If It's Only Love (Lexi Ryan) novel Chapter 35

Shay

Molly and Brayden’s wedding isn’t a big or formal enough affair to warrant a rehearsal, but the couple decided they still wanted to do the traditional “rehearsal dinner”—just to spread out the festivities a little.

We hired Nic’s sister to watch all the kids and met up at Jackson Brews for dinner, and I found myself the only Jackson sibling without a date. Everyone is settling down and settling in. Hell, none of my brothers have ever been as happy as they all are right now. And me? My life is a deck of cards and I’ve just stepped into an endless game of fifty-two pickup, but knowing my brothers are so happy makes me feel a little steadier, though my own future is foggy at the moment.

Despite the meal being over, no one seems in a rush to go. I totally understand why my family is lingering, but I just got off a plane an hour before the meal, so between jet lag and first-trimester exhaustion, my bed is calling my name.

I tap Mom’s arm. “I’m going to head out.”

She squeezes my hand. “We didn’t get a chance to talk about your interview. Do you like the school?”

I’m flooded with adoration for this woman. She didn’t just birth me. She raised me and loved me and showed me what it means to be a mom. Because of her, I know I’m going to do all right by this baby. “The campus was beautiful, and I think the interview went well. They’re going to make a decision by the end of the month.”

“I don’t want you to go, Shay, but I’ll be fine if this job is what you want. We’ll all miss you, but we’re your family no matter where you live.” Her gaze flicks to my untouched wine—Brayden poured—and back to me before curling her lips into a knowing smile. “You have news you’ve been keeping from me, and I can’t figure out why.”

My laughter takes even me by surprise and comes out as a bit of a giggle-snort. “Of course you know. You probably knew before me.”

“I knew the day Easton came back to town and you didn’t drink your champagne. You’re a fan of liquid courage, and something had to be off for you to push it aside that day.”

She knew before I did. Of course. “I found out Monday,” I whisper. “And I’m scared and surprised, but I’m not sad—not about the baby part, at least.”

“The man from school is the father?” she asks.

I nod.

“Will he be involved?”

I shake my head.

“Maybe that’s for the best, huh?”

“How would you even know that?”

She wipes my cheek, like she’s washing away a messy child’s dinner. “He didn’t make you happy. I could see that.”

“After we broke up, I found out . . .” I squeeze her hand tightly. “He’s married, Mama. I didn’t know, and now his wife has asked him to move out and a little girl might grow up without her dad.” I drop my gaze to our hands. “And I think it would be easier to move away than to see you every day knowing I’ve disappointed you. I’m so ashamed.”

“Why is that your shame to carry if you didn’t know?” She leans forward in her seat and pulls me into her arms, rocking me back and forth gently. “I could never be disappointed in you. You make me proud every day.”

I give myself three deep breaths before I say, “I didn’t want to be like Ann. Tearing apart families.”

“Ann Friedman?” Mom releases me and gives me her patented I thought I told you to say no to drugs look. “What about this situation makes you like her?”

“Easton said Dad was in love with her.”

Mom snorts. “In her dreams. Don’t you remember Ann?”

“A little.”

“Do you remember the time she told everyone—including the police—that she was held up by Santa Claus at the bank? And then security footage showed her giving the money to that homeless guy right outside?”

I nod. “I’d forgotten that.”

“Or the time she told you that you wouldn’t get your period if you never wore red?”

Oh, wow. I’d forgotten that too. “She was a little nuts, wasn’t she?”

“She just marched to her own drummer. She had a thing for your dad and”—She points to her head—”trust me, the comments she made that implied her feelings were reciprocated were the reason for all this gray hair. But she never threatened our family, because your father wasn’t interested.”

“What’s happening over there?” Levi asks from across the table. “Are you two okay?”

“We’re fine,” I say quickly. I’m so glad I didn’t share that story with anyone else in the last seven years, but I wish I’d asked Mom.

