“Asa.” Her eyes close, head falling forward, sobs racking her body. I maneuver us quickly without jostling her in the process.
“Montana, babe.” I move her hand that’s covering her face, placing my ring on her finger.
“Yes, Asa, without a doubt yes,” she says through tears and a smile on her face.
“I love you, Montana Rose.” The urgency to kiss her consumes me. I don’t worry about her returning the words as our mouths collide, and I know I’ll be making love to my future wife in a matter of minutes, especially with the way she has her leg on top of my hip, arching into my body. It may have sucked waking up alone in our bed, but I think this morning will more than make up for it.
epilogue
MONTANA
One Year Later
“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” Asa states. We’re sitting on the couch in our living room. I’m in the middle, feet propped up on the coffee table, next to Asa as he holds our son, Camden, in his arms. It wasn’t an easy labor, not at all. At one point, the doctor mentioned a C-section. I was ready for anything and everything. The recovery process from that would be a lot longer, a lot harder, and having a vaginal delivery afterwards is almost unheard of. Thankfully, they released us three days after he was delivered, now making it day two of us being home.
“Thank you. Have I mentioned how grateful I am to have you by my side through everything?” He was rock steady, even when I shook my head vehemently at the doctor. Asa understood me and asked if I could push a bit longer before making that decision.
“Babe, I’m always going to be there for you and Camden.” His eyes move from mine to our son, a son I am so grateful for. I would have loved to have a baby girl, and honestly, one day later on, maybe we’ll try again, but for now, I’m thankful. Maybe if it weren’t for the five overbearing Hart men we’re surrounded by, that barely let Leena breathe when it comes to someone attempting to take her out. All I’m saying is, I am in no hurry whatsoever to see Asa be a girl dad, along with her grandfather and uncles. Lord, I’d need all the margaritas in the world to get me through her life.
“Yeah, you are pretty amazing like that.” Asa’s got his arm wrapped around me, Camden propped on his other side, wiggling, and I know what that means. I sit up, already knowing our little man does not like to wait for his meal.
“We’re a team. I wouldn’t mind another one, you know.” I swear my eyes bulge out of their sockets.
“Are you crazy?” My body is in the thick of postpartum. Washing my hair is scary with the gobs of hair that seem to fall out, my breasts are sore, which really sucks because I wanted to nurse, but after the agony of attempting to get Camden to latch, it was an epic failure, not on my part or on Camden’s; it just wasn’t meant to be. We tried, God, did we try, every single day since he was born. It put a damper on my thinking breastfeeding was going to happen. A plan I had in place during my whole pregnancy. I guess it could be worse and no milk could have come in. Now it’s just a pumping situation. Which isn’t always convenient when you want to go to the grocery store for a quick minute and can’t plop out your boob when he gets hungry. Marlie, though, goodness, how I love her, she showed me this amazing pump that you can wear while doing everyday things. It’s all battery operated, rechargeable, and slides inside your bra. That has been a lifesaver in itself and the best bank we’ve spent so far.
“Not right now. Jesus, I’m not that much of an asshole.” Asa’s eyes sweep down my body. So much is not what it used to be, all of the changes I’ve gone through. Yet he still looks at me like I’m the prettiest woman in the whole universe, which is definitely a far cry right about now. I’m in a pair of his sweats, his old tee shirt that’s threadbare in a few places and sporting some holes. The only clothing I’m wearing that fit on my body are the granny panties because, well, you may get away with not having a period for nine months, but bam, once the little one is out, it comes back with a vengeance, and the nursing bra that is currently housing my breast pump.
“Talk to me in, like, two years. I love our son. He’s amazing, has his dad’s demeanor and looks. I’d just like to enjoy him before even contemplating having another one right now.” Asa moves his arm to help me up, same as he did while I was pregnant. It’s easier now than just last week, though the tenderness definitely reminds me that, ‘hey, you just had a baby with a big noggin, and you have stitches down there.’