Life Support (The Breathe Series Book 2)

by Zoe Norman

  Yes you can be, my subconscious growls. We have sex every day. Often, multiple times a day. It's hugely possible that I actually am. Oh my God. What will Owen say? He'll think I did this on purpose. He'll think I'm trying to keep him in my life. It will make him think of Jay. I can't lose him. He'll bolt.

  I think back to the last couple of weeks and try to think about any symptoms I may have had. I did have a few days where I was vomiting a lot, but I thought it was just the same stomach bug going around campus. And I have been really, really tired, but I just thought that was from the stress of my research project.

  I quickly make a trip to CVS, pulling as many pregnancy tests of different types I can into my basket. Wow! These tests are really expensive.

  I walk home, having spent a majority of that time drinking a large bottle of Gatorade in the hopes of having enough urine for all of the pregnancy sticks.

  When I step into the bathroom, I start emptying the boxes on the counter. I quickly skim over the instructions and pee on four sticks. While I wait, I prop the sticks up along the sink, willing God to make me not pregnant.

  My phone buzzes on the counter and I jump. It's Owen. I answer while I stare at the sticks.

  "Hey, beautiful. Whatcha up to?" he says in his deep, sexy voice.

  I focus on the sticks as they start to change color. "Oh nothing. Just rearranging things. How's work?"

  "Work is work. But all I can think about is that time I fucked you in the bathroom here. Remember that? I really, really feel like being buried inside you right now." His voice is low, letting me know that he's feeling very horny. Oh God.

  I look at the sticks and see:

  + … + … pregnant …pregnant

  I take in a sharp breath.

  "Owen, you love me, right?" I ask fearfully.

  "I just told you I want to fuck the shit out of you right now. That doesn't tell you that I love you?" he replies, his sense of humor gone.

  "No, that tells me you want to fuck me. You love me no matter what, right? Forever and always? Like we say all the time?" I know I sound panic stricken, but I can't help myself. The evidence in front of me does not look good.

  "Liv, what's going on? You okay?" he asks, sounding worried.

  "I'm fine. I just... I just need to hear it sometimes," I say, hoping to just sound needy versus crazy.

  "I love you no matter what, forever and always, Olivia Burke. Better?"

  I can hear him smiling on the other end of the phone, and as terrified as I am of him finding out that I'm pregnant, I just want to be curled up in his arms right now.

  "Much better. Thank you. I love you too. More than you will ever know," I answer wistfully.

  "Olivia, you're freaking me out here. What's wrong? Did something happen?"

  "No, no, no. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out. Sometimes, girls just need to hear love talk. That's all. Get back to work. I'll see you when you get home. I got us steaks for dinner." I try to sound excited about making his favorite meal.

  After we end the call, I slump onto the floor of the bathroom. I'm pregnant. Probably about six weeks or more. I'm going to be a mother. And I hope I don't have to do it alone. I wrap the pregnancy tests in toilet paper and then the plastic bag I bought them in. After removing all evidence from the bathroom, I head out to the street and deposit the bag in the outside trash bin—all traces disposed of. I walk back into our apartment sick to my stomach, trying to figure out how I'll tell Owen that he's going to be a daddy.

  Later that night, after having had a filling dinner and fielding a hundred questions from Owen about why I'm acting so strange, we are lying in bed watching TV. I'm curled into him, my head on his chest as he plays with my hair. This is my favorite place, just relaxing with him, but I can't settle my nerves. We're lying here like it's any other night of the week, and a little baby is growing inside me. I already feel attachment to this little life, and its father doesn't even know it exists. I feel terrible.

  I must make a sound or tense up because Owen pulls back and looks down at me. "Liv, I know I've asked you this a million times tonight, but what's wrong? I know something is up. Why don't you just tell me? Whatever it is—"

  I cut him off without looking up at him. "It's nothing, I swear. I'm just feeling off today. I'll be fine tomorrow. This helps." I squeeze him tighter, and he lays his head back down, stroking my back.

  "Okay. If you're sure," he says, not sounding convinced at all.

