Love Ignited

by Jacie Lennon

  “You said you were on the pill,” he says. “Why did we go without a condom?” He forcefully runs his hand through his hair.

  “I don’t know. Spur of the moment? I’m sorry I even suggested it.”

  “I just don’t see how it happened.” He shakes his head, blowing a long breath out.

  “I think I know…” I trail off, not wanting to admit my oversight.

  “Well?”

  “I was on antibiotics for a sinus infection before I came to Nashville. I didn’t even think about it messing with my birth control, but it had to. I took my pill at the same time every day.”

  “Fuck, Jules … fuck. How could you just forget something like that?” His voice goes up an octave.

  I cringe. “It was a mistake. But trust me; I wasn’t trying to trap you into anything. You know that, right?”

  He shrugs, not answering my question. We stare at each other a beat before he grimaces.

  “This certainly complicates an already-complicated relationship.”

  “I know,” I agree with him.

  He runs his hand through his hair again, and I focus on it, staring at the strands that stick up instead of his face.

  “Where do we go from here?”

  His expression is tormented, and my stomach drops. I didn’t expect him to be ecstatic, but I guess in some weird way, I thought he might not be this upset.

  “I’ve thought about it, and I am fully prepared to accept responsibility for this child. You don’t have to be involved in any way. But I wanted you to be aware that you have a child if you do want to be a part of its life.”

  He looks at me, one side of his cheek sucked in where he’s biting it.

  “Okay,” he finally says after what feels like forever.

  I cock my head to the side. “Okay what? Okay, you don’t want to be involved, or okay, you do?” I spread my hands out wide in confusion.

  “Okay, I heard what you said, and I will take it into consideration.”

  “There’s your answer, Mason. If it’s something you have to take into consideration, then you aren’t ready.”

  “That’s not fair,” he shoots back, a frown on his face. “This just came out of left field, and you want me to make a decision right now? I’ve never wanted children. I don’t even want to get married. I can’t have someone relying on me.”

  “I didn’t ask you to marry me, Mason. That might be a terrible decision on both of our parts. I’m just allowing you to make the right decision.”

  “What is the right decision?”

  “I don’t know,” I whisper, tears gathering in my eyes.

  I played it out in my head a hundred times since I found out, telling Mason. I didn’t know what to expect, but I think a small part of me hoped he would be a little happy. The frown that marred his handsome face as soon as I said the word pregnant was still very much there, and it didn’t show any signs of leaving. I always envisioned myself with children, knew that I wanted to be a mother. Maybe it happened a little quicker than anticipated, and there was the fact that it was with a one-night stand, but still, there was life growing inside me, and I was in awe.

  I reach down to caress my belly, and as I look up, I watch Mason’s eyes follow my hand as it rests on my still-flat stomach.

  “How far along are you?”

  “Maybe five or six weeks? I’m not sure. I haven’t been to the doctor.”

  “We didn’t have sex that long ago,” he states bluntly.

  “Oh, right. The weeks are counted from the date of your last period,” I say, my face flushing, but he doesn’t flinch.

  He nods and then glances around the apartment as if the answer he was seeking would be written on the walls.

  “Are you sure it’s mine?” he asks in a pleading tone, the look on his face urging me to bust out in laughter and shout April Fools’ even though it’s nowhere near April.

  “I’m positive. I haven’t been with anyone else,” I tell him pointedly.

  “Fuck,” he says, his fingers releasing the plate he’s been holding, and he bends down, fumbling to catch it. Thankfully, he does before it hits the floor and shatters. “I’ve got to go.”

  He straightens once he has a good hold on the plate and backs up a few steps. He avoids looking directly at my face as he grabs his jacket from the chair he draped it over and turns to open the door, not even bothering to put it on. The frigid winter air sneaks in through the doorway, no colder than the freezing temperature in the apartment after I broke the news.

