I turn off the water in the sink, blotting my hands with a paper towel. The orange liquid soap in the dispenser is industrial strength. I use it to wipe off the toilet seat as best I can. I’d be mortified if a maintenance worker had to clean up my mess. It’s a hospital room, not a sperm bank.

Ivy sounds distraught as she talks to Will, but I can’t make out what they are saying. I wait for the toilet to flush before heading back out. My pregnant girlfriend just jerked me off. I need to get my shit together before I can face anybody, let alone Will. I don’t need his disapproval on top of everything else. At least my heart is pounding like a jackhammer and not Ivy’s. She has to stay away from strenuous activity.

But damn, I feel better. I’m not as tightly wound. This is sure to be one heck of a day, and Ivy helped alleviate some of the tension. I must be a complete asshole for letting her do it, but it did help. Somehow she’s always aware of what I need, and I can’t help but smile at how well she knows me.

Will greets me the minute I step into the room. “Uh huh, so that’s why the door was locked. Wipe the grin off your face, you cheeky bastard.”

“Why don’t you mind your own business, dipwad,” I retort, unsure of how to act around him. Ivy told me Lauren outed him as gay or bi or something. All I know is that he likes to have sex with dudes. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but it puts my dealings with him on a whole other level. I don’t know too many gay guys, and I can honestly say I’ve never lived with one before. Our impending housing arrangement suddenly morphed into some kind of social experiment I wasn’t anticipating. I don’t know if he’s attracted to me or to Ivy or to both of us. Whatever the answer, he better keep his hands to himself.

“Will got the wheelchair from the orderly, so my chariot awaits,” Ivy says, trying to smooth the awkwardness between us.

One look at me and Will knows that I know, which is going to make him snarkier than usual. He’s looking at me warily, unsure of my reaction. It’s going to be an uncomfortable situation if we keep skirting around the issue. I should probably bring it up and get it over with.

“Listen, Will. I know you mentioned you were living with Warren, and now I know why. So let’s just leave it at that, all right?” I shrug, not knowing what else to say.

“Don’t worry. Landscaping Lotharios aren’t my type,” he says with a smirk. “Sure, a muscle-bound guy like you has his charms, but I’m more attracted to a man whose fashion sense extends beyond plaid shirts and cargo boots. A hefty bank account doesn’t hurt either.”

“What he’s trying to say is that he likes guys who can afford to wear silk scarves,” Ivy whispers loudly. She chuckles, wobbling toward the wheelchair, unsteady on her feet.

“Will, help her! C’mon, man! You’re standing right there,” I scold him as I rush across the room. Luckily Will steadies Ivy, tucking his arm under hers before settling her into the wheelchair. “Will, if this is going to work, you’re going to have to be there for Ivy a hundred percent.”

“Yes, Dad,” Will responds, rolling his eyes at me.

“Don’t even get me started about leaving her at the airport for two hours and—” I’m ready to tear into him but Ivy reaches out and touches my knee, rendering me speechless.

“You two are going to have to get along or at least try and make the effort,” she says, looking up at us. “It’s not good for the baby if I hear you fighting all the time.” She rests her hands on her stomach as Will and I reluctantly nod in agreement, calling a momentary truce, at least until she’s out of earshot.

“I’ll give you two a minute and go down and hail a cab,” Will states bluntly, reaching for the handle of Ivy’s suitcase and dragging it out the door.

“Okay, what’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, peering into Ivy’s eyes as she watches Will stride toward the elevator. When she doesn’t meet my gaze, I know something’s up, the tension already reentering my body.

“Nothing. I’m just worried about the baby. That’s all.” She brushes it off, and I can tell she’s not being entirely honest with me. There’s something else.

“Do you want me to call the doctor back in here? Do you have any more questions before we leave?” I stall, waiting to see if Ivy will tell me what’s bothering her or if I’m going to have to dig deeper.

“No, it’s okay. All of the tests came back normal, but it still freaks me out that if there is a next time we might not be so lucky. You’re right, Eric. I really have to concentrate on lowering my stress level.” She’s saying a lot more with her eyes than with her words. “Let’s just worry about getting home before we add anything else to our plate.”

