“Lord, Grace. You’re lucky you didn’t end up with a disease as well as a baby.”
The room darkened as a mist rose to veil her vision, and her head spun. So not past the miscarriage. “No disease. And no baby.”
“Fuck me. Damn it.” Charity grabbed for her hand again. “I’m useless as a friend. Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
It struck her that her friend and Beckett were both such passionate people. They certainly had the same foul mouths. She was probably attracted to them because she was such a mouse. “It was months ago. It’s… I’m doing okay.” She waved her other hand. A fifteen-week fetus probably didn’t qualify as a person in lots of people’s opinion. Just another failure on her part, her father’s interpretation notwithstanding.
“It’s not okay. Not for you. And how about Beckett?”
“Hmmm? Beckett?” She considered, trying to remember past the haze that had overtaken her back then. “He took me to the hospital. After. Stayed with me and brought me home.” She recalled that day as if it had happened to somebody else, the ER doctor’s cold hands, and her own doctor’s kind, but brief explanation.
These things happen. The placenta either didn’t securely attach or your body rejected the fetus.
What a thing to hear, that she’d dispatched her own child. And she suspected she had, considering how lonely and miserable she’d been, living in that cavern Beckett bought for them, pretending everything was just fine.
“And you stayed married?” Charity’s question saved Grace from dwelling.
“You mean, even though there was no reason to any longer?” Another strange laugh heralded her answer. “I heard him and my father talking. His was there too. They urged Beckett to try again as soon as possible. It was like a chat in medieval times. Produce an heir and unite their businesses for generations to come.”
“Jesus.”
Her salad was set before her with a flourish, the handsome server searching her face before sending another smile. “Enjoy.”
She added some pepper and halfheartedly pushed around the crisp greens, adding a little dressing.
“Grace, did you just … go along with it?”
“I did.” She avoided Charity’s stare and sliced a piece of chicken. “I didn’t know what else to do. I was … bereft. I had nothing left inside of me then to gain strength from to do anything else. And honestly, Beckett was quite kind. For some time.”
“Bereft.”
“Uh huh. It’s an interesting word, isn’t it? It came to me when I was lying in our bed last night, wondering how in hell my life had come to this.”
“I wish I’d known. I mean, I knew, but I didn’t.”
“I’m telling you now,” Grace said gently. “Because I know you’re my friend, pretty much my only friend. And I’m going to lean on you a bit now, I expect. Fair warning.”
Charity huffed a laugh. “I don’t need a warning. I’m here for you. I always have been but you’re so reticent, independent.”
Maybe that was what saved her. That strange ‘click’ in her head last night while in Beck’s arms, his body invading hers in what should have been a loving act but was merely just for pleasure. No longer enough to prolong the hope he would change. “I think I reached my saturation point, however it came about and despite how long it took. The final straw, whatever.”
They ate in silence. Well, her friend did. Grace pushed food around her plate and sipped at her water. She waited for Charity to process everything she’d shared.
“Something wrong with the salad?” her friend asked.
“No. I’m not really hungry. I’ve been feeling off for weeks, maybe building up to this strange mood. Probably leading up to my dash for freedom.” She smiled at the thought, even if it hurt the corners of her mouth.
“Did Beckett do something outrageous to precipitate this?”
Forking a piece of chicken into her mouth, she chewed and reflected. “Nothing more than usual.” Though the recent picture of the sparkling brunette on his arm, the one gazing up at him like he’d hung the moon and the stars, had really shaken her. They’d been photographed together a number of times and Grace wondered if this woman would be the one he’d throw her over to pursue.
“He’s lucky he didn’t marry me,” Charity growled. “I’m a bitch even when I’m not PMSing.”
Grace chuckled. Her friend would have killed Beckett, although Charity wouldn’t have gotten pregnant either. “I asked the doctor why my birth control failed, you know, and he told me it was a mild dose to regulate my cycle, and not actually to prevent a pregnancy. Mother took me when I couldn’t get out of bed for days every month. I thought I was protected.”
“Why wouldn’t you think that? But you know differently now. What are you using?”
“Nothing.”
“And he’s screwing around?” Incredulity and concern laced her friend’s tone.
“I asked him to use a condom and he … well, he was convincing against it.” She couldn’t force herself to confront him with all the other women. Pride before a fall. So stupid.
I told you I’m clean, Grace. And the doctor said you’re okay now.
“So you were willing to fall in with the ‘producing an heir’ deal?” Charity made quotation marks with her fingers, rolling her eyes.
“I wanted a baby,” she admitted. “I did and I didn’t. Not to replace the one I … lost. But someone to love and eventually love me back. I was selfish, thinking about decades of an empty marriage with Beck.” And harboring a hope that a child might draw us together.
“That’s not uncommon.”
“But selfish and wrong. Babies don’t deserve to have that kind of expectation placed on them.” She should know. Talk about following in her mother’s footsteps…
“That’s deep, Gracie. And true.”
She picked at her salad while Charity sliced more of her steak. The smell of grilled meat made her mouth water and then her stomach rebelled. Setting her lips tightly, she shoved back from the table and bolted for the restroom.
