Redeeming (Red Lips & White Lies Book 2)

Most girls want roses and romance.

I want honesty and someone who will fight for me.

Is that too much to ask?

—Caitlin’s Secret Thoughts

I glare as Callen looks at the medical instruments attached to the ultrasound set up and wait for the smart remark.

Three. Two. One.

“What the fuck is that thing? It looks like a dildo.” He turns around to me with a stupid grin. Sexy but stupid.

“It’s a transvaginal ultrasound wand.” Callen’s eyes double in size. “Stop,” I warn him. “Kenzie had to tell me what it was last time before she used it. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

If someone had told me six months ago, I’d be lying in an ugly paper gown—yes I’m still stuck on this—basically naked from the waist down on an exam table with Callen Sinclair next to me . . . well first, I’d have probably been confused, then I’d have wondered if we were getting kinky in a doctor’s office. And that would still be easier to believe than our actual reality.

“Knock, knock,” Kenzie announces from the other side of the door, and Callen immediately moves next to me with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks protective. Always protective. Damn him.

“Come in, Kenz,” I tell her and lock eyes with him. “Breathe, Callen.”

“Aren’t I supposed to be telling you that, Cait?”

Kenzie smiles when she sees Callen before masking her surprise and going back into professional mode. “How are we feeling today?”

“Pretty good,” I tell her, a little nervous. “The nausea is gone, but I’m still exhausted.”

Kenzie’s mask slips again, and she looks between Callen and me. “That’s not abnormal, and you’ve had a lot going on, Caitlin. Stress can do crazy things to a body. I want you to listen to what yours is telling you. If you’re tired, sleep. If you don’t feel up to doing something, don’t do it.”

Callen drops his hand to my shoulder and squeezes once before he slides it down my back for support, and I hate how much I want to lean into his touch.

“Your blood pressure looks good, and your urine was fine. No issues with sugar. We’ll schedule you for a gestational diabetes test at your next visit.”

“Why? Is something wrong?” Callen asks as he moves closer.

“Not a thing. These tests are standard procedure. Nothing to worry about. We’ll do plenty of testing over the next few months, and your job is to not worry unless I tell you to.” Kenzie sounds perfectly clinical as she eases Callen’s nerves.

It seems to work, and he slides his hand back up to that spot between my shoulder and neck and squeezes. It’s unfair just how right his hands feel on me and just how much comfort he can still give.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Kenzie either. “Now… Let me just do a quick internal to make sure everything looks good. Pop your feet up here,” she tells me, and I get to experience the lovely humiliation of having an internal exam in front of Callen, before she pulls her gloves off and smiles. “All good. Are you ready to see your baby?”

The energy in the room turns on a dime, and when I look up at him, I don’t see the man I hate. I see the boy I loved. “You ready to see our baby?”

He opens his mouth, but no words come out, and he closes it and nods again. His eyes stay locked on mine, and when I lie back, he takes my hand in his . . . and I let him.

“Now this is going to be a little cool,” Kenzie tells me as she squeezes jelly on my belly, then presses down with the wand, and I watch tears pool in Callen’s eyes as he hears our baby’s heartbeat for the first time.

“That’s a strong heartbeat,” Kenzie tells us, and Callen drops down into the chair next to the exam table and rests his elbows next to me so he can hold my hand in both of his. He presses his lips to my fingers.

“That’s our baby’s heartbeat, Caitie.”

I manage to nod, which is good because there are no words for this moment.

Kenzie takes a few images, then she points at the screen. “Do you see that? They’re sucking their thumb.”

“Oh wow,” I gasp. “Look at their face. Those lips.”

“Those are your lips,” Callen whispers, awed.

“Do you want to know the sex of your baby?” Kenzie asks, and Callen and I have a silent conversation between us. A shared history after a lifetime of being in each other’s orbits, and it only takes one look for us to be on the same page.

“Yes,” I tell her. “Please. I need to stop saying it.”

She pauses the screen again and takes another shot. “Congratulations. You’re going to have a daughter.”

