It Was Us Read online

  “But—”

  He interrupted me. “No buts.” He kissed me, his lips barely brushing mine. “This is it. Right here. This is everything.”

  THIRTY SIX

  WEST

  “What are we doing tomorrow?” Abby asked.

  She was sprawled out on a towel in a blue polka dot bikini. We were just north of Law Street, parked on the sand, enjoying an afternoon at the beach. The sky was cloudless, the sun a bright beacon directly above us, a cool offshore breeze blowing in. A perfect summer day.

  I shifted on to my stomach so I could look at her. “I don't know. What do you want to do?”

  She shrugged.

  “Fireworks?” It was 4th of July.

  “Sure.”

  “Barbecue?”

  “That sounds good.”

  “Tetanus shot?”

  She blinked a couple of times. “What?”

  I grinned and reached out my hand, my fingers finding her arm. I squeezed. “Just making sure you're listening.”

  “Oh.” She smiled. “Sorry.”

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “Everything.”

  I squeezed her again. “Tell me.”

  She lifted her hair off her shoulders, letting the breeze cool her skin before dropping it back down. “I don't know. My mom. Work. The baby.”

  I let my gaze settle on her stomach. She was almost six months pregnant and I'd never seen her look sexier. She'd blossomed over the last couple of months, her skin tan and glowing, new ungodly curves popping up all over. And her stomach. I sighed. Perfectly round, perfectly smooth. I couldn't stop staring at it, couldn't stop touching it. A part of me was inside of her, growing, thriving, and it was the biggest turn-on imaginable.

  “Tell me.”

  She propped herself up a little better, shifting from her elbows to her hands. “Just thinking about everything.”

  “Yeah, you already said that. I want specifics.”

  “Work is insane.” Her face was tilted skyward, absorbing the sun. “I shouldn't even be here.”

  “You're not slave labor,” I told her. “You deserve a day off.”

  “I know. But it's Sunday. Open Houses and stuff. I should be working.”

  I shook my head. “You've worked more hours in the last two months than you worked all last year.”

  “That's not true.”

  It might have been a bit of an exaggeration, but not much. Her mom had gone in for her surgery at the beginning of June and Abby had reverted back to all of the old roles she'd played when her mom had been battling cancer. Nursemaid, housekeeper and her dad's right-hand man at the office, all rolled into one.

  “Still,” I said. My hand was still on her arm and I let it travel down her skin, my fingers gentle as I found her hand and entwined it with my own. “You know what I mean.”

  “I just feel bad that my mom is working today and I'm not. She should be resting.”

  “She wanted to go back to work.”

  “She's only four weeks post-op.”

  “And she said she's fine.” I squeezed her hand. “You gotta trust her. Just like they've trusted you. Trusted us.”

  Trust was the only word I could use to describe her parents' reaction to our decision. I didn't sense approval but I didn't sense much in the way of disappointment anymore, either. Maybe from Abby's dad, but definitely not from her mom. Her mom had made it clear that she thought we'd made the right decision and even though I knew she probably wished we'd never gotten ourselves into the situation we were in, she trusted what we were doing.

  Abby rummaged inside the canvas bag sitting next to her, pulling out her phone. She checked the time. “Maybe I should head in for a couple of hours. See if they need help.” She tapped at the screen and I knew what she was doing. Calling them.

  I sat up and grabbed the phone out of her hands. She looked at me, eyebrows raised, mouth open.

  “What the—?”

  I tucked the phone underneath me. “No.”

  “Give me the phone, West.”

  I smiled at her. “Come get it.”

  She leaned close and dug her hand under my thigh and I felt my body instantly respond. “West.”

  I laid my hand over hers and guided it to my crotch. “Hmm? What?”

  A reluctant smile formed on her lips. “Stop,” she said, her head swiveling back and forth, making sure no one was watching.

  I almost laughed. I didn't give a shit what the people around us saw. “You're not going in. It's 4th of July weekend. No one is looking for houses.”

