Porter

  One. Two. Three contractions later, Charlotte’s baby makes her way into the world.

  “Look at our daughter, Porter. She’s beautiful.”

  I look at the baby, only getting a quick moment to search for a part of myself in her. Can’t tell—the doctor hands her off to the intensive care nursery staff quickly.

  I do have time to see that her head is bald as a cue ball. It could mean nothing; she’s premature.

  But this paternity test… it means everything. “I have a cord blood paternity test. I’d like to ask you to collect a sample for me.”

  “Porter, our daughter was just born. You haven’t even held her yet, and you’re asking for a paternity test?”

  “I sure am. And you can forget me holding her until I know she’s mine.”

  The nurse takes the kit from me and hands it off to the doctor. The tube is passed back to me in a plastic bag. “I’m using a private lab and paid extra for the test to be rushed. We’ll know the results in two days.”

  “They’re rushing it? That means they’ll probably make a mistake.”

  “Nope. Don’t even go there and start in making claims about the results being wrong. I don’t want to hear that shit.”

  “She is your daughter.”

  “We’ll see, won’t we?”

  I enter the house with at least twelve sacks of groceries hanging on my arms. Yeah, I’m that person. The one who will die making one trip from the car with groceries rather than go back a second, third, and fourth time.

  I bet every vein in my neck bulges when I lift the sacks up and toss them on the kitchen counter. “Uhh.”

  “Good grief, Frankee. Let me help you with that.”

  “No way. It’s been two days since your last chemo. You should be resting, not putting up groceries.”

  “Stop, Frankee.” Kit places her hand on top of mine. “Go to the bedroom. He’s waiting for you.”

  “He’s here?”

  Kit nods.

  “But it’s Wednesday.”

  She cradles my face. “Go to him, sweetie. He’s eager to talk to you.”

  Porter has come to see me at his parents’ house every weekend for the last six weeks. Like clockwork, he arrives on Friday evening and leaves late Sunday afternoon. It’s been our routine.

  Nothing about our lives has been ideal these last weeks. Although extreme, my disappearing act was necessary to convince clusterfuck I was in Texas and no longer in Porter’s life. My absence ended any interest she had in spinning her web around my family. Without her realizing it, her demand for me to be out of the picture inadvertently ended the only leverage she had with Porter.

  Everyone in our inner circle believes I’m in Mobile caring for Kit—my mother-in-law-to-be. It’s a huge lie to tell the people we love, but we will have saved ourselves a lot of pain and grief if Charlotte’s baby isn’t Porter’s.

  But all of this will have been for naught if he is the father.

  Each step I take toward the bedroom makes my heart race a little faster. I simultaneously want to run to him and stand right where I am because I’m terrified of what he’s going to tell me.

  ‘Mama, I'm Comin' Home’ is playing, and it grows louder as I get closer to our bedroom. He doesn’t hear me approach so I stand in the doorway, taking a moment to study him as he gazes out the window.

  He’s so beautiful. And I love him.

  He’s mine no matter what.

  He turns and smiles when he sees that I’ve entered the room and shut the door behind me. “Baby…”

  One word. It’s all he gets out before we’re crossing the room to crash into each other, him clenching me so tightly I can hardly breathe. He buries his face in my hair and his body shudders.

  He’s crying.

  Oh no. The news isn’t what we were hoping for.

  My chest aches and I shudder with him, sharing his pain.

  “It’s okay. I love you. We’ll make it work somehow.”

  He loosens his hold and presses his forehead to mine, cradling my face in his big hands. “Charlotte’s baby is not mine.”

  “Say it again so it can sink in.”

  “The baby is not mine. The Charlotte nightmare is over.”

  “It’s finally over.”

  I smile and Porter’s mouth crashes against mine. He grasps the back of my thighs and lifts me, carrying me to the bed. He lowers me, but we don’t fall together in the middle as an entwined mess of arms and legs. Instead, he sits me on the edge and goes to his knees in front of me. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you too.”