Callen presses his forehead to mine as tears stream down my face. “A girl, Caitie. We’re having a girl.”

I close my eyes and focus on the beauty of the moment instead of the pain. “We’re having a girl.”

“What about Persephone?” I ask as I steal one of Callen’s fries later that afternoon. We’ve gotten a tree and basically bought out every decoration Target had left, which wasn’t much, this close to Christmas. My Amazon cart is going to get a workout tonight. And as promised, now we’re at The Busy Bee having lunch. Sometimes I forget how good their strawberry shakes are. I could see these being a pregnancy craving, for sure.

Can I send Callen on strawberry shake runs if we’re not together but we’re living together? I’m going to need to put a pin in this and get the general consensus of the girls later.

Callen drags his fry through a disgusting amount of ketchup and pops it in his mouth. “Persephone Sinclair is gonna be hell on a little kid learning how to spell their name.”

“First.” I hold up a finger and steal another fry. “Who said Sinclair? Beneventi is a great last name. And second, I had to learn Caitlin Beneventi. What’s the difference?”

He pushes the rest of the fries my way, and I smile triumphantly. “Persephone is a longer name than Caitlin, and why wouldn’t it be Sinclair?”

I add an extra shake of salt and pepper and feel no regrets as I make fast work of his fries. If I have to carry his baby and look at his stupidly handsome, annoying face every day, the least he can do is feed me.

“Why would it be Sinclair? We’re not married. You don’t have to do any of the work. I have to carry her. I have to get fat. And I have to have my body ripped open to give birth. Why should she get your last name?” I’m only half-serious, but that half matters. The other half is a traditionalist at heart and wants our daughter to have her father’s name. He’s going to be a great father, and she’s going to love him. But I’m not ready to tell him any of that.

Callen tries to take his fries back, but I slap his hand. “No backsies, Sinclair.”

He looks torn. “I guess I just always figured we’d be married when we had kids, and you’d all have my last name.”

My hand stops midway to my mouth as I stare in absolute shock. “Excuse me?”

“I’m vetoing Persephone,” he evades. “We can deal with the last name thing later, but I’m not naming our daughter Persephone. What the heck would her nickname be? Percy?”

“Why does she need a nickname?” I push, and he might as well smack my forehead with the look he gives me. “Okay, so our families are nickname people. Forget I said that. What about Serefina? Her nickname could be Sera.”

“Sera Sinclair?” He looks less than impressed.

“Sera Beneventi,” I argue, and we basically end up in a stare-off until I break first and laugh.

“I missed this, Cait.”

It feels good.

Until it doesn’t.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you broke my heart, Callen.” Some days, I wonder how we’re going to manage co-parenting when I can barely manage being in the same room with him most of the time. Then other days, I want nothing more than to hear him say he’s sorry one more time so I can tell him I love him and forgive him and to please never let go.

But how can I do that when I can’t trust him with my heart?

My life? Yes. He’s proven that.

But my heart . . .? How many times am I supposed to let one man break it?

Today has been an incredible day, but it’s not that day. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“I’m never going to stop apologizing for that. I know I hurt you, and I’m so fucking sorry.” All teasing is gone from his voice. Pain is there in its place, clinging to every word. I want to say, good, join the damn club. But I can’t. Because as mad as I am at him, I still hate seeing him hurting. “Please, Cait . . . put yourself in my shoes. If someone told you if you stayed with me, you’d be putting me at risk, can you honestly tell me you wouldn’t have done the same damn thing?”

A million smart-ass answers are sitting on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t force any of them out. Because I can’t say I’d do anything all that different. But Callen doesn’t deserve to know that because the one different thing I’d do is talk to him first.

“You should have talked to me. You could have saved us both so much pain.” I throw my napkin on the table and signal the waitress for the bill. “We could have been happy, Callen. We lost our chance. We lost the life we deserved.” I grab my purse and get up.

“Where are you going?” He asks, frustrated.

“To the bathroom. Pay the bill. I want to go home . . . Oh wait. I almost forgot. I don’t have one of them anymore.”