Page 97 of Through the Storm

I know how fast love can turn into resentment. I’ve lived it. And I really don’t want to live it again.

But somehow that still didn’t stop me from wanting this. From wanting Ben and wanting this family. Wanting this impossible little fantasy life badly enough that I let all of them love me anyway.

It’s the most selfish thing I’ve ever done.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

ben

FIXING

I calledmy mom this morning, and we talked about Katy.

She already knew something was off; she always does. She said Katy was probably just feeling overwhelmed, and we should do something nice for her. So, when I told her about the nursing clothes Katy had been thinking of getting, she was in the car within the hour.

Now I’m standing in Katy’s doorway holding three shopping bags and feeling, for the first time in days, like maybe I got something right.

“From my mom,” I say, setting them on the counter. “She picked the softest ones because apparently some of them aren’t soft and that’s a crime. Those were her exact words.”

Katy laughs despite herself. “That’s so nice. She didn’t have to do that.”

“You try telling her that.” I pull two coffees out of the paper bag and set the decaf one in front of her. “Also, for the record, this is a gift for me too. You’re going to look incredibly hot in all of it.”

She snorts, but the sound is halfhearted. “I’ll still look like a million months pregnant. I don’t look hot now, and I won’t look hot then.”

“You do, and you will.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. I take it.

Then I add, almost as an afterthought, “Also, she wants to come down for the last few weeks to help out after. She’s already cleared her schedule.” I shrug. “I told her I’d check with you first. She just wants to be close. I thought it might be nice, having her around just in case we need help.”

Katy goes still. It’s subtle. Just a fraction of a second where something moves across her face that I can’t quite read.

“That’s…” She swallows. “That’s really thoughtful.”

“She’s excited,” I say. “You don’t have to say yes. She’d stay at my uncle Jack’s, she just?—”

“No, it’s great.” Her voice is soft. “Tell her thank you.”

But her eyes are glassy in a way that doesn’t match the words.

I watch her turn away toward the counter, wrapping both hands around her coffee cup.

Something’s still off. I just know. The same way I know when a play’s about to break down before it happens. I don’t push her though. I’ll wait until she’s ready.

“You guys seriously didn’t have to buy all that for me,” she says.

“We wanted to,” I reply easily. “Plus, it’s a gift for me too. You can flash me anytime I want. And I know it’s a little selfish because the book—well, the audiobook—said it might be uncomfortable for you, but it also said they’d get even bigger which…”

“Ben, stop. Please. Can you be serious for a second?”

That shuts me right up. Because all I want is for her to know that I can be. Especially when it matters.

She hesitates, then says, “You don’t have to keep doing so much. Not when…”

“I told you, I’m not doing it because I have to. I’m doing it because I want to.”

She nods, but something in her face tightens. Like that wasn’t the answer she expected.