“Natalie Westbrook, will you marry me?”
I roll my head in his direction. “Of course, I’ll marry you. We’ve talked about it a hundred times.”
He digs his hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a black box. Leaning up, he rests his elbow on the mattress. “I was finally able to pick it up yesterday but wanted to wait until today. I was praying we were pregnant so you would feel obligated to marry me.”
“Idiot.” I smack him in the chest as tears fill my eyes. “I would have married you either way.”
He winks and pops the box open. “Thankfully, I’ll never have to find out if you would have turned me down.”
My mouth drops open. I tilt my head and glance from the ring to him and then back to the sparkling diamond nestled inside the white pillow. “Wow.”
“Too small?” He grins.
“Nothing about you is too small. That thing is going to catch on everything.” It’s at least a two-carat pear-shaped diamond. The cut and color are pristine as the light shines off it in all angles. “Somebody’s going to cut my finger off and steal the damn thing.”
“Shit.” He snaps it shut and moves as if he’s going to put it back into his pocket.
“I’m kidding.” I grab at the box and roll over on top of him. “You’re going to have to protect me.”
He sobers. “Always, Babe. I love you more than life itself. I’ve spent the last twelve years waiting for you to come back to me. I wasn’t living. I was existing. The second I saw you behind the desk in the ER, my heart started beating again. You own me body and soul.”
“God, you’re beautiful.” I cup his face and kiss his lips. When I lean back, I shake my fingers in front of his face. “Let’s make this shit legal.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Trey
For a Thursday night, the bar is packed. Of course, a large group of people is here to help Natalie and me celebrate our engagement.
Leah and Aaron are chatting with Nicole and Lucas, who has turned out to be a pretty good guy. Hey, I can’t fault him for wanting to step out of the way for Nicole to be with her baby daddy. Although, it’s disgusting, he thought that person was me. Thankfully, they’ve straightened everything out.
To my left is Lillian and Colton. They’ve been talking non-stop to Savannah and Travis about shopping, weddings, and babies. Savanah’s baby. We haven’t shared our news yet.
I’m going to be a father. Finally. Three weeks ago, we went to the doctor and found out everything is going great. The doctor reassured us there is no increased risk of miscarriage at this point.
Natalie was under a lot of stress during her first pregnancy and is happy and healthy this time. No matter what though, I’ll stand with her. This time. Next time. Every time.
Even if she can never carry a baby to term, it doesn’t matter. We’ve already discussed adoption as an alternative. Hell, even if it does work out, adoption is still on the table.
When she glances at me with those big green eyes, my heart swells. It seems impossible to be happier every day, but I am.
Behind me, the door chimes as someone comes in. Natalie’s face drops as if she’s seen a ghost.
I twist to see who came in. Clive Westbrook. As usual, he presents like a disheveled homeless man. Although I haven’t seen him in years, he’s always looked the same. The instinct to grab Natalie and drag her out of the bar and away from him is overwhelming.
However, before I can take one step toward her, Lillian and Colton flank her and all three of them give him a death glare.
“Look who’s here,” he slurs and weaves over to them. “My long-lost spawn. Satan’s spawn.”
“Dad, get out of here,” Lillian snarls and throws her arm around Natalie’s shoulders.
“Hey.” He waves his arms in a circle. “This is a public place. Right? Right?!” The second ‘right’ is yelled out at the top of his lungs, grabbing the attention of the rest of the customers. The din in the room quiets for a second, and then everyone turns their focus away from us and the steady noise of the bar returns.
“Nobody fucking answers around here,” he mumbles and moves closer. “What do we owe the pleasure of this group gathered here today?” His red bloodshot eyes take me in, and he stops in mid-step.
Shit. I’m impressed he can string together that long of a sentence. Especially drunk. His hair is standing on end, and his t-shirt is torn and disheveled. His eyes are glassy as his gaze flits around the room. “Hello, Clive.”
Leah, Nicole, and their men move toward me.