mine even as he remains still. “Tell me what’s wrong with you.”

“I’ve just had a bad day. And I need you to make it good again.”

He stares at me in shock. I can’t blame him.

Confusion fills Gabriel’s eyes as he stands there facing me, not sure of what to do.

So I show him.

Reaching up, I press my lips softly to his, tentative at first, enjoying the taste of salt that lingers there, loving the way his chest is so rock-solid beneath my fingers.

The kiss is so soft, so gentle; barely there. But the intensity of having wanted it for days makes it fierce. His lips ignite a fire that flashes through my mouth and down into my chest and buries itself between my legs.

It roars to life there, burning bright, the flames licking up into the rest of me.

Gabriel’s strong arms automatically close around me as I deepen the kiss, plunging my tongue desperately into his mouth, tangling with his. I glance up and his dark eyes are open, staring into mine.

“Are you sure you’re OK?” he asks against my lips, almost desperately. I nod.

“I am now.”

My voice is a whisper and he groans, kissing me again, pulling me closer.

My hands are everywhere, running over his hard chest, his chiseled waist, his toned backside. Our mouths are hot and wet and open, our breath panting.

The friction from his warm skin against my fingertips is delicious and for a minute I remember that night in the taxi, how his dark eyes burned for me then, how he licked his fingers. That mere memory turns my knees weak yet again, just like it does every time I think of it.

I grasp his hand and shove it between my legs, but my pants are in the way. I step out of them as I push my wet hair out of my face and he reaches down, ripping my panties away from my body… ridding us of the barrier between him and me.

He stands there, the shredding tatters of my underwear dangling from his fingers, then he flicks them away and they fall onto the wet ground at our feet.

I’m throbbing now as I stand facing him, waiting for him to touch me, the heat between my legs almost more than I can take.

Every nerve ending waits for him.

I hold my breath.

The rain pours down.

And then he touches me. His fingers, so long, slide into me and suddenly I find myself balanced on the palm of his hand, like everything in my being is tied to him. Waiting for him.

It’s been waiting for him forever.

He slips farther inside and everything in me moans. My eyes flicker up and catch his; his are hooded and dark as his eyelashes flutter down.

I run my fingers along his waistband.

“Is this OK?” I whisper, my lids lifting to meet his gaze, watching the rain run off his face.

“Hell, yes,” he mutters, guiding my hand to his hard crotch. It strains against my hand, pulsing and hot, and need for him flows in me everywhere, hot and rough and impatient.

I know that I need him to put the fire out.

I shove his shorts down and discard them to the side. It doesn’t matter to me that we’re outdoors. Nothing matters now but this.

This heat, this need; this blur of colors and feelings. This explosion of things that I can’t control, can’t even name.

Gripping him in my hand, I slide him easily in my fingers, wet from the rain. He’s as enormous as I remember, slick and hot and pulsing.

He’s hard for me.

He wants me.

He groans again, grabbing my face and pulling me to him, crushing my lips with his own, hard and yet soft.

I nip at his neck, dragging my teeth along the curve of his shoulder, aching to have him fill me up already, but knowing that we should wait. I want to drag it out, to prolong this exquisite agony of waiting for it.

Of waiting for him.

He stands naked in front of me now, tall and proud, and he’s so fucking beautiful.