  The door shuts behind Mason with a final thump, sounding just like the door on whatever semblance of a relationship we had slamming closed. I sink to the floor, pressing my hand on my chest as the tears spill over. The hole in my chest where my heart threatens to spill out of is being held closed by my palm as sobs rack my body.

  It’s not supposed to be like this. Finding out you are pregnant and telling the father should be a joyous occasion, not something that rips you open and leaves you bleeding on the floor. I don’t know how long I kneel on the floor, but eventually, my phone starts ringing, and I decide that I need to stop the anguish I’m feeling. It can’t be healthy for the small being growing in my womb.

  I fetch my phone from the couch where I left it when Mason arrived and see a missed call from Hanna. I debate on calling her back when the phone starts ringing again as I hold it, making the decision for me.

  “Hello?” I say, trying not to sound like my heart was breaking only moments before.

  “Jules, how are you holding up?” Hanna’s sympathetic voice sounds over the phone, causing emotion to well up in my chest again.

  “Not great,” I say with a sniffle before a large sob sneaks out.

  “Oh, Jules, I’ll be right over,” Hanna says before the line goes dead.

  And then I’m in a quiet apartment again with only my thoughts to keep me company.

  20

  Mason

  I climb into my truck, resting my forehead against the steering wheel, and contemplate the turn that my life has taken. I call the one person I can think of after hearing that I got Jules pregnant. My emotions and thoughts are all over the place as I listen to the phone ring, praying he picks up and praying he doesn’t at the same time. Dad will have answers. He will tell me what to do.

  God, how could I have fucked up this horribly?

  “Hello?” His strong voice comes across the line as I sit in the parking spot outside Jules’s apartment.

  “Dad? Where are you?”

  “I’m still at the bistro doing some paperwork before I close up. Is something wrong?” His concerned voice almost causes me to lose it, but I can’t, not here, not sitting outside the mother of my child’s place.

  “I’ll be right there,” I tell him before hanging up and taking a deep breath.

  I hit my palms against the steering wheel before reaching to crank the truck. My stomach churns as the news sinks in fully.

  Jules is pregnant. With my child. Jules is pregnant with my child.

  We were so stupid, so incredibly dumb. I’ve never barebacked a girl. What about her caused me to abandon my rule and wear a condom?

  I don’t remember the drive over to the bistro. It passed in a flash, and I am on autopilot as I walk into the back hallway, knocking once before swinging the door open and taking a seat across from Dad.

  The office is silent as he stares at me. He makes a clicking noise with his tongue as he fiddles with the papers spread across it.

  “What’s going on, son? You look like you are about to be sick.”

  “I just came from Jules’s apartment,” I say, drumming my finger on the chair I’m sitting in. “She’s pregnant.”

  Dad’s eyes widen as he looks at me, and he lets out a gust of air. “It’s yours?”

  “She says it is.”

  He purses his lips as he stares at me and then lets out a long breath. “Well, fuck. That explains why she was sick. What are you going to do about it?” he asks.

 
What am I going to do about it?

  “I was hoping you could tell me what to do.”

  “If you are grown enough for sex, you are grown enough for the consequences. What are you going to do about it?”

  Talk about tough love.

  Dad isn’t beating around the bush or mincing words.

  “Fuck,” I say with a groan. “I don’t know. I don’t know that I want a child, Dad.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you want anymore. You should have thought about that before you had sex,” he says, leaning forward and resting his clasped hands on the desk while his forearms cause the paper to crinkle.

  I stare at his fingers as they tap together, and then he leans back with a groan. A piece of paper attached to one of his arms finally breaks free and flutters to the floor as he puts his hands behind his head.

  “How far along is she?”

  “She said, like, five or six weeks.”

  Dad nods and pierces me with a stare. “I expect you to be a man. I wasn’t in the beginning with you, and I regret it every day. I don’t want you to have those same regrets. That child didn’t ask to be made, but you helped make it, and you will help raise it.”

