I throw one of the couch pillows at her, and she dodges it with a smile.
“I’m just saying, you aren’t mad that it happened so quick. You’re afraid that your differences will get the best of you as a couple. But who cares that you were only together for a month? I know people that have been together for years, and they’ve never gotten married. Don’t fall into what society think two people should be. You’re different. So what? Being the same would be boring.”
Damn, I both hate and love it when she is right.
* * *
Tonight will be my first night back at Tops’, since it’s been closed for the last few weeks, but it’s kind of the last thing on my mind right now. I’ve been standing in the bathroom, staring at a box of pregnancy tests. I know that there is no way in hell that I’m pregnant. We were safe. We were safe every time, except for that one unknown night we got married.
Details.
I haven’t spoken to him since that night, either. It isn’t for his lack of trying, either. He’s sent gifts, cards, flowers, my favorite food. He sends something every day; it makes it difficult to think. I know I want him, but I’m so freaking scared I’m going to make a bad wife or mother.
A light knock on my bathroom door pulls me from my thoughts. Charlie calls from the hallway. “Whit? Are you okay? You’ve been in there for about an hour.”
I open the door with tears in my eyes. “I can’t do it. I can’t take it. He isn’t here.”
“And whose fault is that? I’m sorry, Whit. But I have no sympathy for you. All this pain? You’re doing it to yourself. We talked about this. I know you’re upset with him, but he has been trying. What have you been doing?”
I have been freaking out. Practicing my grovel speech and dreaming about him and missing him like my own heart is beating out of my chest.
“I know, okay? I’m messing up, but this is something I can’t do without him.”
“Well, we might be able to fix that. Grab a test. We need to go to the hospital.”
I grab the box and push past her. “What? Why? What happened? Is it Logan? Please don’t tell me it’s Logan.”
“No, but he called me since you aren’t answering your calls—which, by the way is an immature thing to do. But it’s Tops. Logan went to the diner today and found him passed out on the floor. He just called me, so we have time to make it there.”
Silent tears fall the apples of my cheeks. I just saw Tops yesterday. He was fine. “No. This can’t be happening. I just saw him. He was fine.”
“You have a great way of blocking reality out, Whit. He has cancer. He has never been fine. Come on, I’ll take you to the hospital.”
It’s like I’m in a fog as I go through the motions of grabbing a jacket and putting on my shoes. The diner is supposed to open back up today. Tops and I have plans. He can’t die. He can’t.
Every time I blink, new tears fall, and my vision clouds. I don’t even remember getting into her car, driving to the hospital, or finding myself in the cancer ward, until I stared at his door: number 537.
“I’ll leave you alone with him. I’m going to go get us some coffee, and I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
My hand lands on the cold handle of the door, and I take a deep breath, promising myself that I’ll try to be a better person, not someone who is so afraid of life. The door clicks and the darkness of the room envelops parts of my body until I’m fully immersed in it. The only thing I can see is Tops, sleeping almost peacefully in his bed. It hurts my heart to see him this pale. The only thing I can hear is the steady sounds of machines beeping.
“I told her to tell you he’s fine.”
Logan’s voice drapes over my skin like a warm blanket, hugging me and giving me everything I’ve missed over the last few weeks.
“I’m glad she didn’t. I’d want to be here.” I sink further into the room and see Logan sitting in the corner with one leg crossed. In his hand, leaning against his leg, is a bottle, and the faint glare from the sun through the curtains shows it says Jim Beam. It doesn’t look open, but the label is worn, like it’s old.
“Logan.”
“Don’t. Please don’t. I’m here to make sure he is okay. I’m taking care of him.”
“They say he’s okay, right?”
“Yeah, but he’ll need to stay in the hospital. His cancer is more aggressive now.”
“I can’t believe the hospital didn’t call me.”
