by J. E. Taylor
“I’m not going home with you, Dad,” Katrina said.
“You’ll let her come with me and you won’t do anything to my father either.” The words tumbled out of André’s mouth and with it, an influential push.
Commander Lawrence blinked and took a step back, his face paling before the angry hue returned. He glared at Matthew. “This is your problem now,” he directed at Matthew and strode out of the hotel room, leaving the three of them alone.
MATTHEW WAITED UNTIL the door closed and shot a glare at his son. “What the hell were you thinking?” he yelled and stepped away, letting the anger and frustration he felt ever since he walked into his son’s room this morning take hold. He paced, letting it flow. “You forged your mother’s signature on that document.” He glared at the two of them. “Both of you. I can’t believe you pulled this shit.”
“Go get dressed,” André said to Katrina, pushing her gently toward the bathroom and out of Matthew’s angry ramblings.
Katrina grabbed her bag and headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
André skirted around his father and found a pair of underwear in his bag, slipping it on under the bathrobe. He pulled a pair of jeans on next and sat on the edge of the bed. “I love her, Dad,” he said. “You don’t seem to understand what that means to me.”
Matthew laughed. “I don’t give a shit what that means to you right now.” He didn’t know what was going through André’s mind, but he wasn’t about to allow them to live as husband and wife under his roof. André’s gaze snapped in his direction. “I’m serious,” Matthew said. “If you’re under my roof, you will not sleep together until you are both eighteen. I don’t give a damn what that paper says.”
“Then we’ll find an apartment.”
“Good luck with that,” Matthew snapped. He never imagined the boy would do something this impulsive. “You can’t get a job without a work permit and I won’t sign one for you, not under these circumstances. And so help me God, I’ll throw your ass in jail if you forge another signature.”
“But, Dad—”
“—No. Stop now. This was one of the stupidest things you’ve done since coming into my home and frankly, I don’t give a damn what your excuse is. You disobeyed me outright and I told you I wouldn’t tolerate disobedience. I really have no clue what to do with you right now.” Thoughts of military school swarmed his mind.
“I’m not going to military school.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“You know damn well you can’t make me go.”
Matthew took stock of his temper and counted to ten, calming himself down before he spoke again. “You have to finish high school and if you refuse to obey the rules I outlined, military school is the only other option.” He knew he was boxing his son into a corner, but he didn’t care.
André glared at him.
“Don’t expect the next year to be easy, either. Just because I agreed to let her live in the same house does not mean I’ll slack off and let you two act like husband and wife. Understand?”
ANDRÉ DIDN’T HAVE THE energy to argue. The expenditure of power in the last half hour, along with the sudden fizzle of adrenaline, wiped him out and he took a seat on the edge of the bed, nodding and waiting for Katrina to come out of the bathroom so he could clean up.
A layer of relief settled his clenched stomach and while the prospects of the next year seemed dim, it was eons better than waking from another hallucination.
He met her gaze when she walked out of the bathroom and offered a strained smile.
At least I’ll get to see her every day.
Chapter 9
October 2239
Katrina’s stomach cramped and she raised her hand.
“Yes, Katrina?” Mr. Mills asked.
“I don’t feel so well. Can I go to the nurse’s office?”
He nodded his round, bald head and returned his focus to the history lesson. Katrina stepped out of the classroom, her books in her arms and her eyes at half-mast. She clenched her teeth against the bile threatening to burst from her stomach and made it to the bathroom just in time for her breakfast to come up. Again.
Screw the nurse’s office, she thought and stood, spitting the last of the rancid taste from her mouth. I’m going home.
The walk home took longer than normal. Every few hundred feet she had to stop, close her eyes and will her stomach not to expel the last of the acid boiling up her esophagus. No one was home when she stumbled in the front door. She made it upstairs and into the bathroom before collapsing over the toilet, dry-heaving over and over and over, tears sprouting from her eyes at the intensity of each empty hurl.
Too weak to continue, she curled up on the floor and closed her eyes, sending out a silent cry for help.
ANDRÉ STOOD IN THE lunch line at school, looking around for Katrina. After a moment he did a quick mental scan. She wasn’t in the area. Turning his attention back to the array of desserts, he reached for a slice of pie and jumped a mile at the volume of her cry, nearly knocking the entire display over. His heart pumped in his chest, the scare worse than any of those pop-up Draculas you find at cheesy haunted houses. He inhaled and offered the kid behind him an awkward smile and turned, leaving his full tray on the conveyor. “Where are you?” he whispered as he headed out of the cafeteria.
A girl in front of him looked back at him. “Are you talking to me?”
“No, sorry, just thinking out loud.” He skirted around her and into the hallway.
Home.
Her thought was wrapped in agony and André picked up the pace, hitting an all-out run by the time he reached the pavement in front of the school. Ten minutes later, he bound into the house. “Katrina?”
“Bathroom,” she whispered.
André ran up the stairs and pushed the door open. Her head rested on the lip of the toilet, her face ashen, giving her misery-filled eyes a living-dead quality.
