Bain, page 19
“Ms. McGinn… it’s good to see you again.”
“You too, Dr. Segal.” Kiera stands from my lap and I stand along with her, holding my hand out.
As we shake, I introduce myself. “Bain Hillridge.”
“Nice to meet—” Dr. Segal jolts and his eyes narrow at me, trying to see past the ball cap. “Well, I wasn’t expecting to cross paths with a Titan today. Great game last night.”
“Thanks,” I say, and I expect him to want to talk about it or even get a picture. Instead, he turns and gives all his attention to Kiera.
“Go ahead and hop up on the table,” he says, moving to the sink to wash his hands.
I move to Kiera’s side as she lays back. Dr. Segal moves to the end and locks out the stirrups. “Slide down a bit more,” he says as he sits on a stool and rolls right on up between my girl’s legs.
I have a moment of distinct discomfort and my hands fist, but I take in Dr. Segal’s clinical expression as he doesn’t even look at her there yet. Instead, he pulls the ultrasound machine over and explains the test.
He shows Kiera the ultrasound wand and then covers it with a medical condom and lube. It’s thin, the end a little bulbous, but it’s quite long.
Way longer than my dick.
I take her hand and she squeezes as the doctor inserts it into her vagina. I wince but Kiera doesn’t even flinch.
She’s a stoic person, though, so I ask the doctor, “Does that hurt her?”
“It doesn’t,” Kiera said, her head tilted to look up at me. “Weird, but not painful.”
Dr. Segal uses his free hand to press down on her lower belly a little and then makes an adjustment on the computer. He rotates the wand and the screen is filled with a gray, hazy static that looks exactly like nothing.
But then I see it. Just briefly… a large black circle, then it’s gone.
Then it’s back again, much clearer.
“That’s the gestational sack,” Dr. Segal says, and my heart hammers in my chest. “And that small gray area is the yolk sac.”
It’s so small, no bigger than a bean. “And that’s our baby?” I ask incredulously.
“Sure is. Let’s listen to the heartbeat.” Dr. Segal taps a few keys and then the room is filled with a fast, rhythmic pattering.
I glance at Kiera. Her eyes are as round as saucers and I know mine look no different.
“Why’s it so fast?” Kiera asks the doctor.
“The fetal heart rate at this stage can be between 100 and 180 beats per minute.”
“It’s like a hummingbird’s wings,” Kiera says in awe and emotion clogs my throat. That’s the perfect way to describe it.
I lean over and brush my lips over her forehead. I’ve never felt closer to a human being in my life and it’s all due to the miracle flickering on the computer screen. That’s both me and Kiera, thriving against all odds.
It’s pure magic.
“I’d say date of conception was around January 1, which means your due date will be September 24. Although it could be a few days before or a few days after.”
“Holy shit,” I wheeze. That’s this year. Just months away.
Dr. Segal grins at me, then Kiera. “Congratulations.”
We walk out of the doctors’ office hand in hand with a picture of the ultrasound in Kiera’s purse. I already snapped it with my phone as we were checking out and sent it to my parents and brother.
“What do you think about grabbing a few nights’ worth of clothes and come stay at my place?” I ask.
Kiera’s been to my place before and she’s stayed the night, but we mostly have settled into a routine at her house.
“Sure,” she says because she’s easygoing that way.
“It’s closer to the arena and we have a game tomorrow, then the memorial the day after, which will be there. Save us some driving.”
“That it would.”
We play the Denver Blue Devils tomorrow and then the day after that is the twentieth—the first anniversary of the crash. A remembrance celebration has been planned at the arena. It’s a given that Kiera and I will go together after we talked about it earlier this week.
I push that out of my head, though. That’s two days away and I don’t want that dragging me down from my high of seeing my kid in Kiera’s belly.
CHAPTER 26
Kiera
I hum to myself as I pour the eggs into the pan, swirling it to evenly coat the bottom and lower edges. I precut all the things that Bain likes in his omelet and add them in large clumps. I’m using his largest pan and six eggs, so it can handle a lot.
