by Lane Hart
Mace actually smiles for the first time all day. “You’re having a little girl?” he asks, apparently missing the first part of my admission.
“Yeah, pretty sure. Not that I’ll ever see her,” I answer, running my fingers through my hair to tug on a chunk in frustration. God, the shaggy locks are getting long. Maybe it’s time for a cut. For a change. Although, I’m pretty sure it’s gonna take more than a haircut to make Abby see that I can give up women and be a decent father.
“Why won’t you see her?” Mace asks.
I slouch a little lower into my seat, feeling the embarrassment of the past few years living as a don’t-give-a-shit-playboy catching up with me. “I guess she thinks I’ll be a shitty father.”
“I didn’t think you wanted to be a father,” he replies, not trying to be an asshole, I don’t think, just being honest based on the conversation we had the day Abby told me the news by phone.
“I didn’t,” I admit since it’s true. Then I try to figure out the point where that changed. Seeing Abby’s baby bump at the wedding? No, now that I think about it, I know the exact moment when something inside me shifted. “She likes Lucky Charms.”
“Who? Abby?” he asks with a confused crease between his dark eyebrows.
“No, the baby.”
“Okay, you lost me,” he says with a grumble and a shake of his head.
“Abby’s been having these food cravings,” I explain. “The baby wants her to eat one of my favorite foods.” And my mom’s. I withhold that one though since my worthless parents are not something I ever want to bring up. Actually, I try to pretend they don’t exist, at least until my dad shows up on my doorstep wanting a handout. He’s never even been inside my house. It’s like a quick and dirty drug deal. He bangs on the door in the middle of the night, and I hand over the cash. Probably best that he doesn’t come inside since my belongings are all much safer if he doesn’t see them. Honestly, breaking and entering is likely more work than the man has ever done in his entire life.
“So…” Mace says, still not getting what I’m trying to say about the significance of the kid’s cereal, one I didn’t have growing up because it was too expensive.
“So,” I start to explain. “I realized that the baby is gonna be like a mini-me, which means she’ll probably be pretty damn awesome.”
“And I’m sure she’ll be just as humble as you as well,” he snorts. “Have you talked to Abby?”
I nod and swipe my palm down my face. “She pretty much shot me right down. Said she didn’t want my money either.”
“Damn,” he says with a shake of his head. “But she can’t just cut you out. I mean, if it’s that important to you, you could go to court and ask for visitation, right? She can’t just make the decision to keep her from you.”
“That would suck to have to go through attorneys and shit, but maybe…” I mutter.
…
Abby
The sight of a pink Mommy’s Little Angel onesie has my sniffles escalating to a full blown sobfest. I quickly weave my way through the racks of tiny clothes in the huge department baby store to collect myself in the restroom. And pee. I do that a lot lately, the crying and peeing.
My phone dings in my purse with a new text message right when I sit down on the toilet, so I pull it out to read it. My sister said she’s in the store and can’t find me. Well, obviously. I shoot her a quick response to tell her I’m in the bathroom.
“Lucy, I’m home!” my sister, Whitney, says with a fake Cuban accent when she blows into the women’s restroom like a hurricane. “Tossing your cookies again this morning?”
“Nah, just had to go. Be right out,” I assure her, using tissue to dry up my face before I flush and open the door to face her.
“Nice,” she says. “I heard the raccoon look was coming back in style.”
Glancing in the mirror, I see my mascara is smudged all up under both red-rimmed eyes. My braid looks slept in with pieces falling all around my face and the blue floral sundress that fit just last week is now practically indecent. “I’ve surpassed hot mess and entered a whole new level of fucked-up-ness,” I tell her while I wash my hands.
“Aww, but you’re still cute. You look like a little farm girl who got knocked up on Little House on the Prairie.”
“Not funny,” I say with a glare at my little sister. That’s when I notice Whitney’s wearing her big sunglasses inside and a huge pink, floppy hat over her long, chestnut hair. “What’s with the disguise?” I ask.