Banging into a stall, she dropped to her knees and vomited, all the stressors of the day leaving her body. As she hung over the bowl, panting and blinking away the moisture in her eyes, she heard water running.
A wet paper towel filled her peripheral. “Here.”
She accepted it and wiped her mouth, then stood, a little shaky on her feet. Charity took her elbow and eased her to the sink. After filling a little paper cup, she offered it and Grace sipped.
“That was harsh.” Charity’s face was strained with worry.
“I’m sorry. I just… I guess everything was just too much.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.” She faced the mirror and was relieved not to see any visible destruction of Sherry’s hard work with the exception of a mascara smudge under one eye. Dabbing at it with one fingertip, she said. “Am I vain?”
“What?” Her friend tilted her head. “Oh. No, not vain. I’m relieved you’re taking interest in your appearance. Makes me feel normal.”
Laughing, they traipsed back to the table and settled in. Grace averted her eyes from Charity’s meal and pushed hers aside.
“Uh, Gracie? Could you be…? You know…”
“What?” She looked around for the server, having a strong urge for dessert.
“Pregnant.”
She knew she was gaping. Her mouth dried at the back of her teeth and her jaw cracked. With an effort, she closed it and licked her lips. “Of course not. The doctor said it could take time before I’d conceive again.”
“Okay. It’s just you said you weren’t using protection and you’re moody. Off. Tired. And you puked.”
“I’m stressed.” But she was frantically perusing a mental calendar and comparing previously known symptoms.
Reaching into her purse, she fumbled out her phone. Charity told their server to go away, ignoring his inquiry as to the suitability of their meals.
Scrolling through her info, she checked dat
es and stilled in her seat. Little hints lined up and fell neatly into place. The mood swings, losing weight but not on her breasts or bottom, the intermittent threat of nausea, tiredness, no period for seven weeks … she quit cataloging and stared, horrified, at her wine glass. “I drank alcohol.”
“A sip,” Charity soothed, leaning toward her. “A really tiny sip.”
“I had highlights done. A body wrap. Waxing!”
“Shhh. Maybe the highlights were organic.”
Grace closed her eyes and considered the brochure. She breathed again. “They were. Everything in the salon was touted as being green. Oh, God. What else have I ingested?”
“Knowing you, nothing bad. And you can’t be positive. You need to do a test.”
She was positive. Deep in denial, another self-protection gambit, she’d avoided what was staring her in the face. Even her revelation about falling out of love with her husband, relegating her intense feelings into the proper category of infatuation was no doubt connected to what her body was telling her. Protecting her and her child. She drifted into a strange fantasy of the baby telling her to cut and run.
She finally found her voice, her friend staring at her anxiously. “Will you come with me? To do the test?”
“Of course.” Charity grabbed for her purse, seeking out her wallet.
“Dinner’s on me. I insist. We’ll let Beckett pay.”
Her friend looked at her and nodded. “Backbone. Got it. Let’s go.”
Paying for their only partially eaten meals, she tipped the server handsomely and waved away his concerns.
At her car, she said, “I’ll meet you at the mall on McAllister. Outside the south entrance.”
Forcing herself to focus on the drive and not her suspicion, she gripped the steering wheel tightly. She signaled well in advance of any turn and watched her mirrors as she drove exactly the speed limit until the sprawling mall came into view. Pulling into a parking spot and coming to a stop, she sighed before unclenching her hands and removing her seat belt.
The test was but a formality. She accepted the truth. Terror made her weak as she tried to swing her legs out of the car, dreading that something would go wrong with this pregnancy too. She thought back over the past weeks and was relieved to acknowledge no alcohol use and other than a few over-the-counter headache remedies, nothing else occurred to her that she knew could harm a fetus.
“Hey.” Charity stood beside the open door. “Are you all right?”
“Long day,” she muttered, clambering from the car.
They made their way into the building and turned right to take the hall toward the pharmacy. The ubiquitous sign beckoned and Grace thought about the other signs she’d responded to today. Divorce, makeover, pregnancy test. One of those things didn’t go with the others.
The array of home pregnancy tests was bewildering, but in the end, she chose one guaranteed for quick results and high accuracy. Charity snagged another and handed it over.
Her friend shrugged. “Never hurts to do it twice.”
Grace paid cash, not wanting to jinx anything by paying with Beckett’s card this time, and then stood uncertainly back outside the store.
“Where do you want to take the test?”
“The washrooms outside the food court.” There was one marked ‘family’ and she thought it apropos.
Closing herself inside the large bathroom, she read the instructions and completed first one test and then the other. She set the paper and plastic sticks on the back of the toilet tank, and then let Charity in.
They waited in silence, although her friend shifted her weight from foot to foot, stare glued to the test sticks. Grace crumpled the cardboard boxes and stuffed them in the trash, washing her hands again.
At the prescribed time, they hunched forward to view the tests. The plus sign on one and the double lines on the other bled into clarity. Charity wrapped her arms around Grace and hugged her tightly.
“Congratulations, honey. I can’t wait to be an honorary aunt.”
Her voice muffled against her friend’s shoulder, Grace said, “Godmother.”
