Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Hudson laughs as he roots around in the fridge, no doubt after the devilled eggs I made earlier. Memories of Mom cracking him with the towel for eating her dinner before it was ready have me smiling. I don’t fuss at him but instead make sure everything is ready to eat.
“You want to say the blessing?” I ask as I pull off my apron. The first Thanksgiving without our parents is hard, but Hudson promised me we’ll make new memories. Always making new memories. This is how we move forward.
He walks up behind me, resting his chin on my head, and palms my stomach. “Lord, thank you for giving us each other and this perfect life in Jasper. Tell Mom and Dad hi.”
I laugh and swat at his hand. “And?”
“Thank you for letting Rylie make me food all the time now, Lord. I’m extra nice to her.”
“All you had to do was say please. I told you this when we were kids. You were just too stubborn back then,” I say with a playful huff.
We both chuckle.
“And what else?” I ask.
“Thank you, Lord, for blessing this food.”
“Amen,” I say primly.
He kisses the side of my neck. “Is my son hungry?”
As if woken up by his daddy, our son kicks at him.
“Always.” Turning, I slide my palms up Hudson’s firm chest and rest them on his shoulders. My stomach is round and large between us. Life is pretty perfect.
“Did you take your medicine?” he murmurs, his dark brows furrowed in concern.
Well, almost perfect.
My new doctor in Jasper has prescribed antidepressants that are safe during pregnancy since my old ones were not. I don’t like taking them, but I also don’t like how low and dark my mind can get. The medicine helps keep me on the straight and narrow. But Hudson is the one who heals me altogether.
His love is a cure.
“I did. Do you think…” I trail off and bite on my bottom lip, hoping to keep the tears at bay. “Do you think he’ll be like me?”
Hudson tangles his fingers in my hair and kisses me fiercely. When I’m gasping for air, he pulls away and rests his forehead to mine. “I hope he’s just like you. Smart. Perfect. A great cook. Funny. Fucking adorable.”
I grin at him. “Maybe I want him to be like you. Strong and a math whiz.”
“That’s it? I give you five things and you give me two?” His teeth nip playfully at my jaw and the side of my neck.
“You’re a lot more than two,” I agree. My smile falls. “I meant, you know, mentally ill.”
No matter how many times Hudson assures me our son will be fine, I worry. There’s a chance that, genetically, I could pass down my depression to my son. But what I worry most about is new illnesses given to him because of who his father is—my brother. I’ve scoured the Internet looking for articles about incest. Despite the hate and disgust geared toward the subject, I’ve yet to find any proof that birth defects and mental disorders are linked to incest. In my effort to find answers, though, I did find a forum where people like us from all over the world have a place to discuss our challenges and triumphs while remaining anonymous. The admins of the group monitor the people in it closely and keep any hate away from us. I’ve found a friend, Maggie, who’s also with her brother. They have three kids and all of them are healthy. I ask her millions of questions and she answers them all patiently.
“Do you remember our vows?” he asks, his lips trailing kisses along my cheek until he reaches my mouth.
“I love you, even in sickness, Rylie. I’ll do the same for our son. We’re a family.”
Blinking away my tears, I smile at him. “A family.”
“Now let’s see if this dinner turned out okay. It’s not too late to crash Boyd and Patty’s dinner if it’s a total fail,” he teases, lightening the mood.
“You’re an asshole,” I grumble, unable to hide my smile.
“An asshole who was inside your asshole last night, heathen.” He grins wickedly at me.
“Hudson Hale!”
“Yes, Rylie Hale?”
“You’re so bad.”
He laughs, the sound deep and rumbly. “Then you must be bad too because you came loud enough that I was sure half the guests down the river heard me stretching out your needy little asshole.”
I shake my head at him. “This is not a good start to our official first Thanksgiving.”
“Whatever you say, beautiful. I think it’s kind of perfect.” He steals a kiss as he sets to cutting up the turkey.
I pick up the bowl of mashed potatoes and only wince slightly at the pain that shoots up my arms. I’ve been working hard with the weights lately because I want to be able to carry my son with no problems. One day soon, I hope to have full, pain-free functionality of my arms.