28. Winter

TWENTY-EIGHT

WINTER

T he lock whirrs as I press my phone to the keypad.

It's hard to believe it's been months since I last visited my apartment. But when I open the door, I don't see a condemnable mess.

Instead, everything is pristine. Someone even watered my plants.

I spin around to face Hunter. "This you?"

He smiles at me softly, and I take a moment to really see him. He looks so exhausted. Dark circles shadow his eyes and wrinkles mar his messy shirt.

"I knew you wouldn't like it if I ended your apartment lease without your input, so I made sure the place was taken care of until you were ready to let it go."

He shoves his hands in his pockets. I hear the unspoken context: Let it go or run back to it.

"I see," I murmur. I drop my bag on the leather sofa I was so proud of purchasing when I moved into this place.

I walk to my meditation corner. The crystals are still in the same spot next to my sound bowl.

I turn back to him. "I really missed you, H." And goddamn it, I'm close to crying again .

I spent seventy-five percent of my session with Genevieve crying. It wasn't until the last thirty minutes that I was able to dry up my tear ducts.

I shouldn't have stopped going to therapy. I need it. I likely will always need it as part of my treatment—even when my mental health struggles are in remission.

I've gotten better—gotten through—much of what happened on the surface.

But as Genevieve told me today, the body remembers.

"I missed you too, baby. I hate being away from you," he says. He walks closer to me.

When I'm in his arms, I inhale and exhale deeply.

This was a major part of the problem. I just needed H. Without him, I feel untethered.

He's silent, letting me guide what we talk about and how much we talk. I appreciate it.

"I had a panic attack," I say into his chest. He rubs soothing circles on my back, and I feel major muscle groups unclench.

"Do you want to talk about what happened to set you off?"

Circle.

Circle.

Circle.

"Yes. No.I don't know." His chest vibrates beneath my ear as he chuckles.

More silence.

"Well, first, we went to the convenience store, where I had the shock of my life when I pulled out my credit card." I look up at him, and he has the good sense to look chagrined.

I raise an eyebrow.

"I like calling you Mrs. Brigham. I can't help myself," he says, and I put my head back on his chest and swallow down the words I want to say.

That it's high-handed .

That it's crazy and confusing because he hasn't even proposed to me.

That I do want to be tied to him in marriage. That I want to be his wife. That I'm scared because I don't know which way is up right now.

"I was feeling trapped," I say, still not looking at him. "There were all these guards, and everyone seemed so on edge. And all I wanted was to sit outside on the p-patio, and R-Rio t-told me n-no." I'm horrified that I'm crying again, choking on my words.

He hums and keeps rubbing my back, sliding his hand up my spine, between my shoulder blades, and into the hair at the nape of my neck.

"And then I realized that I'm never going to feel safe again because our lives won't be safe. There will always be someone trying to kill us, right? And now—" I bury my face in his chest.

"I didn't even get my t-tea," I wail.

His chest vibrates again.

"Are you laughing at me?" I snap my head up to his, and humor fills his eyes. I growl.

"Baby," he says, stroking my cheek. "Did you figure it out yet?"

Stroke. Circle.

"Figure what out," I murmur.

"That you're pregnant." I go rigid in his arms and look away. I contemplate lying for a few seconds, denying the truth. But then he sighs and pulls me back into his body again.

He rocks me gently from side to side for a full minute before he steps back. My body automatically misses his warmth.

"Let's order some food. I'm starving. What sounds good to you?" He strides over to the kitchen island and pulls his phone out of his pocket. Scrolling through the food ordering app, he says, "Italian, Asian, Indian, Mexican, American...."

At that exact moment, my stomach growls. "I want a quesadilla," I blurt out. "With extra chicken and pico de gallo. Guac and sour cream on the side."

I'm salivating. "Oh, and chips and salsa. Extra jalape?o."

He smiles. "I'll put a rush on it."

"A lot of jalape?os. Like, double what they think is a lot."

His eyes dance with amusement, twinkling in the overhead lights.

"Got it, baby," he says with warmth diffusing his tone.

"Awesome," I say to fill the space. The silence is heavy and awkward because I ignored his massive declaration.

He knows.

I know.

We know.

But neither of us are talking about it.

Hunter heads to the bathroom, and as soon as he's out of eyesight, I sag onto the edge of the bed. Just say the words, Winter: I'm pregnant.

But if I say the words, that makes it real, and that makes the risks of everything surrounding our lives even more real. Sharper. There's so much at stake. It's one thing to keep myself safe, but to protect a baby?

I drop my head into my hands. I will not spiral.

The sound of running water startles me out of my thoughts, and then Hunter stands in front of me.

"Come, I got a bath ready for you." He holds his hand out to me.

I take it.

Once we're both in the bathroom, I allow him to strip me down. There's nothing sexual about his movements until I'm completely naked, standing next to the nearly full, fragrant tub. Then he pulls me to him, my back to his front. His arms circle my stomach, and he rocks us from side to side with his head pressed to mine.