  The next week passes by and I still haven't found the right time to tell him. We have gone out twice with friends and I haven't had alcohol. Owen has shown suspicion at this, but I just wave it off as just not being in the mood. I find myself constantly needing reminders from him that he loves me, seeking reassurance. He repeatedly tells me that he loves me, tells me that he's glad I moved in. He asks a couple of times if something has come up from his past that is bothering me, since that's usually the trigger for me ever being upset with him. In fact, we don't fight—ever—unless it has to do with some other woman. I truly have moved on from that, understanding that everyone has a past and it doesn't have to impact our future.

  But I also know that he has a fear of commitment, and a baby is a serious commitment. Despite all of this, I reassure him that I’m not concerned about an ex. Like every other excuse I’ve been using, he looks less than convinced. The guilt I feel from lying to him and not letting him in eats me alive every day.

  One afternoon, I decide to swing by the firehouse on my way home. His shift is ending about when I usually get home from work, and we thought it would be nice to walk home together. When I arrive at the firehouse, I see Owen showing a little boy, maybe four or five years old, the truck. He is smiling and laughing and picking the boy up to show him inside the truck. His grin is infectious, and I stand in the open doorway just watching his interaction with the little boy.

  Owen is a natural with children and my heart constricts. I wonder how he will be with our children, our child. I still haven't gone to the doctor to confirm the pregnancy, fearing the inevitable—that they will tell me what I already know. As if the positive pregnancy tests didn’t settle it, my body has found it necessary to give me every telltale sign of early pregnancy like constant trips to the bathroom and sudden-onset, coma like, fatigue that plagues me every day.

  Owen turns and notices me in the doorway. With the little boy still in his strong arms, he points to me. "Hey, Lucas. Isn't that lady over there beautiful?"

  Lucas smiles a sweet smile and blows me a kiss. I pretend to catch it and start to walk over to them.

  "Lucas, this is my beautiful girlfriend Olivia. Can you say hi?"

  He waves and says, “Hello.”

  "Hello, Lucas," I say. "And how do you know my fireman here?"

  "Lucas came over with his mom. She's friends with Tanner and Laney, and he wanted to see the trucks. She's inside with Tanner. Give me a minute to bring him back in to her and we can go, okay?" He leans forward, giving me a chaste kiss on the cheek, before turning to return Lucas to his mother.

  Once Lucas has been returned and Owen has signed out to his colleagues, we walk home, his arm draping my shoulders, my arm around his waist. We stroll in comfortable silence, just enjoying the early evening.

  "Owen, you seemed to really like Lucas," I say, hoping to spark a discussion about children.

  He smiles broadly. "Yeah, he's a cool kid. I like showing kids the trucks. They love it."

  "Have you ever thought about having kids? We've never really talked about that before," I ask cautiously.

  Owen tenses. "Kids? Uh, yeah, I guess."

  That didn't sound so good.

  "You guess?" I ask, prodding.

  "Well, yeah. I mean, I guess I've thought about it in the past, but nothing recently. I'm kind of just happy with finding a beautiful girl like you for right now, you know?"

  I put my head down, feeling a little like I've been punched. It's not his fault. He doesn't even know why I'm asking. But I can't help bu
t get the sense that he will be less than thrilled about the little addition to our family.

  "What about you, Liv?"

  "Uh, yeah, well, I kind of always wanted kids. But you're right. I haven't really thought about it lately."

  He kisses me on the top of my head, seeming to be happy with my answer. "Hey, wanna get some dinner somewhere?"

  I agree, and we continue on our way home, my head spinning and my heart hurting. I hate lying to him, but I have to figure this out, and until I do, I'm going to be a hurting unit. I decide in that moment that I'm going to make an appointment for next week to see the doctor, end of story. We'll take the rest from there.

