Forbidden Neighbor: A Contemporary Romance Boxset (Forbidden Saga Book 2)

by Summer Brooks

  “How’s life treating you, Laura?” she asks.

  “Great, Auntie Jolene. I really should call you more often; I’m sorry about that,” I’m trying to deflect. Right now, my need for haste and my guilt are colliding into each other. I’d make a poor spy. I can barely lie, especially to my great aunt. I love her. Her main downside is the fact that she lives in the same city as I, and I can run into her at the most inopportune of times. If I recall correctly, the last time I ran into her at a store was when I was buying some risky lingerie. Why they sold lingerie with practical underwear in the same store is beyond me.

  “Oh, don’t worry about that,” Jolene says, and gives a little chuckle. “I know youth have got to live their lives, and I’m busy too you know. I’m heading to a bridge meeting, so I’m going to have to go. But if you need anything from your Aunt Jolene, you just call me, you understand that, Laura?” She peers up at me, her gray eyes still sharp.

  “I know, thanks, Auntie,” I answer, and she begins to shuffle off slowly. I can hear her chuckling a bit. I’m sure she saw what I grabbed. I am positive she did. Oh well. Auntie Jolene had never been the most judgemental. It’s mostly my own embarrassment that gets in the way. I scoot quickly to the cash register before I run into my grade one teacher or the priest from our old church, or someone equally embarrassing. I pay for my goods, and I head back home, ready to finally receive the answer I want.

  Okay. Two tests for two. I’m holding the result bar, and I’m staring at that little plus sign on it. The plus was pink, as though cheerfully announcing the fact that I’m pregnant. And I am pregnant, aren’t I?

  I mean, two for two, that had to mean something. My stomach turns. This time I’m not so sure if it’s due to pregnancy or just to the fact that I now know I’m pregnant.

  Oh, I can’t be. This can’t be happening. I’m not a spy in some spy novel… I’m going to be a melodramatic abandoned pregnant girl, in some turn-of-the-century novel, except the turn of the century is long gone. Which is good, because that means I get to keep the child and not have to live life in shame… I just have to keep the child and figure out how to feed it when I can barely make my own rent.

  By the time Amanda comes home, I’m sitting on the couch, still clutching the pregnancy test. I have to keep staring at that little plus. The first one, and the second one, since I’m clutching both tests. Amanda is chattering away, going into the kitchen, putting away some stuff. I’m not even paying attention. I’m still sitting there when she comes back around to the living room.

  “Did you have a good day?” she asks, and then her eyes fall to the sticks in my hand. “Oh,” she sits beside me, “Not that great a day, then.”

  “No, not that great,” I answer.

  “Is… that from...Chris?” she asks.

  I look at her in surprise, “How did you know about us? I never mentioned anything.”

  She shrugs, “Oh please, you’re not that subtle. I saw you both coming out, before we left for home. You definitely have not looked that dishevelled in a very long time. I’ve got to tell you, I got my dress dry-cleaned after that.”

  “Oh,” my cheeks flush red, “I’ll pay you back for that.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she shrugs. “I’m glad it served its purpose. I just wanted to get you out of your doldrums. I didn’t expect to get you knocked up, though.” She leans back against the couch. She’s got a tiny container of ice cream that she’s eating out of. She hands me a spoon.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, taking a few bites, but my stomach turns again. I put the spoon down on the table.

  “Is that hygienic?” she asks.

  I ignore her, but I take the point that I need to develop some better cleaning habits.

  “What am I going to do?” I ask, lowering my head into my hands. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Yeah, that’s a tough one to believe,” Amanda says. “I mean, you have sex once in like, five years and you get pregnant? Those are some good hormones, there.”

  “Thanks, Amanda,” I mutter. “This isn’t a joke. Not for me, anyway.”

  “I know,” Amanda says softly. “I just can’t make this better for you, so I figured I’d make it a little bit more light.”

  “Well, that I get,” I say, and look back at her, take another spoonful of ice cream despite my protesting stomach.

