by A. M. Wilson
Repeat. Cycle. Indefinitely.
Holding her in my arms now while she sleeps feels as natural as breathing. The thought that a few short weeks from now we’ll have a little one and begin the cycle of co-parenting brings a sharp pang to my gut.
If I had my way, I wouldn’t let them go—either of them.
I don’t want rotating schedules and weekly handoffs. Phone calls to fill one another in on information rather than experiencing it together as a family.
How do I convince the most stubborn, hardheaded female in the world that we’re going about this all wrong without insulting her wishes? Do I have the guts to come right out and tell her I’ve fallen in love with her? That I’ve lain awake many nights dreaming of tasting her dew-kissed lips and holding her just like this?
I don’t think I do. Having her and not telling her I love her is easier to entertain than the thought of telling her the truth and losing her forever.
If you love something, set it free? Absolute fucking bullshit. Who comes up with these crappy lines?
She stirs, releasing a breathy snort of air that makes me grin. The short choppy strands of hair splay across her face.
“What time is it?” she mumbles with her eyes still shut and a glisten of drool at the corner of her mouth. I refer to my watch.
“It’s about ten.”
She mutters something incoherently, making my dick stir and the desire to kiss her overwhelming. I sift my fingers through her messy hair as a distraction from rosebud lips.
“I feel like I’ve been asleep all night.”
“Great sex will do that to you.”
That gets her to open her eyes. She peeks at me out of one of her gorgeous baby blues and flops back down.
“Can you stay? I’m too comfortable to move, and you’re the best pillow.” Her arm tightens around my waist, securing her naked torso against mine.
“Maybe we should have this conversation while we’re awake.”
She plants her elbow in my chest, forcing me back, and hovers over me. The urge to stare at her breasts smashed against me is one I’m powerless to stop. One little glance won’t hurt.
“Up here, buddy.”
Busted.
“I’m awake now,” she goes on, ignoring my blatant ogle of her perfect tits. As she should. She’s fucking beautiful. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen her naked, but each time there’s a new discovery. Like the little freckle to the right of her areola that I want to memorize with my lips.
“Okay.” I brush her hair from her eyes and drape an arm over her lower back.
“What is it we should be talking about now?”
Shit, she put me on the spot. I adjust my head against the couch pillows, and the move has my arm involuntarily tightening around her.
“We don’t have to talk about anything. I just think I’d like to spend more nights with you like this one,” I tell the ceiling.
“So come over more than once a week. I’m more than okay with a little naked playtime.”
I close my eyes and will my dick not to respond where it rests against her hip. This conversation will go nowhere fast if he gets involved and steals her attention.
“We’d get the most naked playtime if we moved in together.”
She topples to the side, and I catch her with the arm around her waist. “Shit,” I mutter. When she rights herself, she wears a frown that tells me we’re not on the same page. Might not even been in the same book.
“Why would we do that?”
“More sex?”
“I’ve already said I’m not opposed to that. Why else would you think moving in is a good idea?”
“I just do?” I run the hand not holding her through my disheveled hair. “As things progress, I don’t like the idea of you being here all alone most days. What if something happens, and you can’t get to your phone and call for help?”
Her arm leaves my chest as she struggles to sit from the couch, snagging her tee shirt at the same time. She whips it over her head and tugs it down as she rises. Reaching around her neck, she pulls her wild hair out from the back of the shirt, then flings her arm toward the door.
“I’m not incapable of caring for myself, so if that’s what you think, you can go.”
“Kiersten—”
“No. This isn’t up for debate.”
I pull my legs from the couch and plant my feet on the floor to face her head-on. Her eyes drop to my flaccid cock as he waves around like one of those inflatable flailing tube men at auto dealerships. My ego takes a direct hit as I tuck him safely back inside my jeans.
“So we won’t debate it. I don’t mean you are incapable.” My own frustration rises, and I dig through the cushions for my shirt. I don’t want to have this argument naked if she’s fully clothed. What an unfair advantage.
“Then what are you saying?”
“I just want to be here for you.”
“And you think we have to live together for that to be possible?”
“I think it would help,” I toss back with a bite in my tone.
She crosses her arms over her chest and braces. “Get out.” My shirt slips from my fingertips and flutters limply to the floor.
“You’re going to kick me out rather than talk about this rationally?” I hate my choked voice, but if I’m being honest, it fucking hurts.
“What is there to talk about? You want to treat me like a damsel in distress? Well, I have news for you. I can do this without you. Cami and Law are more than willing to step up in your absence. You know how I know that? Because they’ve already had to. But you don’t see them demanding I move in with them so they can take care of me.”
Fuck, but that slices deep. If only she knew where those absences came from, she wouldn’t throw them in my face.
“Who’s demanding? I made a suggestion and gave you one of maybe a hundred reasons I think we should at least consider becoming a single household for a while.”
She snorts derisively. “If you were trying to be convincing with that suggestion, you failed.”
Fuck this.