Crisp bacon, diced ham, cheddar cheese, onions, red peppers.
I want to add mushrooms, but we’re going to share the omelet and he’ll gag if he gets one in his mouth.
Smiling, I consider what the omelet says about our relationship. I enjoy cooking for him. We love to share food. I know the things he likes and doesn’t. In fact, I got up early this morning and grabbed a quick shower just so I could do this for him and we could share a meal.
It’s game day and he’ll be heading to the arena around noon. He spends a lot of time getting into his headspace and derives energy hanging with his teammates. They might play video games in the players’ lounge or they might kick a hacky sack around in the parking garage. They’ll eat together and do warm-up preparations.
But then Bain also takes alone time. He’ll put on his game-day playlist filled with, oddly enough, Viking war music. It’s guttural lyrics with a heavy metal flair, and it gets his adrenaline going. He has a ritual when lacing his skates that he recites the various skills he uses on the ice.
We’re creating our own rituals and I like this morning game-day habit. Me slipping out of bed and making him breakfast.
My stomach grumbles as the smells intertwine and I have a brief curiosity as to how much weight I’ll gain. Dr. Segal gave advice to eat healthily and continue exercising, so I imagine I’ll be fine, but damn if I don’t feel like I can eat this entire omelet myself. That I know is psychological because the little “bean” isn’t big enough yet to pull on my resources.
I move to flip the edges of the omelet but jerk as I feel Bain’s big body step into mine. His chest is bare and warm, and I can smell the lingering scent of toothpaste as he kisses my neck.
“I don’t know what smells better… you or that omelet,” he murmurs as he buries his nose in my hair. He loves my coconut-scented shampoo. I was touched to see he bought some and put it in his shower.
His hands move from my hips so that his arms circle around my stomach. His teeth graze my ear and I shiver.
Bain chuckles over my reaction and then takes the spatula from my hand.
“You going to cook now?” I ask, leaning my head back against his chest.
Tossing the spatula on the counter, he turns off the stove. “Not hungry for an omelet.”
There’s a tinge of disappointment that I misjudged what he might want to eat for his game-day breakfast, but then he has me in his arms and whirls me toward the kitchen island.
Bain deposits me on the granite and nudges his way between my legs. He’s wearing a pair of low-hanging sweatpants and my mouth waters at his muscular perfection.
His palms lightly rest on my thighs and he leans in to kiss me… a mere whisper of his lips over mine.
“I only have eggs for breakfast. I can run out and get something else for you.”
“I’m craving something different,” he says.
“It’s game day, so whatever you want. I can run to the grocery store.” I place my hands on his shoulders and then immediately move one up to brush the hair threatening to fall into his eyes.
Bain leans into my palm, eyes closed like a cat getting rubbed just right.
When they open, they’re burning with something I’ve come to recognize as gluttony of a different kind.
“You shouldn’t have slipped out of bed so early,” he says, placing a hand on my chest and pushing me back onto the counter.
I wiggle my body as his hands pull at my leggings, my panties sliding down my legs along with them. Bain’s hands press against the insides of my knees, a command to spread my legs wider.
I don’t fight him on it but instead rise onto my elbows so I can watch.
Bain is fascinated with my pussy and has spent countless hours touching me in all ways imaginable. My body tenses as his fingers glide along the outer lips of my sex and then bucks when he glides a finger inside me.
I groan as he curls it, then a harsh breath wheezes out of me when he pulls his finger free and licks it, his eyes holding me captive.
“You taste like fucking magic, baby.”
My body is his slave but my heart swears fealty to him when he bends over and pushes my shirt up. He presses a kiss over my belly and whispers, “Hi, little bean. Better hold tight because I’m getting ready to rock your mama’s world.”
Bain’s gaze rises and meets mine ever so briefly before his mouth descends on me. His fingers caress and his tongue tastes. The intimacy of oral with Bain has always made my heart flutter because he so obviously enjoys doing this to me. His groans of pleasure heighten my own and he barely sets up a mind-blowing sucking on my clit before I’m exploding so hard, a sob of pleasure bursts from my chest.