Mom lifts a brow then nods meaningfully toward my brothers. I nod too, giving her the permission I know she’s looking for. “Shay’s expecting a baby. We’re just happy about a new blessing for this family.”

“You’re pregnant?” Levi says, and Brayden says, “What the fuck? I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone.” And at right about the same time, Jake says, “Is it Easton’s?”

“I’m not the baby’s father.” The soft, achingly familiar voice has me tearing my gaze off my brothers and whipping around to look at Easton. I don’t know when he walked into the bar, but he looks about as tired as I feel. He’s wearing a loose white button-up with sleeves rolled up to his elbows and khaki slacks. “But I’ll be the dad if Shayleigh will let me.”

I didn’t think it was possible, but those words seem to stun my entire family to silence. Especially me. Even Mom’s quiet, though she is smirking beside me.

“What did you just say?” I ask softly.

Easton smiles. “I said it’ll depend on you, but I’ve made my choice.” His intense gaze slides from my eyes down to my shoes, and something inside me shimmies in response. His nearness sends an electric current of energy through me every time. “You look . . .” He swallows hard and attempts a smile. “Just beautiful.”

I glance down at the simple blue dress I borrowed from Teagan. It’s fitted through the body and stops at the knees. I won’t be able to wear dresses like this much longer . . . at least not if I don’t want to advertise my pregnancy. “Thank you.”

“Can we talk?” he asks. He casts a glance over his shoulder and toward the exit. “I have some things I’d like to say. In private, if that’s okay.”

I nod, grab my purse, and lead the way out to the back. I don’t look to make sure he’s following me as I head through the kitchen, but I don’t have to. I feel him there.

I hesitate outside Jake’s office. The last time we were in there . . .

“I thought maybe we could talk down on the beach,” Easton says. “It’s a nice night.”

“I’d like that.” I’m in heels, but we’re only a couple of blocks away, and I can kick them off as soon as we get to the sand.

We’re quiet as we walk toward Lakeshore Drive, neither in a hurry to start this conversation. I don’t know why he’s waiting to say what he has to say, but I know why I am. I want what he offered in the restaurant, but I’m afraid he’s not offering it for the right reasons. I want Easton to be my family, my partner, and my baby’s dad—even if he’ll never be its genetic father. But I also know how honorable Easton is. I know why he offered what he did.

“I won’t ask if you meant what you just said to my family,” I say, mustering my courage. “Because I know you did.” His face is guarded as he waits for me to say more. “Easton, I would never ask that of you. I couldn’t. It’s too much.”

The light turns at Lakeshore Drive, and he takes my hand as we cross. His touch is everything I’ve spent the last forty-eight hours telling myself it isn’t. It’s comfort and peace and home.

We cross to the beach, and he waits while I kick off my heels, never letting go of my hand. The air is cool and the sand is cold against the bare soles of my feet, but it’s welcome after the heat of the crowd inside the bar.

“It doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it,” I say, when we’ve walked for a couple of minutes and he still hasn’t replied. “I do. And it’s tempting but . . . I know how you feel.”

He swallows. “But do you really know? Because I don’t think you do, and that’s on me.”

“I know you want to protect me. I know you care about me.”

“Do you know that I want to be with you?”

“Of course I know, but things are complicated, and I get that.”

He shakes his head. “You’ve asked me before. You’ve asked me why I want to be with you, and you asked because you needed me to explain it. You asked because you didn’t believe it. Ask me now.”

“What?” I blow out a breath and search for the courage not to take anything from him he doesn’t truly want to give. “Easton, you and I have never gotten the timing right. No one will judge you for how you feel about this pregnancy.”

“Ask me why I want you.”

My heart squeezes as I remember having this conversation before. When I asked him in Paris, he needed me to find the words. And he stumbled when I asked him at the cabin on Sunday. It shouldn’t have mattered and it did. I shake my head. “I can’t do this right now.”

“Ask me.”

Does he know how fragile I am? Does he understand that I don’t have the energy or the emotional fortitude to write my own love poem? “I already know. Same reasons I want to be with you, right?”

