Every Second With You (No Regrets Book 3)
Every Second With You
Book 3 in the No Regrets series
Lauren Blakely
Little Dog Press
Contents
Also by Lauren Blakely
About
Author’s Note
Every Second With You
1. Harley
2. Trey
3. Trey
4. Harley
5. Trey
6. Trey
7. Harley
8. Harley
9. Harley
10. Trey
11. Trey
12. Harley
13. Harley
14. Harley
15. Trey
16. Trey
17. Harley
18. Harley
19. Harley
20. Harley
21. Harley
22. Trey
23. Trey
24. Trey
25. Harley
26. Cam
27. Harley
28. Trey
29. Trey
30. Harley
31. Harley
32. Harley
33. Trey
34. Trey
35. Trey
36. Trey
37. Harley
38. Harley
Also by Lauren Blakely
Contact
Copyright © 2020 by Lauren Blakely
Cover Design by Helen Williams.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This contemporary romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This book is licensed for your personal use only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you enjoy sexy romance novels with alpha males. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Also by Lauren Blakely
Big Rock Series
Big Rock
Mister O
Well Hung
Full Package
Joy Ride
Hard Wood
The Gift Series
The Engagement Gift
The Virgin Gift
The Decadent Gift
The Heartbreakers Series
Once Upon a Real Good Time
Once Upon a Sure Thing
Once Upon a Wild Fling
Boyfriend Material
Asking For a Friend
Sex and Other Shiny Objects
One Night Stand-In
Lucky In Love Series
Best Laid Plans
The Feel Good Factor
Nobody Does It Better
Unzipped
Always Satisfied Series
Satisfaction Guaranteed
Instant Gratification
Overnight Service
Never Have I Ever
Special Delivery
The Sexy Suit Series
Lucky Suit
Birthday Suit
From Paris With Love
Wanderlust
Part-Time Lover
One Love Series
The Sexy One
The Only One
The Hot One
The Knocked Up Plan
Come As You Are
Sports Romance
Most Valuable Playboy
Most Likely to Score
Standalones
Stud Finder
The V Card
The Real Deal
Unbreak My Heart
The Break-Up Album
21 Stolen Kisses
Out of Bounds
The Caught Up in Love Series:
The Swoony New Reboot of the Contemporary Romance Series
The Pretending Plot (previously called Pretending He’s Mine)
The Dating Proposal
The Second Chance Plan (previously called Caught Up In Us)
The Private Rehearsal (previously called Playing With Her Heart)
Stars In Their Eyes Duet
My Charming Rival
My Sexy Rival
The No Regrets Series
The Start of Us
The Thrill of It
Every Second With You
The Seductive Nights Series
First Night (Julia and Clay, prequel novella)
Night After Night (Julia and Clay, book one)
After This Night (Julia and Clay, book two)
One More Night (Julia and Clay, book three)
A Wildly Seductive Night (Julia and Clay novella, book 3.5)
The Joy Delivered Duet
Nights With Him (A standalone novel about Michelle and Jack)
Forbidden Nights (A standalone novel about Nate and Casey)
The Sinful Nights Series
Sweet Sinful Nights
Sinful Desire
Sinful Longing
Sinful Love
The Fighting Fire Series
Burn For Me (Smith and Jamie)
Melt for Him (Megan and Becker)
Consumed By You (Travis and Cara)
The Jewel Series
A two-book sexy contemporary romance series
The Sapphire Affair
The Sapphire Heist
About
From #1 New York Times bestselling author Lauren Blakely comes the final book in the sexy, emotional and deliciously addictive No Regrets trilogy.
It started as one night. It turned into a friendship. Then Harley became my everything.
She owns me, heart, mind and body.
And for a few brief days, our future seems bright and certain.
Until, the past wraps its arms around us in so many terrible ways. Someone I never expected to see again reappears in my life.
Trying to keep us apart.
I’ll do anything for her, but the question is – will anything even be enough?
Every Second With You is the final novel in the No Regrets and should be enjoyed following The Thrill of It.