  “Do you want to discuss options?” Amanda asks in a more serious tone.

  “I know what my options are, and I’m all for folks doing what they need to do. But I have to keep this baby, Amanda. I mean, I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

  “Fair enough,” Amanda says. “So, you’re going to tell the dad?”

  Tell the dad… Ouch. That’s a good question, especially after my brother told me that Chris would be gone for a while. Maybe Dan could reach him if the situation were dire enough, which this certainly was. There must be a way to contact him.

  “I...will. I will,” my voice gains strength. “I’ll go, and I’ll let him know right away.”

  “That’s good,” Amanda says.

  “I guess I’ll have to start looking for a new roommate, eh? Well, that’s just great, I liked living with you. Getting knocked up - I shouldn’t have lent you that red dress.” She takes a big scoop of ice cream and shoves it in her mouth.

  “Well I’m not gone just yet,” I remind her.

  She gives me an incredulous look, “Look, Laura. You know I love you, but having a baby here - it’s not exactly conducive to the lifestyle I want to continue having. So… you talk to Chris and figure out your options. But just keep in mind that this is a pre-baby zone, not a post-baby zone. And even then, you pick up all of your own puke. Well, alright, I’ll help pick some of it up. That’s what friends are for. Gods, I hope you don’t do that though. Morning sickness sounds terrible.”

  I’m suddenly very glad that I haven’t told her how nauseated I’ve been getting in the mornings. “Alright. I’m going to go right now,” I stand up, trying to sound determined. I feel a little bit light-headed, just from all of the activity of the day, all of the ups and downs emotionally, but I need to do this now. I need to go talk to Dan, so that he can contact Chris, and let him know I’m pregnant.

  I need to know that Chris is happy that he’s going to have a child. More importantly, I need to know that he’s happy that he’s going to have a child with me.

  Dan is working at his desk, as always. He looks genuinely happy to see me, although suspicious that it’s the second time in so many weeks, after so many years of not visiting him at all. I take the seat in front of him. I’m nervous. I feel like I’m breaking out into sweats and chills all at once. If it wasn’t for the day’s activities, I’d swear I’m getting the flu. But I’m not. I’m just the lucky recipient of an unplanned pregnancy.

  “Are you here for supper?” Dan asks suspiciously as he sits back down at his desk.

  “Um, not quite,” I say. I hadn’t actually thought about how I would broach this with Dan. He’s my older brother, and here I am about to tell him that one of his friends has knocked me up - at his birthday party, no less. I mean, I don’t have to tell him that last part, but chances are he’d figure it out… he’s pretty smart. How unfortunate.

  “I, uh… I saw Aunt Jolene today,” I begin.

  “Oh? How is she?” Dan asks. “I spoke to her on the phone last week. She seemed to be doing great. Winning all of the pots at the bridge tournaments, that one. I swear she’s a bridge shark.”

  I smile. Of course Dan has been talking to her on the phone. Dan is the good kid. Dan is the smart kid. Dan is not the pregnant kid. Not like that could happen to Dan, but he’s never even knocked anyone up, so he’s definitely winning in this department too.

  “She’s doing great,” I give a little laugh. “I was buying some stuff.” Well that sounded stupid. Dan’s eyebrows are slowly rising up his forehead. If I don’t talk soon, they’re going to reach his hairline. Is that even possible? “I, um… so�
�� I was wondering,” I’m struggling. No, worse, I’m drowning. I have to pull it together! This time, I’m actually going to say something smart, and directly related to what I came here to speak about, “Can you reach Chris?”

  Ah hah. Direct, to the point, addresses the issue without telling my brother exactly what the problem is. That’s what I like.

  “I don’t.... know that I can…” he says slowly, looking at me even more suspiciously. “I mean, probably not.” He’s speaking slowly, probably afraid that I’ll miss what he’s trying to say, because his little sister is slow. I can’t disagree that his little sister is slow right now, because I’m of the opinion that I’m currently being an idiot.

