I stroke the back of his neck.
“This isn’t just about Tabby, is it?” I whisper, careful not to spook him.
“I can’t get it together,” he mumbles. “I’m losing control, and I hate it. I fuck up everything I touch.”
“That’s not true,” I say, and he hugs me tighter until his breathing slows.
“I’m terrified of what I’m becoming, Nova.”
“You’re not your father, Zeke,” I say sternly, needing him to understand me, but he’s shaking his head. Now I’m truly confused. I lean back as best I can, but he won’t let me go. He’s latched onto me like he’s never before been given a hug, and that breaks my heart.
“But what if I become her?” he asks with fear in his eyes, and I struggle to grasp who her is for a moment.
“Your mom?” I whisper.
The moods, the quiet, the refusal to admit feelings. The deflection. That look of complete dissociation after he allowed himself to truly be with me in the shower. The joy of Christmas. Tabby leaving. The disconnect. Us fighting. Him getting dropped off here at three in the morning by a cop.
“I can feel the switch inside me. It’s so easy to go for it. I’ve seen her do it. What if I can’t control it?” His voice is high and breathy, like all this information is just now hitting him. Like he’s processing this discovery in my arms.
“Zeke,” I say. “Let’s just sit for a minute. You’re not her, okay. You’re not anyone but you.”
“It’s all my fault.”
“What is your fault?”
“All of it. Everything. I am losing everything.”
“That’s not true. You aren’t losing us,” I say, and he shifts backward at the wordus. His eyes are wet, but the jerk barely looks like he was crying. I’m swollen for days. I take his hand and put it on my stomach. “I want to be here for you, but you have to let me in.”
He grabs me and crushes the words between our lips. The feel of him, the aggression in his kiss, the depth of his emotion pouring from him to me is dizzying, just like that day in the shower. This is the unfiltered Zeke, and I cling to his sides to keep my balance.
He swipes his tongue on my bottom lip, pushing his way in, and I’m ready for him, greeting him with an overflow of sensations. His mouth on mine makes me forget everything that just happened.
Maybe that’s the plan. To forget.
He walks me back to the wall, and I welcome the support.
“I’m so sorry, Nova. I’m such an asshole. I need to make it up to you.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him deeper. His hands slip down my sides and over my ass. He squeezes the flesh and groans in my mouth. The extra softness of pregnancy just keeps showing up in places like my ass. My tits are enormous. My cheeks are puffy, and the way he palms me indicates he is very much enjoying the changes in my body.
He breaks the kiss with a gasp. “Is this okay?” he asks before his mouth trails a hot line down my jaw and to my neck at the same time his hand drives up my shirt to my breast. “Can I just live here for a minute? Can we just have this for right now?”
“It’s okay,” I say, and then wince as he squeezes my breast. “Just super sensitive.”
“Sorry.” He nips on my earlobe and pulls back to look at me. “I really want to fuck you right now.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, wary of this sudden flip in emotion. I know this is an avoidance tactic. That he’s redirecting his energy and ignoring the pain that is still visible in his eyes. “This all or nothing is hard on me.”
“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“What are you feeling right now?” I ask, vowing to take the next thing he says as to whether I’m going to let this continue. “If we’re going to use sex as a distraction, I’m not walking away from it this time feeling worse.”
“I need you,” he pants, running his hands over me in every place he can reach, and his voice drops to a whisper. “I need us.”
His eyes are clouded and narrowed in on me, sinking deep into my soul, devouring me with his gaze, like I’m the sexiest woman who ever existed.