  I stare at Dad, and his words sink in. He’s not giving me a choice. I’m a twenty-seven-year-old man, and he’s treating me like a child again. Anger rushes through me even though I did just ask him what I should do, and I lean forward, my hands fisted on the armrests of the chair.

  “You can’t tell me what to do,” I say, leveling him with a stare.

  “You’re right. You are ultimately responsible for your actions. I’m just telling you what I expect you to do. Raising a child is hard; I won’t lie. You don’t need to make Jules do that alone. Plus, if I told you any different, Grams would string me up by my balls—and probably you too. So, you’d better make the right decision.”

  I sit back with a groan and rake my hand down my face. I can’t tell Grams. She will be so disappointed. I put my head back, staring at the ceiling.

  “I love you, son, and maybe you can’t see it right now, but you’ll love that child too. Trust me; don’t let your childhood deny your kid a father.”

  I pull my head back down and look at Dad, his face awash with emotion I don’t normally see, and it pushes my own suppressed feelings to the surface. I quickly glance away before he can see tears in my eyes. Suddenly, I feel like the walls are closing in on me, and I have to get out of the small space of the office. I stand abruptly, and Dad stands too.

  “I’ve got a lot to think about,” I tell him, and he nods in agreement.

  I leave the bistro, feeling disappointed in myself.

  Why am I having these feelings? Why do I feel like the best thing for my child is to not be in their life?

  I know it stems from what I went through with my mom leaving me. There’s always been a small part of me that wonders if something like that could be genetic.

  What if I screw up a child like I was screwed up?

  Now, the situation with a baby has become so much more real.

  I guess, now, I need to bite the bullet and tell Grams. I wish I could go back to this morning when the mood was happy and she was matchmaking. I don’t know how she will feel about me or Jules after finding this out.

  The next day, I pull into the driveway, my heart sinking when I imagine the look on Grams’s face. I’ve always wanted to make her proud, and for some reason, I feel like I’m about to let her down. I don’t know why. Maybe I think she will judge me for getting someone pregnant out of wedlock.

  I sigh and step through the door into the house, greeting Debra, my stepmom, in the kitchen before finding Grams in front of the TV. Her nimble hands are working yarn around a crochet hook, a long piece of material flowing out the other side and resting in her lap. She looks up, her face relaxing into a smile as she sees me standing in the doorway.

  “Two visits in as many days. What did I do to deserve this?” she jokes as she pats the couch beside her. “Come take a load off.”

  I sit down, slightly angling my body toward her, nervousness clutching my chest.

  “My goodness, Mason. Did someone die?” Grams stops her hands and drops them to her lap as she pins her gaze on me.

  “No, just the opposite,” I manage to get out while Grams looks relieved.

  “What are you talking about?” she asks, resuming her needlework.

  “I don’t know how to say it,” I begin.

  “It’s easy. You open your mouth and make words come out. Quit beating around the bush. My old bones don’t have time to wait for you to get it out,” she says, glancing up from her hands.

  Her fingers continue to move the yarn without her looking at it, and I watch, intrigued. I might be avoiding the topic I’ve come to talk about.

  “Jules is pregnant,” I tell her and closely watch her face.

  Her hands never stop moving. “I’m assuming it’s yours?” she asks.

  I nod in affirmation.

  “Did I ever tell you that Marv and I got married in May of 1959?”

  I look at her in confusion.

  Why is she telling me this?

  Then, it clicks.

  “Dad was born on September 17, 1959.”

  “Smart as a whip,” Grams says, smiling at me. “Not all mistakes are mistakes,” she says with a slight nod of her head, a faraway look in her eyes.

  I sit there in shock. I had no idea.

  “Why didn’t Dad tell me that?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t his story to tell,” Grams says. She drops her hands to her lap and turns to face me. “I expect you’ll do the right thing.”

  “I don’t know what the right thing is, Grams.”