One hand goes to my breast—my heart. The other spans my lower stomach, right over my womb.

My breasts are so sensitive that the feeling of his warm palm against my nipples hurts, but I don't stop him.

I just drop my head back against his chest.

We stand like that for a few more moments before he releases me, helping me into the tub. He turns off the water and says, "I'll let you know when the food is here. For now, relax."

And then he's gone.

Left alone with my thoughts, I battle embarrassment at how I acted today.

Not only was it foolish, it was also dangerous. Stupid.

Don't beat yourself up, I hear Genevieve say.

But the truth is, it was a terrible decision. Here I am again, letting my anxiety control my actions.

Give yourself grace.

Genevieve called Dr. Greene, and we all talked for a little while about medication management and sending me to a high-risk obstetrician with my past birth history. But first, Dr. Greene wanted to verify the pregnancy tomorrow to make sure everything was growing properly.

That sent me into another spiral.

What if something is wrong? ran through my brain over and over and over. I'm so grateful Genevieve was there to help talk me through the obsessive thoughts.

"I'm nuts," I said to Genevieve. She smiled at me and said, "No, you're not. You are a person who experienced several hugely traumatic events—events that altered the biochemistry of your brain. You have challenges, but you are not ‘nuts,' Winter. And guess what? You've got control of your health before. You will do it again."

I've done it before. I'll do it again .

I close my eyes and rest my head against the edge of the tub. I must have dozed off because the next thing I know, Hunter rubs my face, and the water has cooled considerably.

"The food is here, baby," he says.

He helps me out of the tub, wrapping me in a fluffy towel that smells freshly laundered. My robe, also fresh, hangs on the back of the door.

I put it on and walk out to the kitchen. When the smell of fajita meat and spices hits my nose, I stop myself from running to the kitchen island.

He'd opened the boxes and tore the paper bag with the hot tortilla chips open.

I don't acknowledge him as I scarf down half of the quesadilla in less than five minutes.

When I finally look up to him, I cast my eyes back down quickly.

"Sorry," I say.

"For what?"

"For eating like an animal," I reply.

"Stop," he barks. My head snaps up in his direction, and I see his face is serious. "Don't talk about yourself like that. You've starved yourself for most of today, and it's—" he looks at his watch "four p.m. now. You need to eat. Your body knows what it needs."

I hum in acknowledgment of his words. I'm hyper-critical of myself right now. It's a learned act, a default following such an anxiety-riddled day, so I absorb his words and take them to heart.

Once I'm full and sure my food will not reappear, I clean up the kitchen. Hunter wanders over to the window, and when I look at him after I'm finished, I'm slightly bewildered to see that he's stripped down to his boxers and sits on the oversized meditation pillow.

"H?" I say, confused.

"Hm?" he says, throwing the sound over his shoulder .

"What are you doing?"

"I'm meditating." He gives me an amused look. "Want to join me?"

I look at the pillow. "There's not exactly a lot of space, H."

"There's plenty of space," he says.

He pulls me down to sit in front of him between his spread legs. I butterfly mine, arranging my robe so I'm not flashing the world.

Then I examine the glass, noticing the windows are darker than I remember. At the top of the panes, there's a mechanical-looking track. Blinds?

"I wanted to make sure the glass wasn't see-through from the outside," he says. "And that sun is disrespectful in the morning, so I added shades."

He did all this in case I came back, even though he wanted me to stay.

I lean back against him, and his arms go around my waist.

"I want to do something," he says suddenly. "I've been researching breathwork."

I lift my eyebrows in slight surprise. I've studied somatics and breathwork extensively in my psychology classes, even though they're woefully underfunded areas of study.

"I know you're the expert here," he says. "Wanna do some breathing with me?"

I smile slowly. "That sounds nice, H."

He squeezes me gently.

"Wait, let me just—" I reach in front of me, bending over to rummage through the essential oil stash in front of us. When I find the bottles of clary sage and lavender, I jerk when his hands glide up the backs of my thighs.

I push back against him and frown when he removes his hand. I'm conscious that I'm naked under my robe—the scratch of the terrycloth material against my breasts amplifies my awareness .

Looking over my shoulder, I suck in a breath at his heated, focused expression.

"Put the oils in the diffuser, Sunbeam." His voice is rough, so I don't delay doing what he commands.

Settled back between his legs, I revel in the feeling of his heat radiating behind me.

This is what I need. This is what I missed. Everything is okay as long as Hunter is with me.

"Let's do square breathing," he says close to my ear. "Four counts to breathe in, hold for four, four counts to exhale." He holds his hands palm up on each of his thighs.

"Let's do it together," he says.

I can't speak, so I nod and place my hands on his, palm to palm.