“I’m not going to stand here while you mock me.” I retrieve my shirt and roughly tug it on while she simply watches, completely unaware of the pain coursing through my veins like an oily poison. If only she knew how powerful grief could be. Even when I think I’m past the worst of it, it slithers out of the deep recesses of my being and wraps itself around whatever it can to pull me back into the darkness.
I avoid looking at her, but as I tug on my boots, I can see she hasn’t moved an inch in my peripheral. Silence erects between us like a wall. I wish she’d reconsider and ask me to stay and talk, but I know it won’t happen. With the defeat I feel inside right now, space is probably best for both of us.
The avoidance keeps rolling as I stalk to her door and head outside without so much as a goodbye. The blame can’t rest entirely on me.
She didn’t say it either.
20
Kiersten
Five thirty in the morning is obnoxiously early to be up after a night without sleep. Don’t even get me started on the uncomfortable fact that I’m seven and a half months pregnant and the size of a butcher’s prized hog awaiting slaughter. The miracle of life and all that. I’m not ungrateful for the little boy growing inside me. In fact, I already love him more than anything I’ve loved in my entire life. I just refuse to delude myself into thinking I have to enjoy every single second. Sometimes good experiences have sucky parts too, and it’s equally as normal to embrace the bad along with them.
In my totally necessary opinion, my friends are lucky that I keep most of my misery inside instead of spreading it around like the pixie dust of a freaking fairy.
Last night is a total exception.
It’s safe to say Nathan and I hit our limit in this whole strictly friends argument. One of us has to back down, and I swear on my life it won’t be me. Adult me may not have ever laid out a life plan, and getting pregnant before even falling in love is ass-b
ackward to most, but I have a plan in this. One I intend to stick with.
All that runs through my head as I crankily wait in my kitchen for my car to finish warming up so I can make the drive to work and start my twelve-hour shift.
Twelve. Hours.
One thing I look forward to on maternity leave is the break from these early morning shifts. Never mind that I’ll replace them with overnight feedings and early morning baby snuggles. It’s a no-brainer which one will be more enjoyable.
After a good ten minutes of stewing and staring out my window, I slide on my coat and gloves and tuck my purse under my arm, as ready as I’ll ever be to take on another day.
Chilly air whips my cheeks the moment I step outside. I lock my front door and tread over icy concrete to my car, reminding me to add sidewalk salt to my mental shopping list. I feel as if I needed to do something else today, but the lack of sleep and early morning hinder my recall.
The five-mile drive into the station progresses a little slower on account of some snowdrifts on the road. Lost in the lyrics to some song crooning about the dangers of loneliness, desperately trying not to think about the fight last night, I’m pulled to at the sound of my car releasing an odd little belch and shudder. Right after that awful noise, the speed reduces even though my foot still depresses the gas.
Fu-crap.
No, no, no. A car repair is the last thing I need.
I direct my car to the shoulder and tap the emergency flashers, then glance in my rearview at the dark empty stretch of county road behind me. At this hour, it could be a while before someone travels in this direction.
“Gah!” I screech into the lonely darkness, giving my steering wheel an open palm smack for good measure. Is this some form of karma for the argument last night? Is the universe trying to convince me I’m wrong? Because if so, fuck you, universe.
What makes matters worse is the one person I want to call, I can’t. I’m still too angry, and I’m not ready to be convinced otherwise. What’s the purpose of a grudge if I can’t hold onto it as long as my bitchy, hormonal self wants?
Which also means I can’t call Cami because Nathan would force her to drag him along. Scratch that, he’d hijack a damn rig and leave her in the dust.
I look down at the dashboard in search of obvious lights to give me a hint of the problem for when I call the tow truck. When I see it, I groan out loud and jerk my head back against the seat.
Why am I such an idiot? Is this what they mean by pregnancy brain? What intelligent human who’s owned and operated a car for over twenty years forgets to fill the gas tank?
I imagine a big neon flashing arrow appearing over my head.
It’s me. I’m that stupid. And since I’m already pissy, I’m going to go right ahead and just blame that one on Nathan too, because if he hadn’t distracted me last night with our argument, that led into a crappy night’s sleep and a crappy-ass morning, this wouldn’t have happened.
The blame game makes me feel marginally better.
On a sigh only God and myself witness, I gather my purse and keys, lock the doors, and stomp down the highway. One mile won’t hurt. I’m pregnant, not bedbound. For added safety, I click on my phone flashlight and aim it behind me out of my purse to act as a flasher of sorts—not that I expect anyone to drive by in this sleepy little town at this hour.
A half-mile trek with nothing but silence and my own thoughts is all it takes for the first trickle of tears to hit. They stem from frustration and fear, anxiety about the future of Nathan and me, and a slight cramp in my abdomen. But mostly from the fact I’m toasty warm in this stupid, beautiful coat Nathan had a hand in me getting. If it weren’t for his thoughtfulness, I’d be wearing a cardigan and still stubborn enough to walk the rest of the way.