  “I need to talk to him.” I lean forward a bit, starting to feel the urgency of my request, “I, um… I really need to talk to him.” I repeat myself, driving it home.

  He leans his elbows on his desk. “Laura,” he begins to say, and I can tell from the tone that he’s going to tell me that he can’t reach Chris, that he can’t make an exception, that something is stopping him from doing the thing that I need him to do, and that I’m being unreasonable for even asking him to do it…”

  “I’m pregnant,” I blurt out.

  I expect him to reel back, maybe even scream at me or even congratulate me. Hard to tell, sometimes. I don’t expect the response that I receive. He sits perfectly still and his eyes close just a tiny bit. His eyebrows come down - I’d expected both of them to shoot all the way up into space - and he looks… sad. I rarely see my brother looking sad.

  “It’s Chris’ baby,” I say, just to drive home the point that I really need to speak to Chris. Dan’s mouth opens, then closes again. He takes a deep breath, as though not certain what to say. Is he mad at me? How mad can he be at me? Okay, he can be really mad at me… That’s fair, he is my older brother, protective as well. And I do love him. He’s one of my best friends.

  “Yeah, okay, I’m sorry, but it was conceived during your birthday party.” I don’t know why I’m telling him this right now, except to get him to talk, to get an emotional rise out of him, other than the sadness and disappointment, as though I’d torn his heart out.

  “We did it in your study,” I blurt out, “while drinking your whiskey.” Oh, good gravy, I need to stop this, why am I still going on about this? This is embarrassing, and he’s not saying anything.

  “I can’t reach Chris,” he says softly, and then he stands up, comes around his desk and kneels in front of me. He takes my hands in his. What is he doing? Why does he have that look on his face? He looks like he’s about to tell me some terrible secret.

  What is it? Has he discovered that Chris is married? That he’s a bandit? That he’s leading the mob to victory? That he’s an extraterrestrial whose seed is somehow good enough to get me pregnant but I’m going to have a pod-baby?

  “Laura, I’m so sorry. Chris was away, working on some important work… and I got news this morning... that the building where he was… it… it was blown up.”

  I stare at Dan as though he’s the alien now. His words make sense - in order, yes, grammatically speaking, yes. But the content of them makes no sense. Why would Chris have been in a building that got blown up?

  I give a stiff laugh, as though trying to turn Dan’s words into a joke, “Oh, that’s not right. He can’t be dead. I’m pregnant.” I tell him this in a perfectly calm voice, As though the two things are related. They’re not related, and I know they’re not related. Because he can’t be dead. Because I’m pregnant. I know that. I feel it in my heart. They are related, and that’s that.

  “I’m so sorry,” Dan says, and squeezes my hands again, and no, he’s not joking. But I know the universe is a big joke right now. I can’t stop the tears as they begin to flow. Dan holds me, letting me cry for what could have been, and what now could never be, and all of the fears associated with having to bring a young life into this world alone, into a world where good men are blown up for trying to do the right thing.

  10

  Laura

  Six months later

  The blank page stares back at me as if it’s mocking my inability to write. I wish I could fill pages as quickly as my stomach seems to be growing. My belly is ridiculous. I have to reach around it now to even put pen to my page. I could probably use it as a table if I tried hard enough. But that wouldn’t be so comfortable, I don’t think. I sigh and keep staring at that page. I know what I want to write - I want to write a mystery about a lawyer who tries to take down the mob. I have the plot clear as day in my head: the lawyer is killed by the mob, and his widow - because in this book they’re pregnant and have two children together already - is still pregnant with their third child, just to add a little extra punch. She goes on to solve the crime. She finds enough evidence to bring the mob to justice. She gets them prosecuted, gets the whole criminal enterprise torn down, attains justice for her man and her family, and it’s a beautiful story.

  There’s even a second chance at love in this book in my head, though not so much in my life… How could there be a second chance at love? How could there be anybody else that could match up to Chris? Which is ridiculous, I know, because we were only close for one night, but it was so perfect, like the stars had aligned for the two of us to meet right there and then, at the perfect time and place.

