After the Storm

Bonus Chapter #8

We literally had sex on the beach.

Our honeymoon in Tahiti was everything Taylor and I had wanted—romantic, secluded, and sexy. We stayed in an airy cottage by the water and woke up to a gentle breeze streaming in through the open window. It was magical. Taylor and I couldn't get enough of each other. We were either beside each other, on top of each other, or inside each other the entire two weeks. Despite how much time I spent in the sun, I barely tanned, because Taylor was sure to apply copious amounts of sunscreen all over my body. Then he spent the evening washing it off.

We got married at the Distillery District on a warm night at the end of June – a few weeks after the Saints had been eliminated from the Conference Finals. Of course, we had planned the wedding in the hopes that they'd go all the way to the cup, but some things were simply more important than hockey. I was never the one to have a dream wedding in my head – I just wanted to look beautiful and marry the right guy. The second I had no doubts but the first, Taylor told me over and over again, both that night and every day.

"Do we have everything?" I ask Taylor from the front entrance of our home, as I fluff my hair in the mirror.

Taylor, beside me, smirks. "By 'everything,' do you mean the chocolate chip cookies you baked?"

"Of course. They're the most important things. Max and Jack love my cookies. They'd never forgive me if we forgot them."

"You mean you'd never forgive us."

I don't answer that one. We were about to leave for my parents' house. They were hosting Taylor and I; Thomas, Beth, Jack, and Max (who were both already in double digits), and Taylor's parents, who were visiting. My parents and brother's family ended up moving to Toronto within the past year.

Our ride to the west end of the city was comfortably silent. At least I thought it was comfortable.

"Is something bothering you, Camille?" Taylor asks once he turns his Jeep off.

"I don't know. I mean, I don't think so, but I have been feeling anxious lately."

"Don't worry. You'll find a job. You literally just graduated with your PhD; give yourself time. I know you hate it when I say that you don't need to work. But it's true; you don't need to."

The truth is, I don't know how I have been feeling about finding a job lately. Ever since my pregnancy scare, I have felt my priorities shift. I don't think I regret getting my PhD, but I also don't think I have the same aspirations as when I started it.

"Yeah, you're right. And you know I've been wanting to try writing some more children's books."

Taylor playfully touches my shoulder. "I keep telling you to publish the first one you wrote!"

I roll my eyes but secretly – and I don't keep many secrets from Taylor – that's exactly what I've been thinking.

My phone buzzes inside my purse. It's Thomas.

"What is taking you two so long inside the car? What are you up to?"

I cluck my tongue in annoyance. That brother of mine. Such a ball buster. To my husband, I say, "Okay, we better head inside, they know we're here."

I love my parents' new house. It's a bungalow, so while space can be tight at times, it's abundant in charm. As soon as we step inside, something hits me. It's so strong that I barely have the manners to say hello to our families.

"Mom," I breathe out. "Did you make fish?"

"Yeah, but don't worry, there's chicken for yo—"

I brush past her – and everyone – as I make a beeline for the washroom, with Taylor on my heels. He just closes the door before I empty the contents of my stomach into the porcelain basin. Taylor holds my hair up and rubs my back as I keep retching.

"I didn't realize you weren't feeling well."

"Yeah, neither had I."

"Come on, let's see if your mom has ginger ale. Then maybe we can go home."

"No, we can stay. I think the feeling has passed."

When we rejoin our kin, everyone is already sitting at the dinner table. The fish smell is still unpleasant but Taylor's hand on the small of my back keeps me steady.

"Feeling sick, Camille?" my dad asks.

"No." It's my mom who answers. Her and Sofia exchange a look.

"She's pregnant," they announce in unison.

Taylor's hand freezes. My dad and James look happy, but mildly ill themselves.

"Oh my god," Max yells. "You two have fucked!"

"Duh! I've been telling you that all this time." Jack says.

"Boys!" That's Beth.

I tune out her chastising to focus on the suggestion that I'm pregnant. I have skipped my period, but that's irrelevant because my period has been irregular since the scare over a year ago. But now that the thought has been forced into my mind, it feels real to me.

Am I pregnant?

I'm pregnant. So freaking pregnant. I know doctors say you either are pregnant or not, and that there aren't degrees of pregnancy, but when you're two weeks away from giving birth, you certainly feel really pregnant.

I'm lying on my back. Now I'm on my side. Now I'm on my other side. I can't get comfortable, which means I can't sleep. It's also the beginning of a warm May, which means I am also insanely hot. It's like air conditioning is irrelevant to my body.

And because I can't sleep, Taylor can't sleep. With the grace of a professional athlete, he gets up from his side of the bed and walks over to my side.

"Taylor, I am so sorry. I know you have practice tomorrow morning."

"Hey, you never have anything to apologize for. Especially not this."

I love this man in his Calvin Klein boxers and tattoos so much. He's caressing my forehead and that special spot beside my eye that instantly relaxes me. When my eyes flutter closed, Taylor crouches next to my protruding stomach.

"Hey buddy, how's it going tonight? Are you asleep in there? Mommy's having a hard time falling asleep. Are you causing her trouble? Is that a yes? Are you already a handful, little guy?"

I am smiling this entire time as Taylor whispers to our son. Even though we don't officially know the sex, Taylor has somehow managed to convince me it's a boy.

Finally, Taylor gently moves my underwear to the side and brings me to a relaxing orgasm to send me peacefully off to sleep.

Marcus Thomas Hudson was born three days before his due date. He came into the world surrounded by the two people who love him the most. Taylor held my body as we walked around the maternity ward to induce labour, and held my hand as Marcus joined us. And now, he is holding our son up in the morning light as I rouse myself from sleep. Taylor, our baby, and myself. Our own perfect storm.