  He pushes his hand into his pocket, pulling out a black ring box. “I bought this weeks ago. I’ve been carrying it around in my pocket to give me hope. Hope that no mattered what happened, you would one day be my wife.”

  He cracks open the box and takes out a white-gold and diamond ring just like the one we discussed. “Frances Ameline Dawson. You have been my constant, endless, loyal beacon. The blind faith and steadfast love you’ve given me is more than I ever expected or deserved. There’s been a thousand times you could and probably should have left me. But you didn’t. You stayed and weathered the storm by my side. And that’s where I want you for the rest of our lives. Will you marry me?”

  I hold out my hand for him to slide the ring on my finger. “Yes. I will marry you and be by your side for the rest of our lives.”

  I’m helping Adelyn clean up the kitchen while Lawrence nurses Emeric. “I’m sorry y’all are having to do that without me.”

  Adelyn slings her hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it. Not a big deal.”

  “Emeric’s done well with being weaned but he downright refuses to give up his bedtime nursing.”

  “One or thirty-one. None of them want to give up tit.”

  Adelyn stops mid-swipe over the counter. “Frankee speaketh the truth.”

  “You know I ain’t lying.”

  “Is Porter obsessed with your boobs? Because Oliver is completely fixated on mine.”

  “Yesss.”

  “Boobs, beer, and ball. The three B obsessions.”

  “You forgot booty.”

  “The four B obsessions.”

  Tap, Stout, and Porter are in the living room drinking beer while they watch the football game. Typical Monday get-together for these guys—the men of Lovibond.

  Emeric jolts when a string of loud cuss words carries into the kitchen. “Guess the wrong team scored.”

  A few minutes later, warm rock-hard arms wrap around me from behind. “Hey, baby momma. Game’s over. You ready to go?”

  “Yup.” I’ve been ready to go for an hour. My ass is hurting from sitting on this barstool.

  “Thank you for having us, Lawry. We enjoyed it.”

  “Maybe we’ll miss our get-together next Monday because y’all will be holding a baby.”

  “I’d be okay with that.”

  I drop my seat back when we get into the car. “Having pains?”

  “My ass is. I sat on that barstool too long.”

  “Ass pain could be good.”

  “Trust me. Ass pain is never good.”

  “Think you can pull off giving birth tonight?”

  “Well, that would be okay with me.”

  “Good. Because I’m going to fuck you into labor when we get home.”

  “You’re going to do what?”

  Porter chuckles. “Don’t get mad.”

  “Don’t get mad at what?”

  “Stout and I made a bet.”

  Porter and his bets with Stout. “What kind of bet did you make this time?”

  “He bet me he could fuck Adelyn into labor before I could fuck you into labor.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No. We put a thousand bucks on it.”

  “A thousand dollars? You don’t think you should have consulted me about this first?”

  “You know I can’t back down from a bet with Stout.”

  “I’m tired.”

&
nbsp; “I’ll do all the work. And I’ll make you come. Hard.”

  I’ve never been one to turn down orgasms. “I guess.”

  “Will you wear something sexy for me?”

  “I will if anything fits.”

  I actually find a few pieces of lingerie that fit but I go with a black and red baby-doll gown because it’s always been one of Porter’s favorites.

  My breasts are spilling out of the top and my belly is making the gown split open, but I don’t think he’ll mind. Gives him a nice view of the tiny matching G-string.

  He’s sitting on the side of the bed naked and with a huge erection when I come into our bedroom. “Damn girl, you look good enough to eat.”

  I put my hand over the black triangle between my legs. “Hope you’re hungry. ‘Cause this is an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

  Damn. That was sort of gross, but I’m rolling impromptu with the nasty talk. I’m not as good at it as Porter. But I try.

  “Mrs. Beckman. Do you eat with that filthy mouth?”

  “I do more than eat with this mouth.” I demonstrate the tongue-roll thing like Porter does. Again, I’m not as good as him.