  “People are always looking for houses,” she said irritably. “Holidays don't stop them.”

  “Well, I'm stopping you.” I shifted so the phone was further underneath me. It poked at my ass but I didn't care. “I'm off work for three days and I'm taking full advantage.”

  I'd gone back to work at the baseball academy shortly after classes at USD ended. Turned down the wood bat league and told Coach Klein about the baby and how I wasn't sure I'd be playing ball next year. He'd pointed out the scholarship issue—they wouldn't pay if I didn't play—and I'd told him I knew all that. And that I guessed I wouldn't be coming back to USD. Abby had freaked about me quitting school but I'd told her I would transfer to SDSU...after the baby was born.

  She changed the subject. “You get a new batch of kids this week?”

  I nodded. “Yep.”

  “And it's still okay?” She chewed her lip as she looked at me. “Being back at work?”

  “It's better than okay,” I told her.

  And it was. I'd missed being there during the school year. I'd missed the guys I'd worked with but, more than that, I'd missed the kids. The eager looks on their faces when they first arrived for camp, their drive and determination. Sure, some of them goofed off and didn't give a shit about being there. But most of them reminded me an awful lot of myself at that age. And I wanted to give them the best start possible.

  She nodded. “Okay. Good.” Her hand tickled my skin as she tucked it under my thigh, digging around for her phone.

  I lifted myself off my towel and landed on top of her, bracing my hands on either side of her, my stomach barely brushing her belly. I used my knee to nudge her phone to the far corner of my towel, close to the sand.

  “Get off me!”

  I kissed her cheek, then her lips. “Not a chance.”

  “West! People are watching.”

  I rubbed her arm, then slid my hand down her side, resting it on her waist. Her skin felt smooth and soft and there was nothing I wanted to do more than bury myself inside of her. “Let them watch.”

  She shoved at me. “Get. Off.”

  I shifted on my side so I was half on her towel and half in the sand. “Stop looking for your phone. Stop thinking about work. Then I'll get off.”

  She shoved at me again but there was a smile on her face. “Fine.”

  “And then later,” I said, my eyes roving over her body, lingering on her bikini top. “You can get me off. For real.”

  Abby laughed and rolled her eyes. “Can't believe you even want me right now.” She nodded her head at her stomach. “Especially since we have to navigate around this.”

  “Trust me,” I told her, locking my eyes on hers. “I want you. More than ever.”

  She made a face. “Really? Because I feel like a cow.”

  “You're not a cow,” I assured her.

  She rolled her eyes. “What about the extra twenty pounds? That's very cow-like.”

  “Not a cow.” I scooted back over to my towel, brushing the sand off my legs. “All woman. The woman who's having my kid. The woman I plan on spending the rest of my life with.”

  She smiled again and I saw her eyes well up with tears. “Yeah?”

  “Absolutely.”

  THIRTY SEVEN

  ABBY

  “You and West have plans tonight?”

  I turned around, startled. My mom was standing in the doorway to my bedroom
.

  “Uh, yeah. Not sure what, though.” It was the fourth and West had said we'd go somewhere to watch the fireworks. Beyond that, I had no idea what he'd planned.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine.” I picked up a folded shirt from the laundry basket sitting on my bed and grabbed a hanger. I slipped the shirt on to it and walked it over to my closet.

  “I know we haven't had a lot of opportunity to talk about the baby,” she said. She stepped inside my room.

  “That's okay,” I said quickly. “There's been a lot of other stuff going on.”

  And there really had been. With her mastectomy and recovery, with her follow-up doctors appointments. Throw in finals and working at the office, always covering for my dad when he wasn't there, and I'd barely seen either of them except for when she'd been in the hospital.

  “We should sit down,” she told me. “The four of us.”

  “Okay.”

  She unfolded her arms and shoved them in her pockets. I glanced at her. Her hair had grown out even more, long enough for her to clip it back with barrettes and bobby pins. Her expanders were already in, prepping her body for the implants that were scheduled for later in the summer, but they weren't noticeable. She wore a baggy t-shirt and, to the unknowing eye, she looked normal. Complete.