“He asked them not to until there was something to worry about. He said you had a way of wallowing alone when something happens to someone or something you love, so he left you alone. I called Charlie because you had a right to know. And since you don’t answer my calls, I thought of the next best thing.”
I sit next to him and notice he hasn’t taken off his ring. I might have been a real no-show over the last few weeks, but I haven’t taken my ring off either.
“And the booze?”
“Something I carry with me when I think I can’t beat the pain, but I’ve done it once before. I can do it again.”
I set my bag in my lap. The reminder of the pregnancy test I’ve been keeping over the last week feels the same.
“Logan, I—"
“No,” he starts, wiping his eyes. “Let me say what I need to say to you. I know I haven’t been the best lately. I’m not asking you to forgive me.” His voice breaks with regret and emotion as the first sob breaks free. “What I did to you isn’t okay. I should have just listened and spoken to you, but I didn’t know how. I was scared. I am scared. I’ve never had someone want all of me before. I’m good at pushing things away when they get too close. I am so, so sorry for everything I said and did. That’s why I’ve been calling you so much.”
He looks at me with those beautiful brown eyes, and suddenly I’m crying, too.
“I’m sorry, Cherry—Whitley,” he says. “Could you ever forgive me?”
I hold up two fingers. “Well, there’s just one condition,” I whisper.
“What is it?”
A moment of silence passes.
He looks me straight in the eye and manages a smile, showing that damn dimple once again. I’m madder and sadder than I’ve ever been, but still, something about seeing that damn dimple just makes me swoon.
“What’s the one condition?” he repeats.
I take a deep breath, ignoring his question. “I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry I haven’t contacted you, and I’m sorry I haven’t answered your calls. There’s something I’ve been keeping from you that I just don’t know how to tell you.”
“What is it?”
I take a deep breath. Here we go. “On top of everything else, I think I’m pregnant.”
The bottle in his hand tumbles, and both of us lean forward to catch it. Both of our hands wrap around it. Our fingers touch, and for the first time in weeks, all my bitterness and anger vanishes. The fear of being too young for marriage vanishes. Everything seems stupid, now that I’m touching him. The noise in my mind fades, the worry in my heart disappears, and my lungs can finally breathe without sharp pain.
I’m not the only one affected. Logan inches forward, intertwining our hands further together. “Your touch feels so good, Whitley. I’ve missed you, but I can’t be here with you. I can’t touch you if you’re just going to leave again.”
I’ve never experienced so much guilt before. “Logan, I’m sorry. I did plan on calling. I’ve just never been so scared for something in my entire life. I didn’t know what to say. You’ve completely made me look at everything I’ve known differently. And the thought of marriage, for the rest of my life—that’s a long time to change everything I’ve ever felt for something I haven’t felt for as long. Does that make sense?”
“You're young. You deserve to live life. You deserve to make mistakes. You deserve to wake up with a different man every morning if you choose, because I woke up with different women in my bed all the time when I was your age. I had thought we were on the same page, but maybe I was wron
g. And if you are pregnant, and you don’t want to keep it—well, I’ll do whatever you ask of me.”
I stand, holding my hand to my mouth to cover my sobs. I take a seat next to Tops, reaching for his hand. It’s cold and soft, like the warmth of life doesn’t affect him anymore, and that scares me too, but I have to stop running from things that scare me.
“I couldn’t take the pregnancy test without you. I’ve had the box every day for the last week, but even with Charlie there, all I thought about was you, and that if I experienced this, I’d want to do it with the man I love. My husband.”
“Don’t say things like that unless you mean them, because I swear to God, Whitley. I won’t let you walk out that door again. I won’t.”
“I only want to walk out that door with you, Logan. I can’t promise I’ll be perfect all the time. And I’ve had time to think about my life and how I can change and grow, but I want to do it with you. And I wondered if planting ten thousand trees for every tree you tore down is still an option?”
“What?” he asks, placing his hands on the arm of the chair and pushing himself up. He stands just inches to me, his scent wrapping around my lungs like a vine. Sandalwood.
