Ever since I found the ring in their bedroom, I’ve gone back and forth on what to do with it. Give it to his mother? Let her decide? Keep it for when Lennon’s ready to know, if she’ll ever be ready to know. I hate that I’m left to make this decision when either one could hurt her, or worse—have her running from me.
Each night over the past week, I’ve dreamed of Lennon and our fake marriage. It feels so fucking real, I don’t realize I’m dreaming. She looks at me as if I’m the only man in the room, and then as soon as I touch her, Brandon’s face appears. Every damn time, I wake up gasping, ready to take a beating from him because that’s what I deserve.
I’m so fucked.
Battling my emotions has been the hardest part of agreeing to this arrangement. I didn’t even take a second to think about how this plan would affect me before blurting it out, but I don’t regret it. I’d do it over and over again if it meant keeping her happy and stress-free.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” I greet as soon as I hear Lennon’s feet pad into the kitchen. I love being able to sleep in a little on Saturdays, but it’s never much. After I start a pot of coffee, I make breakfast, knowing Lennon needs food to fully wake up.
“Ugh.” She leans against the counter, her blond hair a mess on top of her head. She looks freaking adorable.
“Rough night?” I arch a brow, glancing at her over my shoulder as I cook an omelet on the stove. “Looks like you got into a fight with a toaster in the shower.” I smirk when she looks up at me and glares.
“It’s not fair that you literally wake up like that…” She waves her arm up and down, motioning to my body.
I chuckle. “It’s a curse.”
Lennon snorts, moving around me to reach the fridge. “I had a hard time falling asleep. My nerves are shot, not to mention it’s getting uncomfortable to sleep. My boobs are annoying and sensitive, and I feel like a beached whale.”
I shoot her a look, linger over her breasts, then move my gaze down to her belly. “You have the tiniest bump.”
She takes the jug of orange juice and slams the door shut. “Well, it doesn’t feel tiny when I’m trying to sleep.”
Oh hey, hormonal Lennon. I snicker, her death glares always cracking me up.
“I heard a body pillow can help during pregnancy. Want me to find you one?” I ask casually, expecting to catch heat for reading up on this kind of shit.
“I was thinking about it actually.” She pours juice in a cup, then takes a long sip. “Wait. How do you know about those?” She pauses, then continues before I can respond. “Never mind. I should know the answer to that one.” Lennon laughs, then gives me an appreciative smile.
“I like reading up on stuff so I have more knowledge about what you’re going through. You know I’m not going anywhere, so I want to educate myself.” I flip the omelet once more.
“Well, it is your apartment, so it’s not like you’d leave anyway.” Lennon takes a seat at the table, and I shoot her a glare before turning off the stove.
“Yours too since your name’s on the lease,” I mutter softly, grabbing two plates from the cabinet.
“What?” she asks loudly.
“I put your name on the lease,” I repeat, emphasizing each word. “So it’s not just my apartment. It’s yours too.”
She gives me a quizzical look, glancing up at me from her glass. “When did you do that?”
I place an omelet on each of the plates, grab two forks, then bring them to the table where I set one in front of her and take the other. “About a month ago.”
Lennon stares up at me. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
I shrug, not seeing why she’s so rattled about this. “I guess it just hasn’t come up till now.”
Digging into my food, I take a huge bite so I have an excuse not to speak. Lennon’s eyes burn into my skin, and after a minute, I can’t take it any longer and stand to get myself a glass of juice. By the time I sit back down, I’m happy to see Lennon’s eaten half of her omelet.
“Hunter.” Her scolding tone has me bringing my eyes to hers. “You really added my name to the lease?”
I set down my fork and give her my undivided attention. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I?”
She looks around and blinks. “Well, I don’t know. It just seems kinda significant.”
“I said it before, and I’ll say it again in case you’re experiencing forgetful pregnancy brain,” I begin, which makes her chuckle. “You aren’t going anywhere, and neither am I. This place is just as much mine as it is yours. You and the baby and me…as weird as that is, I don’t give a shit. This works.”