“When can we find out the sex of the baby?” My voice sounds gruff even in my ears. Brooke tenses at my statement and tugs on her hand, but I hold it tight in mine.

“Not till her next ultrasound appointment at eighteen weeks.”

So, I had fourteen weeks to wait, and figure out what the hell is wrong with me.

CHAPTER 8

A Nightmare

Brooke

He seen my scar! He stared at it! That is all I can think about as I hold my pencil to a blank piece of paper. Landon’s been in his study since we got home hours ago. And I have been freaking out down in my studio. Is he going to ask me about it? What do I tell him if he does? I toss aside my sketchbook and pencil. I am much too agitated to work. I stand up and pace. I cannot handle this on top of everything else. Keeping my illness a secret is going to be hard enough. Now I must dodge questions about my past. On top of preparing for after the pregnancy. Will Landon take full custody? If not, I need to investigate adoption agencies. I know one thing for certain: I will not let my child go to the care of my father after I die.

Deciding some fresh air is what I need I grab my camera and head upstairs to go for a walk. Just as I am about to make it outside, Landon’s Irish accent tumbles through my senses. “Where are you going?”

“Just for a walk.”

He looks at me under his inquisitive eyes. “You going to take some pictures?”

I clutch my camera. “You never know when inspiration will strike.”

He rubs his hands along his jaw creating a raspy sound. “Mind if I join you?”

Yes, getting away from you and all my problems was the point of my excursion. “Why?”

“Why not?”

Too flustered to think of a viable reason, I just shrug.

We headed out on a quiet trail that will lead us to the park.

“Soo…you walk this trail often?”

I nod. I attempted to set a brisk pace, but my body did not agree with me, forcing me to slow down.

“In a hurry to get somewhere?”

“Nope.”

We walked in silence for another ten minutes. “So, what do you like to photograph?”

“Anything that catches my eye.”

More silence. “I notice you seem to like blues and greens a lot.”

“Mm.”

“Is there any particular reason?”

They remind me of you. “Not really.”

More silence. “Have you always been interested in art.”

“Yes.” “It’s just, I noticed all your art is dated.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“And they all start after we got married.”

My stride falters. I can feel his calculated gaze. “Did you just not bring any of your old work to the house?”

My heart is pounding in my chest. “Could I see some of your old stuff? We could drive to your dad’s place?”

My breathing picks up. I cannot hear a thing. “Go to your dad’s house,” keeps playing on repeat in my head.