Author’s Note
I first released the No Regrets trilogy in 2013, and I have since revamped, revised and restructured the trilogy to tighten the storyline, enhance characterization and update elements. The heart of the love story and the main characters remains the same. Enjoy!
Every Second With You
By Lauren Blakely
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1
Harley
Trey paces from the window to the door of his studio. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. How many times do I have to tell you? I took, like, twenty tests.”
From the door to the window, and back again. He can’t stop moving, can’t stop shaking, and all I can think is that this is the start of the running. This jittery back-and-forth, like a caged animal, is a harbinger. He’s going to walk. He’s going to sprint and leave me alone with a baby in my belly, and a kid in my life.
“Did you go to the doctor?”
He asked me that already. He asked me that on the way back from the store. He’d grabbed my arm, gripped it so tight his hand was like a blood pressure cuff, and then practically dragged me to his nearby apartment.
“I told you. No, I didn’t go to the doctor. Pregnancy tests work.” I cross my arms over my chest, standing firm against the wall. I have no clue where my certainty is coming from, but it’s as if all that prior fear zipped out of me, and now I am resolute.
He shoves his hands into his hair, and continues pacing. He wears a tread to the bathroom, then swivels around and walks back to me.
“Are you keeping it?”
My brain rattles, trying his question on again for size. But it’s like he’s given the computer a command it doesn’t understand. “What?”
“Well?”
His green eyes are dark, bottomless, and I can’t read them. All the gold flecks that sparkle are now blotted out. “How is that even a question?”
He raises his hands defensively. “Because it is.”
“And how can you say it?” I spit back at him. My voice rears up like a viper, hissing. I press my hands against my belly protectively. My eyes follow my hands, and it hits me what I’ve done for the first time. Protected my baby. I’m winded by my own motherly instincts that materialized out of nowhere. “Of course I’m keeping the baby.”
He turns on his heels and stalks over to the window, gripping the windowsill so hard he could crack the wood in his hands. I march over to him, grab his shoulder, and spin him around.
My steely eyes glare hard into his dark ones. “And for the record, it is a baby. It is a he or she. A boy or girl. It’s not a fuc
king it, Trey.”
“You don’t have to get like that with me. It’s not like we’ve even talked about abortion. It’s not as if we sit around and debate abortion, or the death penalty, or anything like that. I mean, I don’t even know if you believe in abortion.”
I scoff, cold and dry. “Believe in abortion? It’s not a religion. It’s a fucking medical procedure.”
“So. Do you believe in it?”
I grit my teeth, wishing I had something in my hand—a glass, a phone, a hairbrush—that I could throw. “I am not having an abortion, and I want to smack you so hard for even suggesting it. How could you? You want to kill my baby?”
His eyes fall shut, and he rocks back on his heels, his shoulders hitting the window. His body sags, as if all the bones in him have crumbled to dust and he’s only air and tenuous breath. His lower lip trembles, then he licks it once, and swallows. I don’t know what’s going on inside him, and I wish I could crawl up into him, feel his heart, read his mind, and know what he’s thinking.
He opens his eyes, and then parts his lips to speak, but no words come out. His apartment is starkly silent, and the quiet has become a living creature in this room, a shadow animal wedged between us. Then, he whispers so low I’d need some kind of machine to pick it up if I wasn’t staring at his lips and the words that take shape on them.
“Our baby.”
He pulls me to him, and I tuck my face into the crook of his neck, placing a hand on his chest, his heartbeat wild and terrified under my palm.
2
Trey
Two words I never thought I’d say. Not now. Not yet.
But they’re here, levitating in the air between us, another presence in my apartment, and then inside me, an echo reverberating in my cells.
Our baby.
I can honestly say I never thought this would happen. Maybe that makes me stupid, but we were so careful, and I’ve never knocked up anyone before, so it makes no logical sense why it would happen now.
But there’s no point in trying to apply reason. Logic has been factored out of the equation.