“Even better.”
Easing out of Charity’s hold, Grace wrapped the evidence up in a tissue and carefully stowed them in the side pocket of her purse. Her rings jangled beneath her fingertips and she winced, quickly transferring the strips into a different place.
“Can we get a cup of tea?”
A worried look tightened Charity’s features. “You’re freaking out.”
“I want this baby. Badly. But I don’t want to be married any longer.”
“Jeez.” Her friend pulled open the door. “C’mon. I’ll treat you to some herbal vintage. And some honey. Maybe a cracker. Gracie, we’ll figure this out.”
Over two cups of decaf Earl Grey, she and Charity discussed her options. In the end, she knew she had to tell Beck. Regardless of the divorce, he needed to know he might become a father.
Grace surreptitiously touched the wooden railing beside their table on the edge of the food court. She couldn’t get her hopes up, at least not until she saw a doctor. And certainly not until she made it well past the first trimester.
She doubted Beckett would be terribly interested in a baby, except as a sop to his father, but she wouldn’t deny him access as long as he behaved appropriately. A surge of determined protectiveness washed over her and she set her teeth. He’d damn well better, and that meant not bringing any of those women around if they didn’t adore children.
“What if he doesn’t want a divorce?” Charity asked. “I mean, he’ll be under pressure from the parents.”
She felt her eyebrows climb her forehead and stared at her friend. She really hadn’t considered that. “I’d say it’s too bad. I’ll raise our child by myself before I’ll expose him or her to a marriage like ours. Let alone grandparents like those men.”
“It’s like you’re possessed,” chortled Charity. Then her face smoothed out. “He sounds formidable, though.”
A frisson of anxiety wormed its way into her belly, but she stamped on it. “He is. But not this time. It’s more than just about me, now.”
“I believe you, honey. But no matter what, I’m behind you. Don’t forget that.”
“Maybe we can be roommates. I’ll find a place big enough for all of us.” Grace stopped, wincing. Like Charity would want to live with her and a baby.
“That sounds fine. My lease isn’t up for nine or ten months, but nothing to say we can’t find something beforehand.”
Gratitude beat back the negative emotions and she beamed at her friend. “One step at a time. I told Beck I’d be home around eight, so I’d better get going. Wouldn’t want him to blow up my phone again. Twice in a lifetime is too much.”
Charity rolled her eyes. “Are you telling him tonight?”
“I’ll see. He was going on about needing to talk. I expect he wants a divorce—how’s that for a coincidence?—and I’ll let him lead with that, and then offer up my visit to a lawyer today. Once we’ve established that middle ground, I’ll tell him, and he won’t have some misplaced sense of honor to stick with me.” She was proud of her way of thinking and ignored the dull ache in her chest.
“And there’s the Grace I remember from school.”
The quietly resourceful, well-liked, sheltered girl from school. She’d hoped some of that had transferred into adulthood…
Chapter Four
Making her way home, she rehearsed a variety of scenarios in which she would state her case. Her foot faltered on the gas as she drew up to the house. Light blazed from almost every window, hardly the dark visage she was greeted with on the rare evening she ventured out. Returning long before Beckett did. Funny that he always came home, unless he was away on a business trip when he could have stayed over at his girlfriends’. Mistresses. Was that still a term? She felt a pang someplace inside and ignored it.
Locking the car, she took the steps and tried the front door. It opened, the security panel blinking �
��unarmed’, and she moved into the foyer. Music filtered from the living room and she frowned in that direction. She hardly expected Beckett to be in bed at this early hour, but couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in that room, let alone had any music playing.
Pausing to set the alarm, she turned off her phone again and put her purse back in the closet. She made her way to the living room, gathering her thoughts—and her courage. Stupid, really, because she hadn’t done anything wrong.
She stood in the archway and stared at her husband, who was sprawled on the dreadful couch. He’d doffed his suit jacket and removed his tie, but still wore his white button-down, now open at the neck. His pants were surprisingly wrinkled and he’d taken his socks off.
Viewed objectively, his classic good looks would appeal to any straight woman and any man with an interest in the same sex. Couple his gorgeous features with a tall, lean, and muscled body, broad shoulders and chest straining the fine fabric of his shirt, and he had it in spades. She’d certainly fallen at his handsome feet, offered up her heart, soul, and body without a qualm.
“You’re home.” His greeting was slurred, and her gaze dropped to the glass on the coffee table, its contents dark amber. Beck wasn’t a big drinker, she didn’t think, but the nearly empty bottle beside the glass said he’d deviated from the norm tonight.
She hesitated, uncertain what to say, and he squinted. “Holy shit. Who are you and what’ve you done with my bride?”
The snarky emphasis on ‘bride’ fit with all his sniping and careless comments over the past months and her anxiety vanished before her anger. “You’re drunk.”
Probably not the wisest thing to say to somebody who was obviously in an uncertain mood, and intoxicated.
Beckett heaved to his feet and glowered. Disheveled clothing and tousled blond hair—he was still an amazing specimen. For someone else. “I had a few drinks while I waited for my wife to come home.”
Love Changes Everything (Romance on the Go Book 0) Page 5
