Children of the Sea 02 - Sea Fever

cracked. She was tired. So tired and close to tears.
    Her head felt empty and her heart too full. She made an effort to summon words, to sound reassuring, but before she could tell Nick that he could stay all night if he wanted, Dylan spoke up from the foot of her bed.
     
    “Your mom needs her rest.” His voice was firm, his jaw roughened by stubble. Underneath his golden tan, his face was pale with fatigue.
    “And so do you. Now kiss her good night and get out of here.”
     
    Regina opened her mouth to tell him it was all right. The child was obviously traumatized. He needed coddling. He needed his mother.
     
    But to her surprise, Nick uncurled from the chair. “Okay, okay.” He slouched over, leaning his slight weight against the mattress. “Night, mom.”
     
    He puckered up and delivered a smacking kiss on her cheek.
     
    Regina sniffed so she wouldn’t start bawling. “Night, kiddo. I’ll call you in the morning.”
     
    She was very aware of Dylan watching her, his hands in his pockets, as her mother collected her purse, her magazines, and Nick.
     
    They left.
     
    Dylan stayed at the foot of her bed, his hooded gaze on her face.
     
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    “You’re good with him,” Regina said.
     
    He looked so handsome standing there, masculine and lean and as out of place in a hospital room as the rocking chair or the cheerful curtains. The deliberately homey touches of the maternity wing did not hide the bank of beeping, glowing machines by her bed. Just as Dylan’s obvious determination to do the right thing couldn’t disguise his discomfort.
     
    Her heart swelled a little with love and regret.
     
    “He’ll miss you,” she said softly.
     
    Dylan shrugged. “I’ll see him tomorrow.”
     
    “I meant . . . when you leave.”
     
    He wandered as far as the window, staring through the blinds at the bay and the night as if he longed to be gone. His shoulders were rigid, his profile shadowed. “I’m not leaving. I’m never leaving you again.”
     
    Her heart gave a wild leap. For one weak moment, she allowed herself to hope. Let herself yearn.
     
    She took a careful breath. Steady, Regina. Dylan had already given her more than any other man in her life. He had saved her son. He had come for her when she was hurt and bleeding, held her when she desperately needed his embrace.
     
    Now she could give him something in return. Something he wanted.
    Needed.
     
    His freedom.
     
    “That’s not necessary,” she said gently.
     
    His shoulders stiffened. He turned around, his eyes black. “What are you talking about?”
     
    She raised her chin. “I don’t want you to feel you have to stay with me because I might be pregnant. That pill I took two days ago can take several weeks to work. For you to hang around waiting . . . It’s not fair to you. Or . . . or to me, either.”
     
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    His gaze narrowed. “I’m not staying because you’re pregnant.”
     
    Her heart thudded. But she knew him. She knew herself. She knew, at last, what she wanted and what she was worth. “Dylan, I love you, but I don’t need you to do me any favors. I don’t want you be with me out of obligation or guilt or—”
     
    “Responsibility?”
     
    She hurried on as if he hadn’t spoken, afraid if she stopped she’d lose her courage. “It’s not going to be with us like it was with your parents, me trying to keep you here against your will and you resenting me.”
     
    “I don’t resent you.” He stepped away from the window, took her hands. “I couldn’t resent you. Regina, I love you.”
     
    “Oh.” Tears stung the back of her eyes, burned the back of her throat. The temptation to take him at his word, to take advantage of his love, was an arrow in her heart. She swallowed. “I love you, too. I love you for who and what you are. I don’t want you to be anything different. I don’t want you to be anything less.”
     
    He shook his head impatiently. “You don’t get it. I didn’t understand it myself until tonight. With you I can be more. If I leave you, I leave the best part of myself.” He kissed her fingers, held between his hands. He pressed his lips to her hair and made her tremble. “Every bit of courage and commitment, everything I know of love or loving, my heart, my life, my soul, I owe to you.”
     
    He kissed her forehead, her eyebrow, her cheek. “Don’t make me leave you,” he murmured. “Don’t make me leave. You’ll rip my heart out.”
     
    She squeezed her eyes