  “You know exactly what the right thing is, dear.” She sits back and picks up her hook and yarn again, ending the conversation.

  We sit there in silence for a while, her crocheting and me staring at the TV. For the first time since I’ve learned the news, I have a sense of peace. Grams is right. I know what I have to do.

  21

  Jules

  The first day I’m supposed to go into the bistro and look over construction dawns gray and stormy. A fitting comparison to my feelings at the moment. I haven’t heard from Mason since I told him the news three days ago. Now, I’m wondering what the day will be like as we work together.

  Will he go back to his usual antagonizing self or show up and avoid me completely? I guess I won’t know until I drag my ass out of bed and go to work.

  After my usual routine of getting sick and then taking a shower, I slap on some makeup and pull my hair into a high ponytail. I’m not sure how to dress, so I settle on a pair of dark-wash skinny jeans and a loose, flowy top that is chic but comfortable. I gather a plastic sack, just in case I get sick on the drive to the bistro, and place it with my bag of crackers and ginger ale before looking around for my purse and phone. Checking the clock, I see I have just enough time to get there by ten.

  My stomach flutters the entire drive over. All the unanswered questions float around in my mind, wreaking havoc on my nerves. Stepping from the car, I take a deep breath and steel myself for whatever I will find inside.

  You can do this. You offered him an out, and if he takes it, you will be okay.

  I pull the bistro door open, and the smell of breakfast foods assaults my senses. I inhale deeply. Right now, the smell isn’t making me sick, and I relish in the feeling. I see patrons eating at tables, except for the area that is blocked off for construction.

  Scanning the large room, my eyes land on Nick and Mason as they stand, hunched over some papers. I watch as Mason’s hands gesture wildly in different directions, and Nick nods to whatever he’s saying. Mesmerized by the way Mason’s muscles bunch under the tight T-shirt he’s wearing, I blink twice, trying to pull my gaze from his body, but I’m too late. Mason’s eyes meet mine, catching my perusal, and his face freezes. I cringe inwardly; it’s not the reaction I was looking for. He nods to his dad before he starts toward me, an
d I have the urge to turn tail and flee without looking back, but I don’t. I’m rooted to the spot as he comes to stand in front of me. He breaks the tense silence by clearing his throat.

  “Hey, can I talk to you in the office?”

  I simply nod, my mouth too dry to speak, and I follow behind him as he leads me down the hallway. He lets me go in first before following, turning to shut the door. He pauses a moment, staring at the door before squaring his shoulders and turning to face me. My stomach is in knots, and I feel a small droplet of sweat rolling down my back. This is excruciating.

  “I know I didn’t exactly behave like I should have the other day,” he begins before pausing, his eyes searching mine. “I’m sorry that I haven’t contacted you these last few days, but I wanted to take the time to think and come to the right decision for me, us … for the baby.” He motions to my stomach where his gaze rests for a moment as he chews on the inside of his cheek.

  I nod, letting him know to continue. I unconsciously move my hand to cover my lower stomach, as if shielding the child from whatever decision is about to come out of Mason’s mouth.

  “Did you decide?” I ask hesitantly, prompting him to actually say something and not just stand there, staring at me.

  “What? Oh, yes.”

  His gaze snaps to mine, and I see a myriad of emotions flitting through his eyes. Most of all, I see fear, and I get it. I might want this child, but it doesn’t mean I’m not scared as hell for what all that will bring with it. Life as we know it will be changing, and that’s huge. It’s so much different when you enter into a relationship or marriage and plan for these things. But to have them thrust upon you is terrifying.

  “Yes, I want … I, uh … want to be in his—in hers,” he says and then clears his throat. “I want to be in my child’s life. My mom wasn’t there for me, and I don’t want my child to wonder why I didn’t care enough to stick around.” He gives a sharp nod and then looks away for a moment. He swallows audibly and shoves his hands in his pockets before rocking back on his feet.