Together, we inhale. It takes a few cycles before we're in sync, but when we do, I feel like my body is so connected, so close to his, it's like we're two parts of the same soul.

I don't know how many minutes pass as we sit in the most simple, perfect silence. The oils circle us, and the waning sunlight casts a warm glow across the hardwood floors.

I take Hunter's hand and place it on my robe belt. He undoes it without saying a word, and it slips from my shoulders, pooling at my waist.

He doesn't move again except for the slow, measured in and out of his breath behind me.

So I take his hand, putting both of them over my breasts. He lifts them, saving my sore tits from the pressure of gravity. I shiver. He kisses my exposed shoulder.

"Do you trust me?" he whispers. If it were in any other setting, I never would have heard his words.

I nod.

"I need the words, Winter," he says. I lean into him.

"Yes," I say on a breath. "I do trust you."

His hands flex, squeezing my breasts. My resulting inhalation is sharp. He releases his grip a fraction, rubbing the sides of my flesh with his thumbs.

"Do you trust me to provide for you?" he says.

"Yes, I do." He releases one breast, touching my stomach in soothing circles.

"Do you trust me to protect you?"

"Yes, H." We rock slightly from side to side.

"Do you trust me to love you until I'm dead in the ground and beyond?"

I choke on his words, the ever-ready tears starting to form at my lower lids.

"I want to believe that, H," I say, choosing to be honest.

He hums. "I guess I'll just have to prove that one to you over our lifetime." He kisses the top of my head. "I don't mind," he says, the words still soft.

"You haven't asked me to marry you," I tell him, allowing the tears to track down my cheeks. "I mean, it's stupid because we've known each other for barely a year. But…."

He stills for a beat, and then he rubs his face against the side of mine.

"Do you trust that I'll keep our family safe? That you're always safe when you're right by my side?"

I pause, unable to speak because of the lump in my throat. "Y-yes, I do." Because it's true, when we're apart, I feel exposed. Vulnerable. But when I'm with him....

It's not healthy to be so reliant, so co-dependent on someone. And yet....

"Do you trust that I need you as much as you need me? That you're literal oxygen in my lungs?" His hand skims lower and rests over that part of me shielding the unspoken gift we've been given.

"Yes, H."

He hums again. Then he moves his hand, reaching beneath the pillow. He pulls out my used pregnancy test, holding it in front of us .

We both stare at it for a long moment. I sniff, tears falling down my face.

"Winter," he rasps out. "I'm with you forever. You don't have to be afraid of this—of moving forward together. It's my mission in life to slay all your dragons. And our life will be beautiful. Our whole family will be beautiful. I did the wrong things when August was born. I know I did, and I'm so lucky to have the chance to repair things with him. To atone."

He squeezes me slightly at the last word, inhaling slowly, then relaxing his hold as he exhales.

"I'm so lucky to be able to prove that I can do better. To prove to myself and everyone else who matters that I can be who you need me to be. Who our baby needs me to be. Who our family needs me to be."

I sob. "I'm so scared, H."

"I know, baby. I know it's scary."

"What if something bad happens?"

"What if something amazing happens?"

I curl my lips inward, sniffing back the snot commingling with my tears.

He turns me around so we face each other, still pressed close. I lose the robe. We stretch our legs in opposite directions as our pelvises touch.

It's an intimate position. I love it.

"I can't control the future. Neither can you. But can we commit to making each day the best it can be? Can we commit to choosing our happily ever after?"

I don't see an ounce of fear in his gaze. Instead, I see joy, pure happiness.

He's already in bliss at our future, and if he's not worried—he's not scared—maybe I can release my fear too.

"Yes, I will try my damnedest," I say, touching his mouth with mine and peppering kisses around his face.

"That's all you can do, baby. And I believe in you. You've never failed yet. "

Then he takes over, kissing me with everything he has in his body and soul. I feel his passion. I feel his love.

I feel his radiant joy.

"I had this vision of what this would look like, me proposing. I wanted my mother's ring and to do it at the top of the Eiffel Tower, not when we're fighting for our lives," he whispers against my lips.

"I can't wait to make you my wife, hence calling you Mrs.Brigham." He pulls back, grinning. "But I can see how that could be confusing, especially since I've jumped over a few steps with you."

I snort. He kisses my nose.

"But I don't want there to be any doubt or confusion. You are mine. You always have been, and you always will be. You are my wife. But once it's safe, and this is all behind us, if you want a big wedding featured in US Weekly , you'll have that, baby. It's whatever you want."

I kiss him in response, giving him all my love, hope, and dreams for the future.

When we're both fully naked, facing each other in a tight embrace, I kiss him soundly when he says, "Will you give me the chance to make my vision real? I want to ask you as I do in my dreams. Can you wait?"

So I say yes as I lower myself onto his hardness. When we both finish, deeply sated and soaked in peace, we crawl into my bed, wrapped around each other. I sleep well for the first time since he's been gone.