Conception (The Wellingtons #4) - Tessa Teevan Page 0,111

my son, and the last thing I want to do is push her away before I win her back again.

“You’re right. It wasn’t just you. We let go. I thought I was strong enough to handle it. Now? I don’t even know what I am or what I’m doing.”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair, trying to decide if I want to scream or curse more. The baby in my arms chooses this moment to coo in his sleep, and I smile instead of doing either. The little guy’s already playing peacekeeper between us.

Amelia’s watching us closely. I can tell she’s trying not to smile and not as angry as she may seem. So I switch tactics.

“Amelia, why don’t you take a moment and ask yourself why I’m here?”

If I were a crying man, I might break down in tears the moment realization crosses her features.

“Yeah, she finally gets it.”

Wide eyes meet mine and I nod.

“Baby, you were the siren song callin’ me back here. It just took a while for my sails to change course.”

There’s a brief twinkling in her eyes. Then she lifts her chin. “Considering the mythology of sirens, weren’t you afraid of sailing to your doom?”

I shake my head and readjust the baby in my arms. “Never. I’ll do whatever it takes to be with you, even if it means being lost at sea. I’d die for you. And now that I have a son, I’d die for him.”

“I know you would,” she whispers. “Family means everything to you. But, Knox, just because you know about Branson doesn’t mean you have to pretend to want me.”

God, she’s so infuriatingly stubborn.

“Amelia, when I left Nashville and drove to Crystal Cove today, I had no idea about the baby. I came back here for you.”

Knox’s intense gazes penetrates my heart, my brain, and my fricking lady parts, which have no business being electrified right now. Just looking at the bundle in his arms is enough to make me melt like butter in the hottest cast iron pan. Him talking all sweet? Nope, my heart can’t take it.

There should be an unwritten rule that, after a woman has a baby, men aren’t allowed to make romantic declarations. Scratch that. It should be written on the entrance of every maternity ward and repeated on each delivery room door. Hell, make the men sign waivers. “I, insert name here, will not wreck my wife’s”—or, in my case, baby momma’s—“hormones or take advantage of her out-of-the-ordinary state of mind by deciding to be sweet at the most inopportune time.”

Of course, since Knox barged in here after the fact, such a form wouldn’t have been useful for me anyways.

I want to pinch myself. I still can’t believe he’s truly here. With the whirlwind of Branson’s birth and subsequent shock of the art of breastfeeding, I almost thought I was hallucinating him through my exhaustion. Eight months I’ve pined for him. Eight months I’ve yearned for him. Eight months of my body changing, my life changing, and he had no idea. Seven months, once I found out about the baby, of me alternating between cursing him and loving him wholeheartedly.

The first time Branson was placed in my arms, love won out over anger.

With one look at Knox holding Branson in one arm, using his other hand to rub circles on my wrist, I’m falling for him all over again. As much as I want to hold him at arm’s length, I want to let him back in even more. Heck, if I’m honest with myself, I’d admit I can’t let him back into a place he’s inhabited since the first night we met. But I can’t admit that. Not yet. It’s too soon. It’s too simple.

He showed up here for me. I believe him because, well, why else would he be here, especially if he never got my letter? Yet I need to know this is going to stick. For my sake, and for Branson’s, I need to know that this isn’t a fluke. That, when reality sets in and he’s hard at work, rising in the ranks at his dad’s company, he’s not going to forget us or leave us behind.

As much as it kills me, I just can’t do it. Not yet.

I love Knox. I think giving birth to his son amplified that, something I didn’t know was possible.

I just don’t know if it’s enough.

DEAFENING SILENCE FILLS THE AIR on the drive home from the hospital. Amelia watches over Branson in