“Am I right in thinking it has to do with what you and Will were arguing about when I was in the bathroom?” I ask, daring her to lie to me.

Ivy pauses for what seems like an eternity before looking me straight in the eye. “Yes.”

I exhale loudly, grateful that she’s not shutting me out.

“But now’s not a good time. We’ll talk about it later, okay?” she begs, encouraging me to accept the compromise even though I don’t like being kept in the dark, especially if Will knows about something potentially dangerous and I don’t.

“I’m not going to like it, am I?” I question her one step further, seeing if she’ll relent.

“No.” She shakes her head, and it’s the only answer she gives me.

“You know I don’t like secrets, Ivy.” I aim the wheelchair through the door, rolling her past the nurses’ station. “I almost let them rip us apart before when I didn’t trust you enough to tell you what really happened in Lauren’s office. I don’t want anything like that to come between us again.”

“I swear to you, Eric. It won’t.” She tilts her head back to look at me. “It’s just complicated, and you have enough to worry about right now. Let’s take it one step at a time, okay?”

“Can you at least tell me what it’s about?” I press, wheeling her backwards into the elevator as someone holds the door open for us.

Seeing that we’re in an enclosed space with a group of strangers, all Ivy does is shake her head. I have to believe she’ll tell me when she’s ready. I’m not good at trusting people, but I trust her.

The last thing she would ever do is break my heart.

Chapter Twelve

Will

Can this trip get any more nauseating?

“Home sweet home,” Eric whispers, leaning in to nuzzle Ivy’s nose.

“I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed tonight,” Ivy responds, practically cooing in his ear.

I clear my throat before they can indulge in another one of their endless lip-lock sessions. They always seem to have to be touching each other—her palm on his chest, his fingers in her hair, her head on his shoulder, his hand on her waist. It’s so annoying. After watching them fondle the crap out of each other through four different time zones, I’ve about had it.

It was bad enough that they made me practically sit in the aisle while they made out on the plane during the flight. But now we’re into our third hour of being crammed together in the front of Eric’s truck. I can’t even raise my elbows because Ivy’s pressed so close against me. I would have gladly ridden in the cab with the luggage if wasn’t so freaking cold out.

“Oh great, a welcoming committee,” I grumble as we bounce over the glorified cow trail that leads to Eric’s rustic little dwelling.

“Wow, what’s everybody doing here?” Ivy ponders, striving to hide the disappointment in her voice. Ha! She thought their fuck fest would commence the minute they banished me to the woodshed. Think again, sweetheart.

“They probably just want to welcome you home. They’ve been so worried about you.” Eric sounds a little more pleased to see them than she is. Hmm, maybe things aren’t as rosy in paradise. “You know my mom. She can’t resist the opportunity to bring over a home-cooked meal.”

“Oh, so you think everybody’s here for dinner?” Ivy asks, jabbing me with her elbow as she squirms beside me.

“Ouch! Watch it, would ya?” I snarl, and she shoots me a look to shut up. She’s not a happy camper right now. Yeah, well, neither am I.

Eric drives up to the group standing on the porch. A lady with grey hair and glasses is waving enthusiastically while an old dude in suspenders is frantically trying to hold on to Eric’s dog, who is going berserk. There’s a slightly younger couple that can only be described as redneck fabulous watching our approach. The guy has his arm around the shoulders of her bright orange hunting vest while holding a beer bottle in his hand. It seems the party’s already started by the looks of it.

I’m about to close my eyes in despair when a smokin’ hot guy gets up from one of the rocking chairs on the porch. He leaves the buxom blonde he was sitting next to and struts toward the truck. His eyes immediately laser in on mine as I stare him down. He doesn’t look away—and neither do I—as he keeps getting closer and closer. He’s wearing a football jersey that accentuates the broad shoulders that taper down to a narrow waist. He blinks when he steps in front of Eric’s headlights, and I curse under my breath when I see the name of the high school football team emblazoned across his chest. Shit, he’s probably not even legal.

But instead of stopping and waiting for us to get out, he marches right over to my door, opening it without a second’s hesitation. I don’t often get flustered, but I do like a man who takes charge. He offers his hand to help me down, and any guy striving to keep his sexuality a secret would surely refuse. But I can’t resist.