The irritation over our argument from last night melts away with each chilly step toward work until it’s merely a low hum in the background. I shouldn’t have thrown him out, even if I tell myself he didn’t put up much of a fight. I was a bitch, but my reasons felt justified at the time. And they still do, to some degree. He treats me like a flower, and for such a strong, capable man, it takes me by surprise that he doesn’t see me the same way. I don’t remember him ever giving Cami so much grief about being a single mom over the years. In fact, she was always praised for her tenacity and independence.
Is it so different because he’s the father of my child?
I know the answer to that question is more than likely, yes.
He also fears for the baby and my safety. Not that he admits it. After what he went through with Janessa, what person wouldn’t want to avoid another loss at all cost?
The question is, what next? Brushing aside last night isn’t the answer because it still pisses me off when I think about how it played out. Though it wouldn’t hurt to give him a chance to explain himself without biting his damn head off.
A few rogue flurries kiss my wind-sore cheeks as the station comes into view in the distance. Another cramp bites into the lower part of my abdomen. I know I haven’t been practicing pregnancy yoga or water exercises or even taking long walks, considering its winter, but am I so out of shape that a small mile trek causes discomfort? I’m going to have to convince Cami to walk the halls of the local high school with me because being this winded is embarrassing.
Through the illuminated glass doors at the front of the building, Nathan leans against Brooke’s receptionist desk, a furrowed brow in place. Cami stands behind him. Her vicious expression makes me snort, and I’m doubled over at the sight of her arms crossed and foot tapping away.
These two are quite a welcoming committee.
The doors glide open at my approach, and I step inside, savoring the blast of warm air on my face. It feels as though I just stepped off a long, air-conditioned flight to the hot, humid Caribbean. If only I were on a beach right now. I’d trade in this heavy coat for a bikini any day.
Nathan turns his furrowed brow at me and pushes away from the desk with three long strides in my direction. Cami, not one afraid of going to bat for someone she cares about, uses her short legs to speed walk around him and nudges him aside with her shoulder.
“Are you all right?” she asks, trading her brutal mask for a softer one.
“Where’s your car?” Nathan butts in with a question of his own before I have a chance to answer the first. That would explain the wrinkle-inducing expression locked on his face. He must have monitored the parking lot and noticed the lack of headlights.
“I—”
A sudden gush of wetness soaks my underwear. Oh my god, I think it finally happened. I think I just peed myself on accident. That damn baby book warned me about this in the pages I read before I swore it off for good, and it has to happen to me at work? I drop my purse and keys on the floor, mumble, “Shit,” and take off in a fast-paced waddle toward the public restroom behind reception.
“Kiersten!” Cami takes off after me, catching up easily, and Nathan’s footsteps thunder behind us. She beats me to the restroom, thrusts the door open so I can duck inside, then blocks Nathan’s intrusive entry.
“Dammit, Cami, out of my way!” The panic in his voice hits my ears and stops my trajectory to the stall. No, no, no. I can’t worry about him right now. I have my own impending disaster to attend to.
Even so, his distress pulls me like a tether cord.
“I’ll check and let you know.” Cami’s declaration holds a curt bite. She must really be pissed on my behalf. A little louder, she calls, “Kiersten?”
I shuck my coat and toss it over the door to the stall. Now that I’m indoors, the cold is gone, and I swelter beneath the padded fabric.
“One sec.”
“What’s going on? What sent you running?”
“I think … I think I peed myself.” My mortified whisper carries just enough for her to hear me; hopefully not far enough to reach Nathan’s prying ears.
“Oh, honey. Don’t worry. I’ll make a run out before your shift.”
I hook
the elastic of my pants with trembling thumbs and divest myself of them, then take my cotton underwear to my knees.
Fuck.
“Cami!” A wobbly holler beckons her to the door of my stall.
“What is it?”
“I’m bleeding. Oh my god, I’m bleeding!” Fear and adrenaline course through my system on a continuous loop like an electrical circuit.
Cami’s face appears beneath the door. She crawls under and unlocks it. Ever the medical professional, she glances at the underwear around my knees without the barest change to her expression at the rust-colored blood.
“Nathan!”
The door to the restroom bursts open and bangs the wall behind it. She pokes her head out of the stall, still prohibiting direct access to me.
“I need you to bring back a pack of gauze. Hurry.”
“Cami, what’s happening?” The tremble in my voice brings her attention back to me. She covers one of my shaking hands with her own, and I look at her face for comfort. The strong determination I see there helps dissolve some of the fear.
“We’re going to take you to the hospital. Try to remain calm, okay? The blood isn’t bright red, so it might not be active bleeding. Have you had sex recently?”
My face scrunches at the intrusive question.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Don’t judge me, okay? I’m pregnant, not in a convent. Besides, Nathan is incredible in bed.”
“La-la-la-la, I don’t hear you.”
Nathan’s prompt return stops me from another sexual, snarky response.
“Here. Talk to me, Cam.” A pack of gauze appears over the top of the stall, and Cami rids him of it.
The package tears with an audible rip in the small restroom. She holds the entire stack to me. “A temporary pad.”
My legs quake uncontrollably. I stuff the gauze in my underwear and return my clothing, layer by layer. She hands me my coat and backs out of the stall to give me room. Fear of making things worse has me follow her at a much slower pace.