“I had another memory resurface while we were in Vegas. You had asked me to marry you, and I said no, because of the whole tree—thing.” I roll my eyes.
“Then you promised for every tree you tear down, you’d plant ten thousand more.”
“I’d plant all the trees for you,” he whispers, his hand on top of mine as I hold on to Tops. It’s all I can do to keep myself from crying.
“So, you don’t know if you’re pregnant?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I could be paranoid, but I’ve been having symptoms. I think. Again, I might be paranoid since it’s only been a few weeks since Vegas.”
“It could have been before.”
“We used condoms, though.”
He smiles as he tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear, a simple touch that I’ve missed so much. “Condoms aren’t one-hundred-percent effective, Cherry.”
Cherry. Hearing him call me that again sends shivers through me. I missed it more than anything.
“I knew that. I was testing you,” I say with smile, peeking up at him through wet lashes.
“When do you want to take the test?”
He spins me in his arms, and I lay my head on his chest. The familiar beat of his heart sings the last of my worries away.
Badum, badum, badum.
It’s strong and beautiful, just like him.
“Could you guys take it here? I want to know if I’m going to be a great-grandpa.”
I snap my head toward Tops, and my eyes water as I bend down and lovingly rub a hand over his head.
“Tops?” I ask, the hiss of the oxygen flowed through his mask and up his nose. He tries to blink but groans. “Do you want to sit up more? You scared the shit out of us. What did I tell you about working alone?”
He snorts, readjusting himself in the hospital bed, and raises his thick, bushy black brow. “This coming from the person who doesn’t listen at all.”
“That was fair. I deserved that.” I mutter, tucking his sheets tighter around his body. “Are you warm? Do you need another blanket? I’ll get you another blanket. Let me get a nurse.”
Tops grips my hand tight, stopping me from leaving, so I turn back around and bend over. “What do you need?”
“I need you to stop fussing. I’m fine. I ain’t dead yet. Stop treating me like a corpse,” he huffs, placing his hands on his big pot belly.
“You need warmth.”
“I need to find out if I’m going to be a grandpa or not.”
“Hey, I brought coffee. Tops! You’re up! You’re old, man! How are you doing?” Charlie buzzes through, giving everyone their cups. She leans in and kisses him on the cheek.
“Girl, I’ll show you old. I’ll whoop that ass. You ain’t too old for a good ass whooping,” he laughs, and his chuckle makes nurses stop outside and peek in. They smile when they see him holding his stomach, sounding just like Santa Claus.
“Please, I’m young and cancer-free. You can’t beat that.”
“I’m going to be cancer-free. Then you’re in trouble.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Charlie says again and takes a seat. “So, are we doing this pregnancy test or what?”
Logan reaches for my hand, intertwining his fingers together. “Whatever it is. We’ll handle it. Together.”
“Together,” I whisper, bringing his hand to my lips and placing a small kiss on his skin. I never knew how much someone could miss someone else. Until I met Logan.
Logan
Pregnant.
I stare at the test in her hand and look from her, to the stick, back to her, and back to the stick. “You’re sure?”
“Oh, man. He is losing it. He wasn’t ready.”
Charlie laughs when Tops’ chuckle echoes through the room again. It’s like Christmas in April.
“You’re pregnant. Wait. We’re at the hospital. We need to have someone look at you. Make sure you and the baby are okay. We don’t know how long you’ve been pregnant, and we didn’t know. Have you been drinking?” I ask, my mind immediately racing.
“A lot of women don’t find out they’re pregnant until around eight weeks. Drinking during that time is fine, as long as it isn’t excessive,” Charlie points out. Since when did she become an expert?
“Vegas was very excessive,” I grumble. I feel beads of sweat start to roll down my face. I try to contain my rapid breathing, but it’s no use. My hands start shaking and the room feels like it’s spinning.