  He uses his finger in the come-hither motion. I go to him and lace my fingers through the back of his hair as I kiss him. His hands are at my lower back and he pulls me closer, making my belly press against him.

  He moves to kiss my stomach. “I can’t wait to meet our baby.”

  “Me either.”

  His hands caress my breasts through my baby-doll top before pulling it up and over my head. He thumbs my nipples, watching them harden, and then takes turns sucking both. The top of my abdomen tightens and relaxes. Happens every time he plays with my boobs.

  He pushes my panties down my legs and rubs his hand in a circular motion over my bump. “Damn, girl. You look good with my baby inside you.”

  “But I’d look better holding your baby.”

  “You’re going to look good holding our baby soon. I’m about to make that happen.”

  We slide to the middle of the bed. “Lie on your side. I’m getting me some of this pound cake from the back.”

  Good grief.

  Once I’m situated, he positions himself as though he’s going to spoon me from behind. He bends my top leg at the knee and pulls backward, so it’s resting over his legs.

  He kisses my shoulder in the bend where it meets my neck and eases into me slowly. “Oh fuck. That’s some fucking fine-ass pound cake you have! Best pound cake I’ve ever had.”

  I giggle because I can’t help it. “Your warm drizzle on my pound cake is the best ever.”

  “Mmm… Daddy likes that mouth.”

  He pulls back and thrusts slowly. “Shit, I can’t believe how tight you feel.”

  I move my hips against him, and together we pick up the pace. “Is this good for you?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  He bends my knee and puts the sole of my foot flat against his thigh so my leg is hiked out. He reaches around and strokes my clit. “I’m going to make you come so hard.”

  He circles it fast and hard and then slow and soft. He’s stroking me on the outside with his fingers while his magic cock rubs my inside. “Harder.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  He moves faster and harder and the first wave begins. “That’s it, baby. Come all over me. I want to feel your body quiver and squeeze my cock because you’re orgasming so hard.”

  My orgasm feels different, like quivers radiating throughout my vagina. It’s tingly and weird but no less wonderful than usual.

  When Porter finishes inside me, he kisses my bare shoulder. “That was so fucking good. Give me fifteen minutes to build up another one, and we’re going to do it again.”

  “You really want to win that bet, don’t you?”

  “Fuck yeah. It’s like going head-to-head to battle out who can fuck his wife better. I have to win; the loser will never hear the end of it.”

  “Have you considered that going into labor might have more to do with the baby actually being ready to come?”

  “Maybe, but we’re going to talk this one into coming tonight. We’re winning that bet.”

  We did it four times. Maybe five. Porter finally drifted off to sleep after the last time but not me. No way I can go to sleep with these contractions I’m feeling.

  An hour in and they’re getting stronger and closer. Downright painful.

  I get up to walk, hoping it might relieve the discomfort in my back. It doesn’t. I try bending over the arm of the couch, but the pain only becomes worse. And real.

  I turn on Porter’s bedside lamp and say his name. Nothing. I nudge his shoulder when he doesn’t stir. “Wake up, Porter.”

  After another attempt, he finally awakens with wide eyes. “Did I do it?”

  “Yes. We have to go to the hospital because you fucked me into labor.”

  “Fuck yeah. I am the man. Stout and his little cocktail wiener can bow down to the fuck master. And hand over my G.”

  We’re pulling into the hospital when we see Adelyn’s SUV at the admission entrance. “No. Fucking. Way.”

  “What?”

  “Stout and Adelyn are here. They beat us here.”

  “I don’t give a shit who’s here. I am hurtin’ so damn bad.”

  “I know. I know. I’m sorry, baby.”

  Stout is standing at the admissions desk talking to the clerk when we walk up behind him. “Think you’ve won, don’t you, motherfucker?”

  “I don’t give a damn about that bet. Something’s wrong with Adelyn.”

  “What happened?”

  “She’s bleeding. A lot.”

  “Aw, man. Is everything okay?”