  But, this is real life, not some crazy novel jammed up in my head. Chris is gone. I’m heavily pregnant. Real life doesn’t always come with happy endings, now does it?

  I decide to go make another cup of tea. I could use more tea; it calms my stomach. Entering the third trimester, thankfully, means that my morning sickness has mostly gone away - just a little bit of nausea - overall, so much better now. I head into the kitchen and turn on the kettle.

  The house is small and beautiful. The kitchen is open, light and bright, and there’s modern art on the walls here and there. But it’s still not my house, it’s Dan’s house. I’ve only been here for about a week. Now that my due date is a lot closer, I want to settle where I am going to be raising my child. My plan has been to nest, as all the books say I should be doing. I’m not nesting, to say the least.

  Dan’s being kind to me. He’s welcoming me into his house; he’s making sure there’s an area for me and the baby so that we have our privacy if we want it. He keeps the kitchen stocked with my favorite foods. He asks me how I’m doing. Aunt Jolene even came and visited a few times and tells me funny stories to cheer me up. I appreciate them. I’m lucky, I have a small but good family.

  But I don’t have the one person I really need right now. The one person who would fully share this journey with me, from the fears to the excitement, the trepidation to the dreams. I haven’t even thought about baby names. How could I? I don’t know what Chris would have named one of his children. I don’t even really know Chris’ family at all. He probably doesn’t even have much of a family, because they didn’t hold much of a funeral for him. It’s as though he’d died and nobody cared.

  My brother said that they were trying to keep the death quiet so that the opposition didn’t know that the entire case has crumbled to nothing - just in case they might be able to save it. But of course, from what he says, most of the clients and Chris were all in the same building, which is stupid, when you think about it. I would never write a book like that. That’s like giving a big target sign to all of the bad people that forced you into protection in the first place - of course they bombed it. Who wouldn’t bomb it? It’s writing 101. But, again, real life is not a novel. Why can’t I really get this through my head?

  I finish making my cup of tea, and walk back towards the small writing desk that my brother has set up for me in the living room. It’s right in front of a window, and the view is beautiful. I can see the garden from here, and the flowers growing. Just like the baby inside of me is growing. The little squirrels and birds dancing outside, just like my baby is doing in my belly right now - so much movement when I drink tea!

  I stare at the page. I
write down the words perfect opportunity. I don’t know what else to write. I don’t know what the heroine in my story wants, because she’s so different than I am. She wants justice, yes. Revenge, probably. But she also wants to keep her family safe, and she wants to keep the child growing inside of her safe. She wants to break free from the nightmare that she’s been thrust into unwillingly. She wants to go back to her life and how it used to be - how it should be. But she can’t, because this is where she is. She’s excited to be a mother again, but she’s terrified of raising this child and her two existing children without her partner.

  I can’t write her right now, too much of me is raw. I know that I want to write this story, so that there can be a satisfying conclusion, so that the bad guys are brought to justice, and my heroine gets a happy ever after. A second chance at love, with someone who knows and loves her the same way that her first partner did, or maybe in a different way, but in just as powerful a way. And I don’t know how to write that story - not right now. Maybe not ever.

  I’m debating taking a nap after lunch, since I’m not working at the bookstore today, when a soft knock comes at the door. I look through the peephole and see Amanda. I open the door.

  “Hey, Amanda,” I greet her. We hug awkwardly around my belly.

  “How are you?” she asks. “I swear you’re getting bigger by the day.”

  I laugh, “I’m pretty sure I am, in fact. Come on in.”

  Amanda knows the place already. She helped me move in and set my stuff up. She’s been by pretty much every day.

  “This is nice,” she says, and points out a new piece of art that I got for Dan’s house. I couldn’t take all the modern austere lines of his decor tastes, and at one point I realized that the only reason he had all of those is that our parents did, and he’d inherited them all, so he just put them up. I doubt he even ever looks at his walls.