“I’m sick.”
“I can see that.” He walked over and picked her up in his arms, carrying her to her bedroom. He set her on the bed and ducked out for a moment. When he came back, he had a wet washcloth and an empty garbage can. He put the can on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, wiping her face gently with the washcloth. “Can I get you anything?”
“Is there any ginger ale?”
“I’ll go check.” André put the cool cloth on her forehead, kissing her cheek gently. He left the room, returning a little while later with a glass for her. He sat on the edge of the bed and helped her take a sip.
“I feel like shit,” Katrina whispered and sunk back on the bed. Dark circles surrounded her eyes.
“You pretty much look like shit too.”
“You’re not supposed to say stuff like that,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.
“Sorry.” He smiled down at her. “I love you anyway.”
Katrina began to cry.
“What is wrong with you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m tired all the time and now I’m nauseous all the time.”
“How long have you felt this way?”
“Just a couple weeks, but it’s getting worse,” she said, wiping her eyes.
“Maybe we should get you checked out,” André said.
“It’s just the flu.” Katrina reached for the glass again.
André put his hand on her forehead. “You don’t have a fever.” He had seen his mother with a stomach virus enough times in the past six years to know what to do.
“Have you ever been sick?” Katrina asked.
André shook his head. “No.”
“Must be nice to be you,” she said sarcastically, closing her eyes and rolling on her side.
“I need to get back to school, Kat.”
She rolled and looked at him. “Can’t you stay?”
“I’ve got a test in twenty minutes but I’ll be back after, okay?”
Her eyes welled up with tears but she nodded.
“You have the gin
ger ale and the garbage can. I’ll be back just as soon as I can.” He kissed her cheek. “If you need me, just call.”
KATRINA WATCHED AS he left her room, biting her lip and swallowing the tears burning her throat. The brief encounter in his arms felt like coming home, even if it was just to carry her from the bathroom floor to the bed. Five weeks of living under the same roof but not being able to be in each other’s arms took its toll on their marriage and her constant exhaustion and volatile moods didn’t help.
Neither did the fact André was adamant about following his father’s rules while they lived there. Gone was the impulsive guy she married, the one who defied his parents, threatened her father, and cleared an entire room of hostile police officers as easily as waving a dismissive hand.
No, that guy had been replaced by an obedient, ultra responsible, uber popular football player. Practice, homework, a little television, and a good night’s sleep in separate rooms. She hated it, missing the feel of his arms, the brush of his kiss, and that playful laser that encompassed his irises when he was horny.
She took a sip of ginger ale and curled up on the bed, drifting into an exhausted slumber.
ANDRÉ WALKED BACK INTO the house an hour later and pushed her door open. God, I miss her. They lived in the same house, but since they returned, the air between them grew tense with sexual frustration and dissent. Every encounter ended with her huffing and stomping upstairs. She just didn’t understand how close he came to being sent to military boarding school in Denver and he didn’t want to tempt his father by disobeying him again.
He stared at her sleeping form and sighed. Torn, he looked at the stairwell and back at Katrina, deciding a few hours with her in his arms was worth getting yelled at. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
Crawling onto the bed behind her, he slid his arm under her neck, wrapping it around her and pulling her to his chest. He ran his fingers through her hair, sighing at the feel of her against him. “I love you, Kat,” he whispered.
She mumbled the words back to him and snuggled closer.
“God, I miss holding you,” he whispered, inhaling the fruity essence of her hair.
“I miss being in your arms,” she said and reached up for the glass, taking a sip of the ginger ale and then returning to the comfort of his grasp. “I still feel like crap, though.”
André kissed her shoulder. “I’m sorry, babe.” He went back to combing her hair.
“That feels good.”
He continued, feeling the texture of her fine locks against his fingertips, the soothing strokes helping her slip back to sleep.
He wasn’t sure how long he lay holding her but when Linda opened the bedroom door, André shook his head and put his finger to his lips. Sliding his arm from under her, he slowly rolled away, climbing out of the bed with as little disruption as possible. Outside the room, he closed the door.
“If your father had caught you in there...” Linda began.
“Kat’s been throwing up all afternoon.” André glanced at his watch. “I was waiting till you got home before I left for practice,” he said, skirting down the stairs. “Keep an eye on her for me, okay, Mom?”
KATRINA WOKE TO THE smell of chicken noodle soup. She sighed, catching a glance of herself in the mirror. Her eyes still held the dark shades of exhaustion and her left cheek was marred by small red blemishes where her face scrunched into the pillow. She did look like shit. She picked up the glass and wandered down to the kitchen. “Hi, Mrs. Robbins,” she said and set the cup into the sanitizer.
“How are you feeling?” Linda asked, glancing at her.
“Eh,” she replied and sat at the table. “I’m so tired.”
Linda crossed the room and pressed her wrist to Katrina’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”
“That’s what André said earlier,” she said. “He took care of me today.”
“I know. I caught him in your room.”
“I’m sorry.”
Linda went back to stirring the soup on the stove. “It’s okay. I’m not going to tell Matt.”