“Oh. Well, you know that if Thomas and Vivian found out I was seen in public with you, they would cut me off. Since I’m hoping for a new Audi A5 convertible for my birthday, I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
“Yeah, I mean, a new car is way more important than baby shopping with your knocked-up out-of-wedlock sister,” I tease, reaching next to her for a paper towel to dry my hands.
“Easy for you to say. You have your own business and don’t depend on our parents for sustenance anymore.”
“Yes, and yet they still keep putting money into my account. Even as recent as last week,” I tell her. Their money now goes straight into a trust fund for the baby, because I refuse to touch a penny of it. By spending enough money, my parents think they can buy anything, including my agreement to do whatever the hell they want me to do. Never again. It’s all about appearances with the two of them, which is the only reason they had me and Whitney. The social clubs would’ve looked down on them for not procreating, and they would’ve lost out on all the “my kid is better than yours” competitions. Whitney still plays along, but I gave it up a long time ago.
“Huh. Guess they’re softening up to everything after all,” she says. “So, you ready to shop?”
“No!” I shake my head and tell her adamantly. There’s no way I want to repeat the prior episode over and over again. “I-I just can’t. This is so hard.” My voice cracks on the last word, and then I’m a blubbering mess. Whitney wraps me in her arms and lets me cry on her shoulder.
When the bathroom door opens and a woman with her little girl comes in, I know it’s time to leave. “Have you had lunch?” I ask her as we walk toward the exit.
“No,” she replies. “Why, are you a hungry, hungry hippo?”
“Not funny,” I mutter.
“Oh, hi.” A peppy young woman in a purple logo shirt stops us before we get to the sliding doors. “Have you started your registry with us yet?”
“She’s not pregnant, just fat, so leave her alone, you nosy heifer!” my sister yells at the woman as she grabs my arm and pulls me away.
“Whitney!” I exclaim. “I’m so sorry,” I tell the salesperson over my shoulder on the way out the door.
“Whew! That was fun,” Whitney says, practically skipping through the parking lot until we approach our two red Beemers parked side-by-side.
“Not fun,” I scoff. “That was mean.”
“Hey, I was just trying to save you from another freak out,” she tells me. “So, where to, Triple H? Whatcha got a craving for?”
Cock. Always cock. And enchiladas.
“Triple H?” I ask in confusion with my hands on my hips.
“Hungry, hungry hippo. I thought you would prefer Triple H to the actual phrase.”
“I would prefer Abby, but whatever,” I reply with a roll of my eyes. “How about Rio Grande?”
“Mexican? Really, that’s what the little one wants? Or do you just want to be in the shopping center near Havoc on the off chance some of the fighters might come in?” she asks with a raised eyebrow. “Either way is fine, because those boys are hot!”
“Fine, see you there,” I tell her before getting in my car without answering her question. Driving past Havoc, my thoughts first go to Senn and not Linc or even Luke. Maybe because for the past few mornings I’ve been eating the saltine crackers he brought over before I get out of bed and so I haven’t been sick. Well, not until later in the day at least. When I found the plastic bag on the table after he left, at f
irst I thought Luke had brought them, but then I realized the bag had the logo from a beach store. Knowing Senn had gone to get them for me that morning is beyond sweet and surprising. But it doesn’t matter. He’s probably already fucked his way through half a dozen non-pregnant women by now.
A few minutes later, Whitney and I are seated at a table in the busy Mexican restaurant.
“So, how are you feeling?” Whitney asks once we’ve ordered.
Reaching for a salty chip from the basket to settle my stomach, I tell her, “Pretty good. Morning sickness is still making me its bitch. A few nosebleeds and fatigue. How have you been?”
“I’m trying to stay strong and think positive, but it’s hard. Why couldn’t you be an evil stepsister?” she asks, and looks away when she uses her knuckle to brush away a tear.
“I’m sorry we’re biologically related,” I tease.
