The Way Back

Old Wounds

She opened the French doors and stepped onto the balcony, gazing at the magnificent view of the ocean. The chilly December breeze nipped at her exposed skin as she watched the setting sun. Stevie balanced her mug of decaf coffee on the railing and smiled diminutively as Lindsey's arms came around her. He put his chin on her shoulder and kissed her cheek. "When did you get home?" he inquired, doubting if he'd ever see her again since she and the girls went on a shopping trip.

"Maybe ten minutes ago," she answered, letting her body relax into his. She sniffled and dabbed at her brown eyes. "My allergies are killing me tonight."

He murmured a compassionate apology into her ear. He understood her body was going through changes daily, and he hated he could only stand idly by most of the time and offer comforting words.

"My feet are killing me too," Stevie added, putting her small hands over his.

"Is someone asking for a foot rub?" Lindsey raised an eyebrow and chuckled. 

"You did knock me up."

"Really? I couldn't tell," he quipped sarcastically and patted her swollen belly.

She smirked and raised her hand to his face, pinching his cheek hard. Lindsey jolted and turned his head, leaning in and biting her neck with the same pressure she had used to pinch his cheek then rolled his tongue over the assaulted ivory skin. She stifled a moan and ran her fingers through his disobedient curls.

"We need to talk," he whispered.

"About?" she asked, lolling her head to the side and taking pleasure in the circular motions his hands were making across her stretched abdomen. His hands were always magic and knew precisely where to touch.

Lindsey knitted his brows and stopped his ministrations. "What is..." he trailed off and snaked his hand into the hem of her top, moving his palm around and feeling elastic bands of material. "Stevie, what the hell is this?" He started to pull at the fabric until she smacked his hands.

"Stop, Lindsey," she commanded, giggling at the puzzled expression marking his features. "It's for support, and it helps, so leave it alone."

He was too focused on figuring out the contraption she was wearing underneath her clothes to leave it alone like she wanted. His curiosity had the better of him. Lindsey moved her tunic top over her stomach, and his eyes widened at how complex all the straps were, circling her hips, crisscrossing at her bust, and trailing over her shoulders then down her back to meet the thick band at her hips. "This is crazy," he muttered. "I don't remember you needing anything like this with Libba."

"Because it was only Libba treating my womb like a five-star hotel. Linds, what do you want to talk about? I know it's not the prenatal cradle I'm wearing," she said and fixed her clothing.

"That's what it's called?"

"Yes," she answered, frustration fraying through her voice as she took a sip of her coffee. She wanted off her feet and desperately yearned for a hot bath.

Lindsey laughed at how her nose scrunched up a little and how her lips curved in revulsion at the taste of the cold decaffeinated Folgers. He followed her into the bedroom. "Dr. Shepard called about the amniocentesis. If we're going to do it, it needs to be scheduled soon."

"No," Stevie responded strongly, removing her jewelry and putting the pieces into their rightful places in the ornate jewelry box.

He said her full first name with a heavy sigh and collapsed onto the chaise lounge. "It might be good to know."

"No," she repeated without batting a mascara covered lash.

"I think we should consider doing it."