So, what’s next? Are we supposed to talk about baby names? Parenting philosophies? What hospital she wants to give birth at—like responsible adults? Or the fact that we’re in college and this is happening? That we’re recovering addicts, junkies, fuckups with the worst possible parental role models ever?
I don’t know, I can’t know, and my feet feel unsteady and my breath is thin, but there is one thing I can hold on to—that I don’t want to lose touch with her. She is my rock, she is my hope, she is my everything, and so I don’t let go of her. I cling to her, my chin against her hair, her body gathered in my arms.
We stand there for minutes, our arms tangled so tightly together, our bodies snuggled close, as if we can erase the distance and the fear if we’re entwined.
Soon I pull away, look her in the eyes, and opt for the naked truth. “I don’t have a clue what we’re supposed to do next. Or talk about. Or if I’m supposed to take you shopping for baby clothes, or touch your stomach all the time. All I know is, I love you, and I’ll do whatever you need.”
Her shoulders seize up, and her eyes well, but she nods, seeming strong, steadfast. That’s my girl. My tough, badass, brave girl.
“I love you too. That’s all that matters, right? We’ll figure it all out somehow. As long as we’re together.”
“We will always be together,” I tell her, locking eyes with her, making sure she knows these words are the absolute truth. They are the foundation of how I live my life now. With her. With the certainty I have in this crazy love that we found in the most unlikely place. “Remember? Staying.”
“Staying,” she repeats, nodding. “Always.”
Then her hands slip up my shirt, and she runs her fingernails across my arrow tattoo. I rub her shoulder and bring my lips down to kiss her heart and arrow. It’s like we’re sealing a promise. One that neither of us ever expected to make—not now, not like this.
But what choice do we have?
Somehow we manage to make it through the rest of the day, and when her stomach rumbles in the evening, I laugh.
“Hungry much?”
“I guess so,” she says with a sheepish grin.
“Bet you didn’t know I am amazingly proficient at making grilled cheese sandwiches.”
Her eyes light up. “Ooh! I bet you didn’t know that’s my favorite kind of sandwich.”
I show off the extent of my skills in the kitchen, making her a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner, the melted cheddar drizzling over the crust of the bread.
She takes a bite and rolls her eyes in pleasure. “This is so good I’m going to call it the Cheesy Miracle.”
“That is an excellent name.”
I whip up a Cheesy Miracle for myself, and damn, it tastes good, and it’s almost enough—the dinner and the banter—to make it seem like we are the same people we were this morning, or yesterday, or a week ago.
Almost.
But not quite.
Because as the hours turn into days and the week ticks by, I start to feel uneasy, as if I’m living on borrowed time. Because that’s what we’re doing. We’re playing pretend, avoiding reality, talking about sandwiches and saying I love you so much we’re a broken record.
I want to live in this make-believe state forever and ever. But then time does what time does—it marches onward—and reality sets back in. The tape starts playing in my head, a highlight reel looped over and over, and I see myself at age fifteen with my baby brother, Will, dying in my arms when he was only three days old. His tiny chest, rising and falling for the last time. It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment when he left this world. Everything had slowed, all his breaths, all his blood, and he slipped from life to death at some point as I held him, his tiny little body no longer working, his heart no longer pumping blood.
I didn’t even know him, and still, it hurt so damn much. It hurt like someone was shoveling out my heart, scooping out my organs, the metal edges grinding against my bones.
The aching, awful emptiness of those days. Of that life. Of no one to talk about it with. I’ve worked so hard to move on, to live, to love. To not see death in front of my eyes every time someone says words like pregnancy or baby, but now it’s all I can see. It’s the picture I can’t stop looking at.
My mind starts to agitate like a washing machine stuck on an endless spin cycle, as I feel the hope and the happiness and the future draining out of me.
On the first day of her junior year of college and my final semester, I walk her to campus. Her hand is in mine, and it feels so right to hold her hand, so I know that I shouldn’t feel as if my blood is on speed. I try to settle my hyperactive heart. I look down and see her fingers in mine, intertwined. See? It’s all fine, I tell myself. I can do this. I can survive all my fears. We’ll do this together.