She laughs before grabbing her own nacho chip and dipping it in salsa. “You know what I mean. So distract me with gossip. Tell me about Linc’s wedding. Was his bride hideous in a burgundy dress or something equally revolting?”
That gets a smile out of me. “Nowhere near hideous,” I admit. “Claire wore a Princess Zelda dress.”
“No shit!” Whitney giggles.
“It was beautiful. Everything was. And Linc seemed ridiculously happy.”
“Oh yeah?” she asks. “That sucks.”
“I’m happy for him,” I tell her. “But I’m not sure it’s gonna last.”
Of course I feel a tad guilty for what I plan to do and the problems it may cause, but I’m just trying to do what’s best for the baby. A little girl deserves to have a mother and a father.
Chapter Eight
Senn
The gym’s front door opens and in walks Luke, the cocky bastard, with a gym bag over his shoulder. I hate him because Abby lets him stick around. In fact, over the last week and a half while I haven’t seen her once, he’s probably been with her every damn night. Fucker.
When he sees me and starts heading in the direction of the boxing ring where Mason and I are taking a breather, I straighten up from the ropes and pound my gloved fists together. There’s nothing I would love more than going a few rounds with him, even though I know it wouldn’t be a fair fight. I outweigh him by at least forty pounds and have years of experience under my belt.
“Congrats on the big win,” Luke tells Mace with a grin. Reaching up, he offers a fist bump that Mace hits.
“Thanks.” Mace looks back and forth between me and the blond asshole who’s not even old enough to drink yet. Hell, Mace isn’t either, but he just seems older and more mature than this prick.
“Run along now,” I tell the boy when he keeps standing there, arms hanging casually over the lowest rope next to Mace. At least he’s smart enough to stay out of my reach. “Aren’t you late for the tween karate class?”
“Abby has a doctor’s appointment Monday at eleven, Wake OBGYN at 2200 New Bern Avenue, Suite 314,” he quickly rattles off. “You should go.”
That’s not what I expected to hear come out of his mouth. I assumed he wanted to linger around to tell me how good it feels to fuck her or brag about how many times they’ve screwed each other’s brains out.
“She doesn’t want me there,” I reply when I recover from the shock.
“It’s your baby, too,” he says with a shrug.
“Why do you give a shit?” I ask curiously.
“Because I care about Abby, and I think you do, too,” he says, and I would almost swear there was tremble in the pussy’s chin before he starts to walk away. “Let’s just say that I have my own selfish reasons, okay?”
“What the hell was that about?” Mace asks when the underage douchebag is no longer in sight.
“Not real sure,” I grumble. “All I know is that Abby’s been fucking him.”
“Oh,” Mace mutters. “Well, in that case, I’m surprised you haven’t given him a beat down yet.”
“Don’t tell Linc or Jude, but I actually have.” One of Havoc’s rules is that there’s no outside brawling allowed once you step out of the gym doors, especially with teammates. All offenders are immediately kicked out and never allowed back.
“I hate to break it to you,” Mace says with a gloved hand on my shoulder. “But you’re already head over heels for Abby, bro. Alanis wrote a song all about that shit.”
“Who the fuck is Alanis?” I ask, refusing to acknowledge that he may be more right than I care to admit. There’s something gut-wrenchingly wrong with the idea of Abby being with someone else. It’s not reasonable or logical, but I can’t seem to shake the wrongness it causes inside me, bubbling like lava. One of these days I just might erupt. Erupt as in pound my fist into that fucker, Luke’s face over and over again.
“Alanis Morissette,” Mace answers my question, but then waves his gloved hand through the air. “Never mind. I forgot that you don’t have any sisters. So, are you gonna go to the doctor’s appointment or what?”
“Why should I? To get rejected again?” I ask.
“Don’t do that,” he says with a shove to my chest. “Don’t pussy out because you’re scared of getting hurt or looking like a fool. You’re gonna have to step up with actions instead of words if you want to be a part of your daughter’s life and prove to Abby that there’s more to you than being a careless dickwhore.”
“Asshole,” I reply, flipping him off with both gloves in the air since I can’t flip him the middle finger.
