Reagan's Revenge and Ending Emily's Engagement (2 page)

Logan

Something is up with Emily. She hasn’t told me what it is, but something is definitely wrong. I’ll figure it out. I know I will.

I pop the trunk on Emily’s car and take the groceries up to Paul’s apartment. Four flights of stairs carrying a turkey and a ham and all the rest is kind of brutal. I’m glad Pete’s with me. But after that, I wish he wasn’t.

We unload all the groceries, and since Sam is here, he organizes everything according to the way he’ll use it. He and Pete fight, shoving one another around until I get so sick of it that I can’t stand it. I turn to Paul.
Can I talk to you for a minute, privately
? I sign.

He motions for me to follow him to his room. He closes the door
, and I sit on the edge of his bed. He takes the chair across from me and glares at me. “Spill it,” he bites out.

Paul signs and talks at the same time, so I do
, too.  “Something is wrong with Em,” I say.

His brow furrows. “What kind of wrong?”

I get up, suddenly feeling like I have ants in my pants. I walk over to his dresser and run my finger down a picture of our mother that’s in a gold frame. It’s rough and bumpy, but her face is smooth when I touch the glass. Paul taps my shoulder so I turn to face him.

“You’re really worrying me. What’s wrong?”

“When Kelly was pregnant,” I start. I swallow hard, because I need to in order to get past the lump in my throat. “When Kelly was pregnant,” I say again. “What was she like?”

I watch his hands, afraid to look into his face because I might accidentally look into his eyes.

“Is Emily pregnant?” he asks. His hands are flying furiously all of a sudden. “What the fuck, Logan?” he says. “What did I tell you about using condoms? I told you that her being on the pill wasn’t enough.”

“I don’t know if she is or not,” I rush to say. “I just don’t know what to say or do
, and you were the only one I wanted to talk to.” I slap my palm down on the dresser, because he looks like his hands are gearing up to continue to chastise me. “I need you to listen,” I say.

He freezes and runs a hand through his hair. “Okay,” he says. His hands are softer now, though. “Okay,” he says again. “I’m listening.”

“She hasn’t had her period,” I say.

“How do you know?” he asks.

I throw my hands up. “How do you think I know?” That was the dumbest question ever.

His chest bellows with air like he’s heaving a sigh. “I know you’re having sex. But sometimes a few days go by…” He lets the words trail off.

“A few days never go by,” I say. I feel heat creep up my cheeks.

“You do it every day?” he asks, his brows arching.

I won’t answer that. I just raise my brows. I am inside her pretty much every fucking day. I can’t do without her.

“Okay,” he says. “So, no period.”

“She’s waking up sick, some.”

“Okay,” he says, making a motion for me to continue.

“And her boobs are getting bigger.” I make a motion like I’m grabbing her boobs and squeezing them.

“Logan,” he says. “Seriously?” But he’s grinning. He shakes his head and I can’t keep from grinning too.

“They’re mine. I can play with them all I want.”  I laugh at the look on his face.

“Did she take a test yet?”

I shake my head. “I’m not sure she knows yet.”

“Why the fuck are you here talking to me instead of to her?” He looks at me. Paul has this way of really looking at people. Like he’s sees all of you. But he never talks about
what he sees.

“I’m not sure she wants kids,” I admit.

He slaps his hands together. “Then you should have used a fucking condom.”

I run my hands through my hair and jerk through the ends. “You don’t understand,” I say. I start for the door. He grabs my shoulder and turns me around.

“Explain it,” he says. “I’m listening.”

“Em is scared of being a mom,” I tell him. I hate talking about her dyslexia when she’s not in the room.

“I’ve seen her with Hayley. No one I know would be a better mother.”

My heart warms that he feels that way. I do
, too.

“It sounds to me like you need to do two things,” he says.

This is why I came to Paul. He always knows what to do. I motion for him to continue.

He holds up one finger. “One
: you need to get her a fucking test.”

And
? I ask.

“Two
: you need to reassure her.” He sits down. “You know she’s afraid. It’s your job to support her through it. Whatever she needs, you offer it.”

“But I don’t know what she needs!” I cry.

“She needs you, dumbass.” He smiles. “You’re all she’s ever needed. When I see the two of you together and how happy you are, sometimes it makes my fucking gut twist with jealousy, do you know that?”

I didn’t. I had no idea.

“From the moment you met her, you knew she was the one. And she felt the same way. You two were made for one another. So, go to her and be what she needs. Just be you. You’re all she’s ever needed, you fuckwad.”

He’s right. We can do anything together. “I need to go see Emily.”

He claps his hand on my shoulder. “Buy a test on the way home,” he says. “Then text me and tell me how it goes.”

I nod and pull him in for a hug. He looks startled, but he falls against me and pulls me close. When he lets me go, I reach for the doorknob. He stops me.

“You’re feeling hopeful, right?” he asks.

I nod, and a grin tugs at my lips. “I’ll be the happiest man in the world if she’s pregnant.”

“You’re one lucky son of a bitch.” He grins, though and signs,
Good luck
.

Thanks
, I sign back.
Text you later
.

I let myself out, only stopping for a minute to talk to Sam and Pete. I stop and buy a pregnancy test kit at the pharmacy and go home, hoping Em will be there.

I open the door, and she pops up from where she was sitting on the couch. I hold the test kit behind my back. “Hey,” she says.

“You okay?” I ask.

She fidgets, wringing her hands together. “I think we should end our engagement,” she says.

My heart fucking stops.

Emily

He looks like I just punched him. “Oh, my God,” I breathe out. I walk to him and try to take him into my arms.

He sets me back from him, his face a storm cloud of fury. “What?” he asks.

“Oh, that came out wrong,” I say.