I’m delirious, barely understanding why Bain’s pulling my body a little closer to the edge of the counter but then I realize it’s the perfect height for him. His cock is out and sliding into me, stretching me in all the right ways.
“Goddamn,” he mutters, a curse of appreciation over how great this feels.
Bain forces my legs around his hips, then places his hand behind my neck, pulling me up so he can kiss me. I taste my pleasure on his lips and feel his desire straight through to my bones.
It’s a gentle fucking, just like he did last night. Before we left Dr. Segal, Bain asked a litany of questions, among which were concerns about sex.
“We have a very vigorous sex life,” Bain proclaimed, not in a bragging manner. It sounded almost clinical. “Can I hurt the baby?”
Dr. Segal’s been around the block. He didn’t even bat an eye. “You can have sex as often as you want.”
“But how gentle do I need to be?”
I placed my hand over my mouth to cover my smile, but Bain wasn’t joking. He looked at Dr. Segal expectantly.
Dr. Segal smiled. “Hard thrusting is okay. The baby’s in a fluid sac. But the cervix tissue can be sensitive, so if you see any spotting, maybe go a little gentler.”
Despite Dr. Segal’s assurances, last night Bain treated me like I was fine china. He made love to me slowly, even though I tried to urge him faster with my hands on his ass.
He refused and being much stronger than I am, I had to go along with it. It was so beautiful and for the first time in our relationship, we actually came together. That was all Bain as he knows my signs and he watched me carefully. He also knows exactly how to touch me between my legs to get me where he wants me. I’ve never had that experience before… simultaneous orgasms, but it was so beautiful that I want them all to be that way.
It appears that’s what Bain’s trying to do again. He moves inside me gently, his face all harsh angles of pleasure, and I can tell he wants to let loose.
I wrap my arms around his neck and tighten my legs around his hips. Bain’s mouth is on mine, kissing me deeply while fucking me so sweetly. The angle I’m sitting only lets him thrust in shallow measures, but it’s hitting my clit just right.
My head spins as I feel another orgasm brewing. I start to pant, my sure sign, and Bain kisses me harder. His hand slips between us and he strums my clit so it’s getting pressure from all angles.
Letting my head fall back, I close my eyes and give in to the pleasure. Just as my orgasm breaks, Bain slides in deep, actually lifting me from the counter with his hands under my ass, and groans deeply. His hips jerk as he unloads. “Fuck, Kiera… just… fuck, that’s good.”
I shudder uncontrollably from the shared experience, wishing it could go on and on forever.
When I lift my head and open my eyes, I find Bain staring at me. His face is flushed, his eyes turbulent. “Tell me it’s better because of what we created.”
There’s a plea within his tone. He doesn’t understand why we’ve grown so much closer in such a short period. The natural answer is the baby, and maybe that’s it.
But maybe we’re just two people who found a deep connection, regardless.
I press my palms to his cheeks and shake my head. “I don’t know what it is. I just know it is.”
He nods, accepting that I know no more than he does. Lifting me from the counter, he walks me into the master bathroom. Supporting me with just one arm under my ass and with me clinging to his body, he reaches into the shower and turns it on.
Only then does he let me slide down and remove the rest of our clothing.
Under the heat of the spray, Bain washes me, moving over my body leisurely. We talk about the game tonight and I promise to cook him another omelet when we get out.
After we’re both dried off, dressed at the table eating—both of us with a fork but sharing the huge plate of food—Bain drops a casual question that somehow feels like a bomb. “What do you think of my place? Do you like staying here?”
“Your master bathroom is so much nicer than mine,” I say. My house—or rather the one Drake bought when he moved here and lets me live in rent-free for helping with the boys—is a bit older. Bain lives in a condo, but it’s spacious with tons of windows with amazing views and it’s brand spanking new.
“We should consider moving in together,” he says, and my fork freezes halfway to my mouth.