  “I just mean that with everything that's been going on, I don't really know what your plans are. With the baby. The future. All of that.”

  I didn't want to tell her that I didn't know, either. The baby still felt a little surreal to me, even closing in on six months. The flutters in my stomach, the pokes and prods that seemed to become stronger and more insistent each day—they were all reminders of what was happening, of what was growing inside of me, but I felt like I hadn't had time to fully absorb what was happening. Because there was a lot of other stuff that had taken priority.

  “I know.” I reached for another shirt, shaking out the wrinkles and trying not to grimace at the darts running down the sides of the garment. I despised maternity clothes. “We can talk. Probably during the evening since West is working days.”

  She nodded, a smile on her face. “Okay. Whenever is convenient.”

  “Okay.”

  “Abby?”

  I turned my attention to her.

  “We're not upset,” she said softly.

  I thought back to the conversation we'd had in the living room back in May. I did know that. “I know.”

  “Good.” She leaned up against the door frame. “I just...I want to be part of this with you. And I know we haven't gotten off to the best start because of everything else going on. The surgery and everything...” Her voice trailed off and I saw the tears sprout in her eyes.

  “It's okay,” I said quickly. The last thing I wanted her to feel was guilty. “Honestly.”

  She looked up at the ceiling, her eyes blinking rapidly. “I want to go to appointments with you. Go shopping for baby things. Clothes and diapers and rattles and strollers. All of that stuff.” She smiled at me through her tears. “And I'm sorry I haven't been able to. I'm sorry this goddamn cancer has gotten in the way of things.”

  I dropped the shirt I was holding and it fell soundlessly into the basket. “It's not your fault, Mom.”

  She nodded, wiping at her eyes. “I know, I know. But it's taken up more of my time than it deserves. More of my life. And your life. And the life of my grandchild.”

  She pushed herself off the wall and moved toward me, sitting on the edge of my bed. I grabbed the laundry basket and put it on the floor and sat down next to her. She wrapped her arms around me and I felt her body shake and I knew she was crying. I answered with my own tears.

  “I want to be there,” she whispered. “For everything.”

  I just nodded, my tears soaking her shirt.

  Because I wanted her to be there, too.

  THIRTY EIGHT

  WEST

  “I fucking hate living here.” I slammed the steering wheel in frustration.

  Abby glanced at me from the passenger seat. “Since when?”

  “Since every goddamn person in San Diego decides to come to PB for the 4th.”

  She tried to hide a smile. “Everyone?”

  “Yes. Every single one of them.”

  It was seven o'clock and we were sitting in gridlock traffic on Garnet, heading west. Cars clogged both the main road and all of the turn lanes. No one was moving. And it was not how I'd planned to spend the fourth with Abby.

  “We don't have to go to Sessions,” she said.

  “We're not.” It was our standard spot for watching fireworks, the park offering some of the best views for watching the fireworks explode over the Bay.

  She looked at me in surprise. “We're not?”

  I shook my head and inched the truck forward. At this rate, we'd be spending the entire holiday in my truck.

  “Where are we going, then?”

  I let out an exasperated sigh. “Nowhere, apparently.”

  “We can just go back to your place,” she said. “We don't have to go anywhere.”

  “No.” My voice was firm. It wasn't an option. Because I knew what we were doing. And it was going to happen, no matter how long it took to get where I wanted to go.

  She stifled a yawn.

  I glanced at her. “You okay?”

  “Just tired.” She shifted in the seat, her hand resting on her stomach. “This kid doesn't know the difference between night and day.”

  I stole another glance at her, this time looking at her belly. “Yeah?”

  She nodded, smiling. “Stays up all goddamn night.”

  I felt a twinge in my stomach, a twinge that morphed into a twisting vine of love and protectiveness that wrapped itself around my gut. “Just giving you some practice for when it's born,” I said.