“You’re not?”
“No. André was just trying to make you comfortable.” She looked back at Katrina. “Right?”
Katrina nodded and put the back of her hand to her mouth, bolting to the downstairs bathroom, sliding onto the floor in front of the toilet as the ginger ale came flowing up. She put her forehead on the cool porcelain. “I can’t seem to keep anything down today,” she said as Linda appeared in the doorway.
Linda’s brow creased. “How long have you been feeling this way?”
“I’ve felt sick for a couple of days but I’ve been exhausted for the last couple weeks,” she said and proceeded to dry heave.
Linda picked up the phone, calling her doctor. “Can I bring her down now?” she asked after explaining the situation. “I’d really like her checked out,” she replied. “Yes, I can have her there in ten minutes.” She hung up the phone, collecting Katrina from the bathroom floor, and helping her to the hovercraft, before zooming to the doctor’s office.
After providing both a urine sample and a blood sample, Katrina headed back into the exam room where Linda waited for her. “Thanks,” she said and stretched out on the table.
Linda nodded from the chair in the corner.
The doctor came in a few minutes later, consulting Katrina’s chart. “Well, it seems you are dehydrated, little lady, and we need to get some fluids into you.”
“Dehydrated?” Linda asked, standing and crossing to Katrina’s side.
“Yes, dehydrated.” The doctor turned back to Katrina. “You need to drink at least sixty-four ounces of liquid a day in order to keep hydrated in your condition,” he added. “Especially in the early stages.”
Katrina blinked. “What condition?”
The doctor looked at the chart and back to Katrina. “You’re pregnant.”
Katrina’s mouth fell open in shock. Pregnant? I can’t be pregnant. I’m only a junior in high school.
She met Linda’s gaze as the doctor fed the intravenous line into her arm. The first emotion she recognized was disappointment but underneath, she swore she saw a flash of envy. She sent a reassuring smile her way and Katrina offered a bleary one in return. She was not ready to be a mother, at least not yet. Too many questions, too many fears fluttered through her mind and she bit her lip, her vision tripling behind the sheen of tears.
“Do you want me to go get André?”
Katrina nodded, not trusting her voice.
“I’ll be back with the father in fifteen minutes.” Linda turned on her heels and walked out of the doctor’s office.
Fifteen minutes later, André walked in, his eyes landing on the IV attached to her arm. “Are you all right?” he asked, bringing his gaze back to hers.
“I’m pregnant.”
André broke out in a smile. “Really?”
“It’s not a good thing.” She wiped her face.
André walked over to her. “We’re married, remember?” He sat on the edge of the bed. “Is everything all right with the baby?” He pointed at the IV line.
“Yeah. I’m just dehydrated. I need one more bag and then I can go home.”
André nodded and the grin returned.
“Stop smiling like that.”
“I’m sorry, Kat, but this doesn’t upset me at all,” he said. “Quite the contrary.”
“I’m scared.”
“I’m here,” André said and took her hand. “There is no need to be scared.”
“I’m not ready for a child.”
He listened to her train of thought and sighed. “My DNA is very similar to human DNA.” He kissed her hand. “I think the gestation is close to the same too,” he said, “and it’s our child.”
Katrina looked at him. “We’re still in high school.”
André shrugged. “So.”
Katrina closed her eyes. “How are we going to afford a child?”
“Don’t worry about t
hat. I’ll think of something,” he said, his expression growing serious. “All the things you’re worrying about aren’t the issue, are they?”
Katrina looked into his blue eyes. She loved him but she was scared to death because of who he was and what that could mean in a child. “What if the baby isn’t right? What if the combination of our DNA produces a monster?”
André tilted his head, his eyes showing the depth of his love for her. “What if it produces an angel?” he drawled softly, countering her fears. “What if we produce a new beginning for the human race? One that can exist outside the walls of the domes?”
Katrina closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, she smiled a little. “I guess we’re having a baby.”
The smile reached his eyes, making them sparkle. “Does my mom know?”
Katrina nodded.
André looked toward the door, wondering why he hadn’t picked that up from her on the way over. She was usually so easy to read. He crossed to the door and pushed it open. Linda was leaning against the wall. “Hi, Mom. You can come back in if you’d like.” He smiled as he held the door open for her.
She looked at him as she passed. “I haven’t called your father.”
André nodded. “I want to be the one to tell him.”
“He’s not going to be happy.”
André shrugged. “You know what, Mom? I don’t care. I’m happy and Kat’s happy and that’s all that really matters.”
Linda sat down. “It’s not all happiness and sunshine, André,” she said. “Having a child is a lot of work.”
He nodded. “I know. It’s the second biggest commitment, next to marriage.”
“No, it is a bigger commitment than marriage,” she corrected. “The welfare of your child comes before anything else.” She paused and looked at them both. “It comes before football and homework, prom and graduation. A child is first. Their wants and needs trump all.”
André took Katrina’s hand and squeezed it. “I know,” he said, looking at his mother.
