Free If Only by Lisa M. Owens Page B

“Are you and the baby both all right?”
    “No!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I’m sorry.” After taking a deep, cleansing breath, she reached for his hand. “She just called to say my first ultrasound pictures were ready, and we could pick them up today.”
    “Oh,” he stated with a deep sigh of relief. “Don’t scare me like that again, baby! I swear you just took ten years off my life!”
    “I’m so sorry, sweetie,” she answered with regret lacing her voice as her arms reached for him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed her back against his chiseled chest. She sighed as she kissed his cheek. She bit nervously on her lower lip as she hesitated, “I just had an idea of what we could get your mother for Christmas.”
    Scott suddenly felt as though he had been kicked in the solar plexus. Oh, God . This will be Mom’s last Christmas.
    She felt like kicking herself as she watched Scott’s smile fade right before her eyes. She nibbled on her lip as he quickly moved out of her grasp. She had unintentionally hurt him. He extracted himself from her grip, stood, and picked up his clothing. Without even looking at her, she heard him murmur something about taking a shower.
    She got up from the sofa and walked over to where he was standing. She reached out to touch his arm, and he jumped back as though he had been burned. “Scott,” she pleaded, her voice breaking as she continued, “Scott, please don’t shut me out. I love you so much, and I only want to be here for you.”
    Scott refused to meet her emerald green gaze, knowing if he did, he would see tears filling her beautiful eyes. He couldn’t bear to look at her right now, and her sympathetic voice was nearly his undoing. He longed to go to her; he wanted her to wrap her arms around him and give him the emotional support he so desperately needed. He felt like burying his head against her chest like a child, crying in the shelter of her arms until he could cry no more.
    She would understand; he knew without a doubt she would understand. He just couldn’t face her, not just yet. So he did one of the hardest things he had ever had to do—he simply turned around and walked out of the room and away from his wife, the love of his life.
    Bree wrapped her arms around herself as she watched him walk away. She couldn’t help but feel hurt. She knew he wasn’t really upset with her, he was upset about the situation, but maybe she shouldn’t have told him. Maybe it hadn’t been her place to break the news to him; maybe she should have let his mother tell him. But it was too late now. The only thing she could do was step back and give her husband the breathing room he seemed to need. He would come to her when he was ready and not a single second before. And she would be there, waiting.
    *
    Scott wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror with one hand while running his other hand through his wet hair. He couldn’t even stand to gaze at his reflection. He felt as though he were only about an inch tall. He hated himself in that moment, knowing he had inflicted unnecessary pain upon his wife.
    Sighing in defeat, he knotted a large, white terrycloth towel around his muscular frame, the rough material clinging to his dampened body and dipping low at his bare hips. He stepped out of the bathroom, his bare feet leaving wet footprints on the plush beige carpeting. He grimaced, knowing there would be hell to pay later. If Bree was still speaking to him, that is. He peered into the living room, and not finding his wife, he turned and walked toward their bedroom. If the door wasn’t locked, he would consider himself lucky. Maybe he should have constructed a makeshift white flag from a washcloth so he could wave it at his wife to show her he was surrendering.
    He entered cautiously, half-expecting Bree to throw something at him. He breathed a deep sigh of relief when no sharp objects were thrown at his head. He sat down on the edge of their king-sized bed, still unable