Book 14: A Mangled Mess

Maeve

My hands move to my stomach on instinct, cradling the heavy swell and the baby currently kicking the absolute life out of me. My lips part with another heavy breath, but words fail me as the phantom, the man who blesses my dreams, lifts his head and meets my eyes.

He looks… the same, but different. That wry, charming boyishness has bled into something hard and dark–hollow, just like I’ve felt for nine months. He’s wearing that same dusty blue backward ball cap, but his hair is a little longer, curls poking out around his ears. His eyes are the same trio of colors but lined with dark circles–exhaustion, I realize, as I take another tentative step into the room, not daring to blink lest he disappear.

The column of his throat bobs as he holds my gaze, searching my eyes, my face, his eyes uncharacteristically wetting as he licks his lips and lets his gaze lower to my stomach.

I feel a sudden jolt of uncertainty, maybe even shame.

“Sor