He grins at me. “What? It’s not so unusual to be thinking of these things.”
I lower my hand. “It is when you have two people who don’t do relationships. You’ve never wanted one or even tried it, and I’ve had a horrible experience. It’s a huge commitment.”
Bain’s knee nudges mine under the table. “So is having a baby together.”
“Fair point,” I concede.
“I’m just saying,” he says as he picks up the fork I’d laid down, scoops up the bite I’d discarded and holds it out for me to eat. I lean over and accept being fed with no thought. “I’ve committed to helping you through this pregnancy. We already spend every night together. Why don’t we just pick a place and stay there?”
“Move in together, you mean.”
“Yes, that’s what I mean. Pick a place.”
“Where would you want to stay?” I ask curiously.
Bain shrugs, hands me my fork and picks up his own. “Your place is bigger and has a yard. Mine is newer and closer to the arena.”
“We won’t need a yard right away,” I muse.
“Unless we get a dog,” he says with a wink.
“Let’s just start with a baby and see how it goes.” I cut into another bite of omelet, chewing on the food and the idea. “This place is big enough. You have three bedrooms and the middle one could be the nursery.”
Bain grins at me. “You said nursery.”
I frown at him as he chuckles. “What about it?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s just… sometimes a word comes up dealing with the baby and it’s like a slap upside the head that this is so real. And I mean a slap in a good way. It just tickles me.”
And there it is… another slide of my heart closer to the cliff’s edge, ready to topple all the way over for this man.
“One other thing,” Bain says as he stares at me, his expression hard. “My place is closer to Pitt. You’re going back to school and this will make your commute easier.”
“But I—”
Bain reaches across the table and claps his hand over my mouth. “I don’t want to hear a single negative thing about you going back to school. I promised Drake I’d work hand in hand with him to get you there. So accept it, okay?”
I stare at him, feeling that traitorous, blood-pumping organ in my chest take a flying leap off the edge of the relationship cliff. But I can’t let him get away with covering my mouth and shutting off my words.
I give him a long lick on the palm of his hand and he jerks it away, just the way Drake did when he tried to silence me that way. “Gross.”
Grinning, I watch as he wipes it with his napkin. “Okay… let’s make your condo our place.”
Bain’s eyes shoot up to lock with mine. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
CHAPTER 27
Bain
You would think that for an outdoor memorial to commemorate the tragic plane crash that killed forty people associated with the Pittsburgh Titans organization, occurring in February, there would be a gray cast to the sky with the threat of precipitation to set the mood. I equate sad occasions with dreary weather.
But today, February 20, it’s mild, climbing into the mid-fifties with bright sun. The gathering is being held at the new monument Brienne had commissioned to be unveiled today and is open to the public. It sits on the outermost perimeter of the arena property, no more than fifty yards from the Allegheny River, and the design holds a ton of meaning. A roped-off area is provided with security for where the VIP guests will sit, such as the actual players, their families, executives in the organization and the widows and widowers who have chosen to attend. The rest of the crowd will spill into the arena parking lot, but there’s a stage with a jumbo screen set behind it so everyone in attendance can hear and see what’s going on.
When the large fabric covering is pulled off the monument, there’s a collective gasp from the audience. I’d not seen the mockup of it, although Kiera had. She stands beside me, our hands clasped.
Brienne, on the stage, says into the microphone, “I present to you ‘Titans’ Valor.’” She goes on to explain the design, which is now being shown on the massive screen. “We commissioned local artisan Wayne Whitely who constructed this amazing piece from local Pennsylvania bluestone. The abstract sculpture swirls from the base over twenty feet high in fluid, graceful lines that represent the motion of our players on the ice. The inside planes are left with roughened edges to represent the trials and tribulations of the sport. At the base are forty individual plinths that represent our dear friends who died in the crash, along with their names and likenesses carved into the stone. And if the cameraman can show it… yes, there, thank you—it reads, ‘In memory of our fallen Titans. Your spirit, your passion and your legacy will never be forgotten.’”