  “I don’t know. They came and got her out of the car and told me to come to the front desk and get her admitted while they examine her. I just finished, and I’m about to go back and see what’s happening.”

  “Everything is going to be okay, man. They’ll take care of her and the baby.”

  “I gotta go.”

  “Let us know what’s going on as soon as you hear.”

  “Oh, Porter. I hope nothing is wrong.”

  I’m admitted to the hospital, in labor at four centimeters, and Porter calls my parents. The pain is bad, but my thoughts are with my friend Adelyn. That girl and I have become so close over the last two years—she’s like a sister to me.

  “I know you’re upset about Adelyn. I’ll give you an update the second I hear from Stout. But for now, try to concentrate on what’s happening here.”

  I nod and breathe because I’m starting to have another contraction.

  The pain increases every hour and approaches an unbearable level. “I don’t think I can do this.”

  “You can do it, baby. You can.”

  My mom wets a washcloth and places it over my forehead. “Breathe in through your nose. Out through your mouth. Slow and deep.”

  I hear Porter’s phone alert him to an incoming text. “Adelyn had a boy. Naming him Maxwell and calling him Max. Both are doing great.”

  Maxwell—her maiden name. Cute. “Thank God.” That’s one less worry off my mind.

  “What’s it gonna be? Is Lovibond’s future in the hands of three rough-and-tumble boys, or are we going to shake up the mix with a girl?”

  “I think we’re gonna shake it up.”

  “I think so too.”

  I’m starting to feel a ton of pressure in my butt. “I think I should have gotten the epidural.”

  My mom pushes the wet strands of hair away from my face. “You’re so close to being done.”

  Porter is at my side, holding my hand. “Do you want me to tell the nurse you’ve changed your mind?”

  “I don’t think there’s time. I’ve got to push.” It’s something I can’t control. My body is doing what it wants without my permission.

  I squeeze Porter’s hand. “Call the nurse, and tell her it feels like the baby’s coming.”

  It happens
so fast. My nurse comes in and confirms that baby Beckman is indeed on his or her way, and I’m placed in position to deliver.

  “I just texted Mom. She and Dad are still an hour away, but she told me to tell you that she loves you.”

  “Oh, I hate that they’re not going to be here when the baby comes.”

  “It’ll be okay. They should get here right after.”

  My mom pats my hand. “I’m going to the waiting room with your dad and brothers. Don’t be afraid. You have a wonderful husband who’s going to help you through this.” My mom kisses my forehead before she leaves. “Love you. Can’t wait to meet my grandbaby.”

  The heaviness of the reality hits me—I’m about to become a mother.

  Porter brings my hand to his lips for a kiss. “This is happening.”

  “Yes, it is. It’s happening right now. I’ve got to push.”

  I thought the whole thing was over when the pushing started. Turns out that part doesn’t happen as quickly as I thought. But after about a dozen contractions, the nurse says that I’m ready for delivery.

  And I agree one hundred percent with that judgment call.

  Porter leans down and kisses my face. “I love you so much, baby.”

  “Love you too.”

  My doctor comes into the room, gowns up, and sits on a stool between my legs. “This little one got in a hurry about arriving all of the sudden.”

  “Sure did.”

  “You’re starting a contraction, so push hard and let’s meet this little one.”

  The next few moments are an agonizing blur. Until I hear that first squeal—that sweet, earth-stand-still cry of our child.

  “What is it?”

  My doctor turns our baby around, and Porter and I say it simultaneously. “A girl.”

  Porter kisses the top of my head. “You did it, baby. She’s beautiful, just like her mama.”

  “She has her daddy’s hair.”

  “Definitely. That is wild Beckman hair for sure.” Porter kisses my head again. “Thank you for giving me a daughter. Even if it does mean I’ll have to carry a big-ass stick around all the time to keep Tap’s and Stout’s boys away from her.”

  She’s going to grow up with two Lovibond boys. She’ll be around them all the time. “I hadn’t thought of that.”