“Man up and get ready for her to knock you down a few times before you finally get the upper hand,” he says. Moving back to the center of the ring, he’s clearly ready for us to keep pounding on each other. “You won’t know unless you try, right?”
…
Abby
I lay on my horn with the heel of my hand when the Mercedes in front of me doesn’t budge at the green light. Finally, grandma wakes up and puts her foot on the gas. I’m already running five minutes late for my ultrasound appointment after getting held up on a conference call at work. The bride flip-flopped on purple or pink lilies for the centerpieces until I was ready to pull my hair out. I finally said to hell with it and told her I would pay for both myself.
Squealing my car’s tires into the medical park lot, I pull into the first available space, grab my purse and hightail it to the elevators. I’m pushing the up arrow button repeatedly, like that will make it come faster, when a familiar deep, masculine voice behind me says, “Pregnant women shouldn’t drive so recklessly.”
Spinning around on my black strappy heels that are killing my swollen feet, I find Senn leaning against the hallway wall, hands in the pockets of his jeans, wearing my favorite shirt to see on any fighter, the tight, black, cotton Havoc tee that shows off all the hard earned muscles across his chest and down his arms. The shirts also remind me of Linc.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, more breathless than I should be from the short hike from my car. I hate to admit it, but Senn looks good. Better than good, all big and intimidating with his long wavy hair pushed behind both ears. Just the sight of him has me cowering like a damsel in distress, wanting to beg him to save me and then carry me off to be thoroughly ravaged. I’m obviously a glutton for punishment.
“I’m going with you to your appointment.” He doesn’t even formulate the words into a polite question. And I really shouldn’t be even more turned on by his assholy assertiveness. Stupid hormones.
“How did you know this was my doctor’s office or when I had to be here?” I ask.
He glances away, looking out the glass windows in the lobby instead of answering me. Before I can play detective to figure it out myself, the elevator dings. And as soon as the doors open, Senn steps forward, following me on. He even presses the number three on the panel, so he must know my doctor’s on the third floor.
“I didn’t say you could come with me,” I point out after the doors close.
“Does it look like I’m taking no for an answer?” he asks, step
ping into my personal space, threatening, and…and hot. So hot. He smells good too, that familiar, comforting scent of sandalwood that I swear still lingers in my bedroom from the first night he came over months ago.
Thankfully, the elevator door opens again before I have a chance to do something stupid like kiss him. Or yank his zipper down and fuck him. The pregnancy hormones are a slutty bitch with low standards and not a single ounce of shame. Despite how horny I am, I still haven’t slept with Luke or let him go down on me, even though he spends practically every night in my apartment. I do make sure that he doesn’t have to leave with blue balls the next morning. Why haven’t I taken that final leap with him? I’m not completely sure, but I know it has something to do with Senn. Maybe I’ve been giving him a chance to say he wants…more with me and will give up other women. Stupid I know, since it’ll be a cold day in hell before that happens.
Making my way to the front desk, feeling my gigantic shadow follow me, I check-in, and then take a seat to wait for them to call me back. Thinking through this while Senn silently taps on his phone next to me, I figure there’s no harm with him coming back today. HIPAA law protects my health information from being shared with anyone without first getting my permission. I should be fine. Everything is gonna be fine.
“Abby Merchant.” Christy, the usual ultrasound tech, short like me with a cute, brown bob haircut, calls me back, offering me a smile even though I’m late.
“Hi, sorry if I held you up,” I tell her, and watch her eyes go upward to assess the giant behind me.
“No, you’re fine. We were behind anyway. Is this your boyfriend?” she asks.
And here we go. “No. Baby’s father,” I tell her as I follow her down the hall to her room.
“Nice to meet you–”
“Senn,” he fills in for her.
“Senn,” she repeats and it comes out sounding sort of dreamy. “Have a seat there, and, Abby, you know the drill. Undress from the waist down, cover yourself with the sheet, and I’ll be right back to get started.”