  She chuckled. “No doubt.” She shifted again, tugging at the seatbelt that lay across her stomach. She scooted toward me, then sighed and unbuckled the seatbelt.

  “What are you doing?”

  She slid to the middle seat and grabbed the lap belt, clicking it into place. “I wanna sit next to you.” She put her head on my shoulder.

  I reached out my hand and squeezed her thigh. She was wearing a blue and white striped sundress and the fabric was soft, like a well-worn t-shirt. It hugged her curves and her stomach—our baby—stretched and strained against it. I let my fingers trail over the fabric and up her leg until they rested on her stomach. I palmed it, massaging her gently, my fingers kneading the hard firm flesh. I felt a poke as the baby responded to my touch.

  Abby laughed. “Guess you woke him up.”

  “He?”

  She smiled. “I had a dream last night that it was a boy. He was born wearing a baseball glove and his penis was a baseball bat.”

  “What the hell?”

  She shrugged. “Pregnancy dreams are weird.”

  “Clearly.”

  But I couldn't help but smile. We'd chosen not to find out the gender. Well, Abby had decided and I'd relented. Her decision to wait had taken me by surprise. She hated surprises and I thought for sure that she'd want to know what we were having. But when we'd gone in for the ultrasound at twenty weeks and the tech had asked, Abby said no. She'd glanced at me quickly, a questioning look in her eyes and I'd just smiled and nodded. If she could wait, I could wait.

  She snuggled against me and yawned again.

  “You should take a nap,” I told her. “So you don't fall asleep in the middle of the fireworks.”

  “I thought we weren't going to Sessions.”

  “We're not,” I told her. I stroked her stomach softly. “I'm talking about different fireworks.”

  THIRTY NINE

  ABBY

  Someone was shaking me. “Wake up.”

  I opened my eyes, disoriented.

  West was staring at me, smiling. “About time, sleepy head.”

  I sat up. My chin was wet and I realized I'd drooled not only on m
yself but all over West's t-shirt.

  “How long have I been sleeping?” I mumbled.

  “Long enough for us to get where we were going.”

  I straightened and stretched and glanced out the window of the truck. We were at the bay, right on Riviera Street. My phone was in my purse and I didn't wear a watch but, judging from the sky, it had taken us quite a while to drive the few miles to get there.

  “We're going to watch fireworks from here?” I asked doubtfully.

  “Maybe,” he said. He took the keys out of the ignition and stuffed them into the pocket of his cargo shorts. “We might be able to see them.”

  I slid across the seat and hopped out of the passenger side. The sky was dark blue, purples and reds streaking the sky. I couldn't see the sun from where we were but I knew it had sunk below the horizon.

  “What time is it?”

  He reached for my hand. “Almost eight.” He had a backpack looped over his shoulder and a Mexican blanket draped over his other arm.

  “So we're just gonna hang out here tonight?” I asked, looking toward the sand and the calm, dark water of the bay. A few sailboats floated by but, otherwise, it was empty.

  “Is that okay?” he asked.

  “More than okay,” I told him. And it was. Riviera Street and the bay would always hold a special place in my heart. It was where we'd had our first date, that party that he'd promised would be small but had included half of the teen population of San Diego. It was where we'd first kissed, where our journey together had started.

  We made our way down to the sand, West keeping a firm grip on my hand as we navigated the steps down to the thin stretch of beach. I knew he was being protective, knew he was worried about me slipping and falling. I waffled between being grateful that he was so cautious and careful with me to being irritated that he thought I was that big of a klutz that it was something I needed help with. I was pretty sure most pregnant women managed to walk down sets of stairs all by themselves. Like, on a daily basis.

  Families and groups of people littered the beach, parked in front of blazing fire rings. Older kids tossed Frisbees and smaller kids frantically worked on sand castles in the dying light. I slipped off my sandals, letting my feet sink into the soft, cool sand. West led me further down the beach, mimicking our walk that first night.