He squeezes my upper arms tightly, so tight that it makes me squirm a little. But what makes me even more nervous is the look in his eyes. Logan can be intense, but this is different. This is reserved only for me. “It bette
r have come out wrong,” he bites out.

He dropped a shopping bag on the floor when he grabbed me
, and I stare down at it like a fool.  It looks just like the one I just shoved into the couch cushions. “What’s that?” I ask, pointing to it like it’s a snake that’s about to bite me.

“Why do you want to end our engagement?” he asks. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the peg by the door. “What the fuck are you thinking, Em?”
He’s shaking, and I suddenly realize what I’ve just done.

“Oh, I didn’t mean break up, Logan,” I say. A frantic giggle busts from my lips.

“I am not amused,” he says.

I wring my hands. “I just meant…maybe we could…maybe we could get married. Like soon.”

We talk about getting married all the time, but it’s just not something either of us has felt a great desire to do. I don’t want the pomp and circumstance, and he would just as soon avoid the crowd.  So, we wait.

“Why?” he asks.

I walk to the sofa and get my bag that looks just like his. I hand it to him. He opens it and deflates like a balloon. Then he starts to laugh. When Logan laughs, there’s a part inside me that splits open with sheer happiness. My insides start to freaking glow when he’s happy. I know that sounds stupid, but it’s the truth.

He picks his bag up and hands it to me. I open the
white paper sack and look inside. Then I grin, too. He laughs, grabs me to him, and spins me around. “I fucking love you so much,” he says by my ear.

“How did you know?” I ask.

“I know your body, Em,” he says softly. He cups my breast in his hand and sweeps across the suddenly turgid tip. “Your boobs are bigger, and you didn’t eat the pie.” He laughs.

“And I’m late,” I admit.

“How late?” he asks.

“Like a month and a half.”

“Thought so.” He grins like a fool. He jerks a thumb toward the bathroom. “Go pee on the fucking stick, Em,” he says. He starts opening one of the boxes and motions for me to follow him to the bathroom. He won’t even leave the room while I pee on the stupid stick. He stays. I lay it on the counter, my heart lighter than it has ever been. I wash my hands and look in the mirror to brush my hair back from my face. I chew on my fingernails and wait.

Logan
steps up behind me and looks at me in the mirror, and I can remember the first time he looked at me like this. We were in a bathroom at a restaurant and he had just kissed me for the first time. He looked into my eyes in our reflection, and I was gone. He had just shown me the tattoo that unlocked my world, and I was his. I haven’t looked back since.

“Are you afraid?” he asks as he sweeps my hair to the side and kisses my neck.

“I was,” I admit. He watches my lips in the mirror. “But not anymore. Now that you’re here, I’m fine.” He’s the peace in my soul. He’s all I need. I lay a hand on my belly. And there might be another little piece of him and me together.

He picks up the stick
and looks down at it. He stares at it for a second and then looks up at me. His eyes fill with tears, and he blinks them back. Then he nods. It’s a quick jerk. Just one. I fall against him and sob into his shoulder.

“You and me, Em. We’re going to have a baby,” he says softly.

He hitches me up with his hands on my bottom and I wrap my legs around his waist. Logan carries me to the bedroom and pulls my shirt over my head. He unhooks my bra with deft fingers and lays me down. He hovers over me, pulling my pants down over my feet and then my panties, until I’m naked and exposed.

I don’t move because my heart is swelling and my blood is thumping. When he’s naked, he comes back to me, but he doesn’t kiss my face. He be
nds and kisses my belly. He lifts me and moves me higher in the bed, where he can hover over me. “Me and you, Em,” he says again, his fingers tickling over my belly.

My tummy is still flat. This is too new for it to show, but I am moved by how reverently and tenderly he touches me. He lays a flat palm on my belly
, and I cover his hand with mine.

“What if our baby is like me, Logan?” I ask. My voice suddenly cracks. “I’ll never be able to read her a bedtime story.”

He takes my hand and clutches it to his heart. “But I can.” He takes in a deep breath through his nose with his eyes closed, and then his blue eyes stare directly into mine. “I didn’t even have a voice until I met you, Em,” he says. “You gave me that. Let me use it. I’ll read to him. I’ll read until my throat hurts.”

“But what will I do?
”

He smiles softly. “You’ll do what I can’t. You’ll sing w
ith him. You’ll teach the baby about music. I can never do that.” It’s true. Logan feels the beat of music, but he doesn’t get much more than that. He will never appreciate music the way a hearing person can. “We complement one another, Em,” he says. “We always have. You punched me in the face because I was being a douche, but in all reality, you took my breath away and I wanted you. I wanted every part of you.” He picks my foot up, brings it close to his mouth, and starts kissing from my ankle to the back of my knee. A shiver runs up my spine, and I raise my other foot to his other shoulder. He grins and pushes my feet toward my shoulders, sinking inside me in one slow push. If I turned my head right now, I could kiss my ankle.

He takes me in slow, lazy strokes until I whimper and wiggle under him. “What’s wrong?” he teases. He knows I hate slow and composed. He pushes inside me, my bottom turned up as high as it can go as he give
s me every wonderful inch of him.

“More,” I whimper. He kisses my ankle and parts my legs, letting them fall down by his sides. I shove his shoulder and he flips us over, our bodies still
connected. This is what Logan and I are – connected in the most elemental ways. We always have been. We always will be.

“Use me,” he teases. “Take me however you want.”

He folds his arms behind his head, his elbows pointed out, a lazy grin on his face. I squeeze him in my depths, and his eyes close. “What’s wrong?” I coax, rising and sinking on him in quick, fulfilling strokes.

“Too good,” he complains, as he closes his eyes. “Too tight. Too much.”