My Son's Father Is the Wrong Brother novel · Chapter 8 of 24

Chapter 8: Day Fourteen

On Thursday my sister took Milo for the night, and I spent the afternoon cleaning a kitchen that was already clean.

By seven I had read the nurse's printout so many times I could have recited it.

At ten to eight I was sitting on the edge of Timothy's bed in a gray T-shirt and cotton shorts, with my hair still damp from the shower.

He came out of the bathroom in black trousers and nothing else.

Water ran down his chest and over his stomach.

I looked at the paper in my hand.

I looked at it very hard.

"So," I said. "The nurse says tonight is the strongest window. If we do it tonight and again Saturday, the odds are best, and the guide says that counting from..."

"Rosemary."

"...the first day of my last cycle, which was..."

"Rosemary."

He sat down beside me. His knee touched mine, and I lost my place on the page.

"Give me the paper."

"I'm just making sure we do it right."

"There's no right." He took it out of my fingers, folded it once, and set it on the nightstand. "It's not an exam."

He turned toward me.

His eyes were very grey in the lamplight.

"Look at me," he said.

I did.

"You told me on Sunday you'd choose this."

"I did."

"Is it still true?"

My mouth was dry. "Yes."

"Say it."

"I choose it," I said. "I choose this."

He lifted one hand and slid it along my jaw, and I turned my face into his palm before I could stop myself.

Then he kissed me.

It wasn't slow.

It was hard and sure, his mouth opening mine, and I made a sound I didn't recognize.

I grabbed his shoulders.

His skin was hot. His hand went into my wet hair and tilted my head, and the kiss went deeper until I forgot the paper and the nurse and the Thursday on the calendar.

"There you are," he muttered against my lips.

"What?"

"The woman from the hotel."

I pulled him down with me onto the bed.

He came willingly. His weight settled over me, heavy and warm, and I opened my legs around his hips without being asked.

He groaned into my throat.

"Slow down," he said.

"No."

"Rosemary."

"I've waited four years, and I'm not slowing down."

He laughed, low, and I felt it everywhere.

His mouth went to my neck. His hands slid under my shirt and over my ribs, and when his thumbs found my nipples I arched off the mattress.

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