“Um, maybe you should sit down,” says Whitley. Somehow, she’s handling it better than I am.
“Sit, right. Sit.” I slide back down in my chair, twisting the top off my bottle of Jim Beam, and takes a swig. “You want some?” I wince. “Shit. You can’t. Anyone else?”
“Pass that bottle over here, son.” Tops pats his bed, licking his lips, salivating for the amber.
“Mr. Tompkins. I know you aren’t about to drink while you’re lying in a hospital bed.” Whitley puts her hands on her hips, glaring.
I stretch and give him the big glass bottle.
“I’m celebrating,” Tops protests. “Your boy here is processing. He will be fine. All first time dads freak out. The man is so composed, it’s funny to see him become a little bit of a wreck. He’ll be fine.”
Tops takes a swig and sighs. “Aw yeah, that’s good.” He takes another swig, holding it by the neck of the bottle and keeping his eyes closed.
At that time, a nurse decides to come in, and Charlie snatches the bottle from Tops, holding it off the bed to the other side, so she can’t see it. She also reaches in her pocket, grabs a tic-tac, and shoves it in Tops’ mouth.
The nurse finally looks up from her chart and sniffs the air. “Are you guys drinking in here?”
“No, that’s just me. I had a rough night. Sorry,” I say, gathering my composure and standing to my full height.
She has to crane her neck to look at me and holds the medical chart against her chest. “Sorry, Mr. Stone. I’m just here to check on Mr. Tompkins’ vitals.”
“I’m alive. Can’t you see that?”
“Aw, don’t be grumpy.” Charlie pats his hand, popping another Tic-Tac in her mouth.
“I’m wondering, is there a possibility for my wife to get an ultrasound? We just received a positive pregnancy test, and we want to make sure. We went to Vegas, and we didn’t know—”
“And let me guess, lots of drinking in Vegas?”
“That’s an understatement,” Charlie mutters, pushing a button that tilts the empty second bed up and down. She does it a few times, smiling when she pretends, she is on a rollercoaster and lifts her hands before pressing the button again to down like she is falling.
“You do a lot for this hospital, Mr. Stone. It won’t be a problem to get you in right away.”
I breathe a sigh
of relief. “Thank you.”
“No problem, just let me check his vitals, and we will get going.” She checks all the machines and writes down all the information she needs. “You’re looking good, Tops. Tomorrow we start your first round of chemotherapy, so be ready not to feel so great.” She pats his shoulder, but it sounded like she cares.
“Alright, follow me,” the nurse says. I take Whitley’s hand in a tight grip, not just because of the unknown, but to make sure she is here. It has been a very long few weeks without her, and while I didn’t fall into the depression I wanted to, the struggle remained. I carried that bottle of Jim with me everywhere, tempting myself with a drunken wasteland, but I wanted to prove to myself that I was better than that.
And I did. I am better. I only took a swig to ease the nerves of being a father. Holy shit, I’m going to be a father. “I love you, Whitley.”
It hit me that, yes, we have said we were in love with each other, but I don’t think we have ever said the words.
“I love you, too, Logan,” she replies, gripping my hand as we make our way through the white hallways, following the lady in seafoam green.
“Right this way.” The nurse allows us to enter the door first. The room is small, with a table with stirrups and an ultrasound machine. “How far do you think you are? It depends on the exam we do.”
“Um,” Whitley says with uncertainty. “I don’t know. I mean, I thought it was when we were at Vegas because we can’t remember if we had sex that night, but then he reminded that condoms don’t always work.”
“How long have you been together?”
“About two months.”
The nurse had already lifted Whitley’s shirt when she squirts the gel tube in shock. An enormous amount of the liquid goes everywhere. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”
Whitley giggles, holding my hand. “Yeah, you can see what happened in Vegas now, right?”
The lady covers the wand with plastic and swirls it over Whitley’s flat stomach, smoothing the gel over her skin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to react that way.”
The Hangover Page 22