“Ask. Me.” He squeezes my hands, then whispers, “Please.”

“Why do you want to be with me?”

He grins, like the question itself is a gift. “I want to be with you because I think about you all the time. Sometimes when you’re away from me, I convince myself I’ve made up how good it feels to have you close, because there’s no way one person could make me feel so damn good. But then I’m near you again—like right now—and I know I was right.”

My heart somersaults. I did need to hear this, whether I knew it or not.

“I want to be with you because I was born with this anxious kernel in me that whispers that I’m going to fall short. But when you’re there, when you’re looking at me with those big brown eyes, when you’re in my arms, when I hear you laugh—those whispers are silenced.

“I want to be with you because you knew who you were before anyone else, because some days I feel like I’m floating in space and still don’t know who I am, but being next to you is like always having steady earth beneath my feet.

“I want to be with you because the sight of the Eiffel Tower at dusk makes you weak in the knees, and because you see the world with a reverence that makes me realize how much I’ve missed by walking through life blindly. I want to be with you because when I think of happiness, I picture that day we took a boat ride down the Seine, and I watched the wind whip your hair in your face. I think of how beautiful your smile was that day—how you rivaled the sun—and how whole I felt just because you were by my side.”

I open my mouth, and he presses an index finger to my lips. “I’m not done.”

I laugh, but I think it might sound like a cry. Maybe it’s both. “Okay.”

“I want to be with you because you stepped back to let me be the kind of father I thought I needed to be, because you believed I could make the right choices for me and my daughter. I want to be with you because life is short, and I want to spend the rest of mine with you by my side. And because you’re my family. No matter what you decide or where you go or where you live, you’re a part of me the way Abi’s a part of me. You never stole my heart. You tucked a piece of yourself into it and made me better.”

“You know you can’t say stuff like this to pregnant women.” I sniffle and look around desperately. “I don’t even have a tissue.”

He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket. “I brought it for you. I figured I’d either need it for your tears or my bloody nose—which I’d probably deserve.” He shrugs. “Can I go on?”

I wipe my face and nod.

He exhales slowly, then starts again. “I want to watch you grow with this child and hold your hand while you learn what it means to be a mother. Because I know you’re going to be incredible, whether you do it alone or with someone by your side. But damn it, Shay, I don’t want you to do it alone, and I don’t want you to do it with anyone else. I want all of your babies to call me Dad. I want to be the person who wakes up with you during the sleepless nights and who reminds you that you’re kicking ass when the kid turns three and becomes a miniature demon. And hey—lucky for you, I’ve been there and can assure you that they do grow out of it.”

I laugh and feel hot tears spill down my cheeks.

“I want to take you to Paris and hold you during thunderstorms. I want to read your books and wake up to the smell of you on my sheets. And maybe it’s not fair of me to say so, but I want to do all that with you here. In Jackson Harbor, home. Because your family is awesome and I know your mom doesn’t want to miss watching her grandchild grow. But if what you need is in L.A., I’ll move back there. I’ll find a way to protect Abi from the press. I’ll figure it out. But when I say I love you, I need you to understand that I mean everything I just said, because I can’t live thinking you don’t really know how I feel and I’m shit with the romantic words.”

“I think you’re pretty good,” I say, then I hiccup. Because tears.

“I had a lot of notes and time to prepare. I was really nervous.”

“I liked it,” I whisper.

“Once I sat down and got going it was easy, but not at first. To me, it’s so obvious and it never occurred to me that you needed to hear it. I should’ve realized a long time ago that it isn’t so clear from where you stand. You’re the woman I love. The one I want. The future I want. If you want me.”

“Of course I want you.” I loop my arms behind his neck.

“Why?” he whispers, and there’s a smile in his eyes.

“Because of who you are. Because you’re the man I love and the one I want.”

He wraps his arms behind my back and pulls me close. “That’s more than enough.”