  I’VE ENJOYED MY DAY off. After Olivia moved in, having the apartment to myself is a sweet luxury. Don’t get me wrong—I love that she’s living here and I love having access to her body whenever the mood strikes us, but there is something about being alone. I can fart and belch loudly without getting scolded. I can eat ice cream for lunch if I want, and I can watch sports for the next twelve hours. Outside of being buried balls-deep inside Olivia, this is the closest thing to heaven. I don’t need to talk to anyone. I don’t need to listen to my coworkers drivel about this and that. I can just…be.

  I went to the gym this morning and ran a few errands. I wandered the aisles of the grocery store and picked up the items on Olivia’s list, adding some things of my own. I thought I would cook a special dinner for us, so I grabbed some artisan cheeses and bread to have with our meal tonight as well as a nice bottle of Olivia’s favorite white wine. I even managed to get some of my work clothes laundered. Olivia refuses to touch my work clothes, and I don’t blame her. That shit is nasty.

  I hear the lock on the door turn and get up from the couch, anxious to greet my Olivia. Our eyes meet and she gives me a soft, welcoming smile.

  “Hi, honey. I’m home,” she calls out with a mocking lilt to her voice.

  “That still sounds so weird.” I shake my head before snatching Olivia into my arms. I plant a soft kiss on her neck and then her lips. I smell her hair. I’ll never tire of the way her hair smells like sunshine and the ocean. It makes it uniquely Olivia. “How did your presentation go today?” I ask as I help her out of her jacket. I give myself points for remembering her important presentation today on her new grant project.

  “It went well!” She smiles as she bends down to pick up her computer bag and bring it to the table. “We garnered a lot of interest and the board asked a lot of challenging questions. I just hope they see the benefit of additional research for PTSD medications because the implications are enormous. But enough about my day. How was your day of leisure? Itch and scratch, belch and fart it all out today, did you?” Olivia asks with a smile.

  “It’s like you were here. I’m proud to say I did all of that, thank you very much. I won’t give a repeat performance for you though, because I know how much that turns you on.”

  “Yes. Thank you for that. You’re so gracious in your restraint,” she teases.

  As Olivia starts to remove items from her bag, I can’t help but notice that there is something different about her. Is it her hair? You only get one chance to notice a new haircut.

  “I like your hair. It looks great.”

  Olivia swings her head around to look at me and flips her long, brunette locks over her shoulder. She furrows her brow and grabs a handful of her hair, taking a closer look at the ends. “Yeah? Thanks. I really need to get it cut and colored though. It’s been forever.”

  Okay. So I missed the mark on her hair being different.

  I walk up behind her and grab her hips, turning her around to face me. “Did you get a facial or something today? Your skin looks great. It’s like you’re glowing.” I run the backs of my fingers along her soft cheek.

  She looks up at me with wide, almost surprised eyes, but they quickly soften. She clutches my hand, taking it away from her face, and simply holds it in hers. “No. No facial today either. Although I should get one of those soon too…” Her voice trails and she casts her eyes off to the side like she doesn’t want to look me in the eye. Is she embarrassed that she needs a spa day?

  “Tell you what,” I say as I take her chin in my fingers and tilt up her head to look at me. “You’ve been working really hard on this grant stuff. Why don’t you tell me where you go do all your hair and face stuff and I’ll make all the arrangements for a spa day for you. You deserve to relax. You’ve been really tired lately and you seem…off. Just not yourself.”

  Olivia closes her eyes slowly and looks at me again. “You don’t need to do that, Owen. I just—”

  “I know I don’t need to do it, Olivia,” I say, cutting her off. “I want to. I want to do things that make you happy.” I tuck her hair behind her ear. Seeing her happy is my sole goal in life, and I’ll move heaven and hell to do it. “If you’re going to be my lady, there are certain things you must get used to. One,” I say, gripping her shoulders, “you must have sex with me. A lot. Which you’re the best at and you’ve done an amazing job at keeping me very satisfied in that regard, so congratulations on that major accomplishment.”

  “You’re welcome.” Olivia chuckles, giving me a genuine smile.

  “And second, you’ll need to get used to the idea of me doing nice things for you. I consider it part of my job and it’s something I love to do because I love you. You make me incredibly happy, Olivia. We’re in a really good spot, you and me,” I add, motioning my hand between us. “Things are going so great. I think we’re adjusting to this living together thing pretty well. Our jobs are going great. Yeah, we’re working too much and spending too much time apart, but I know things will calm down for us. In fact,” I say, getting an idea, “maybe we should plan a trip! Somewhere warm where I can stare at you in your bikini all day.” I smile, suggestively raising and lowering my eyebrows.

  Olivia looks up at me, tears welling up in her eyes. A single tear falls from the corner of her beautiful blue eyes and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing that she’s emotional.

  “Owen, I need to tell you something,” she murmurs quietly.

  “What is it, baby?” I ask with concern. What has her so worked up? “Why are you crying?” I wipe away at the lone tear that trails down her cheek.

  “I’m… We’re... I need to…” She pauses, takes a long, deep, almost fortifying breath, and looks up into my face. “I just love you so much.” She exhales and buries her face into my chest, throwing her arms around my waist. “I just need you to know how much I love you. Thank you for making me so happy…for loving me.”

  I wrap my arms around Olivia and rest my chin on the top of her head. “I love you too, Olivia,” I whisper, still slightly miffed about her tears. “I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. You’re my everything.”

  She’s not telling me the truth. I can feel it, but I don’t know what to do about it.

  A soft sob escapes from Olivia’s mouth as she hugs me tighter, obviously not wanting to let me go. It’s like she afraid she’ll never hold me again.

  I grab her arms from around my waist and ease her from my body. “I know there’s something more bothering you, and I also know you’ll tell me when you’re ready,” I say, searching her eyes. “But for now, you go change into some comfy clothes and then you can watch me put dinner together”—I lift my eyebrow—“and we can start planning our trip.” I smack her butt as I walk towards the kitchen, ready to wow my lady with my cooking skill and figure out what’s bothering her.

  LAST NIGHT WAS DIFFICULT. I was so close to telling Owen about the baby. I wish I had pulled together the courage to do it. He left early for his shift at the firehouse this morning, and now, I’m taking my time getting ready, staring at my body in the mirror after my shower. Clearly, my body hasn’t made any physical changes yet, but there is still something different about me. I can’t place a finger on it, but I’m just...different.

  After dinner last night, we cuddled on the couch, one of my favorite things to d
o. I fit perfectly into Owen’s side, and it’s one of the happiest places on the planet for me. I know he sensed that something was off with me, but after a week of his constant interrogation of my frequently odd mood, he has kind of given up. I feel bad about that too. I’m forcing the man I want to communicate with to not communicate with me.

  I’m so frustrated with myself I could scream, which in turn makes me act weird—blah blah blah. It’s a vicious cycle and it’s become exhausting. I feel like someone who is cheating and has to work so hard to hide their horrible secret. Although, so much of me wants to tell him, share this joyful news, and believe that he will be just as thrilled. Just...not yet.

  I walk into our closet, looking at my dresses hanging neatly on the racks. I may not fit into these much longer. I won’t look as sexy in them. Owen won’t want me the way he does now. My stomach does a somersault and a wave of nausea hits me. I run to the bathroom, making the toilet just in time to throw up the contents of my stomach. When I’m finished, I slide back against the bathroom wall and cry.

  I’m so terrified that I’ll lose Owen. I’ve finally found someone who loves me. We broke through so many of our walls over the last year. And now, as if fate were playing some kind of cruel game, this happens. We haven’t even talked about pregnancy. Or marriage, in any great detail. Or what order those two things should go in.

  I suddenly feel extremely lonely, and I realize that it’s because I don’t have anyone here to talk to about this. Laney and I have gotten close, but I can’t tell her about this. I don’t want everyone at work to know I’m pregnant. My parents are definitely off the list. My mother will be completely incapable of keeping her mouth shut. And Reese is great, but she’s so busy with wedding planning. Not to mention I’m her maid of honor and she’ll probably freak at the thought that I might not fit into my dress. Oh fuck. The wedding.