by Hannah Ford
“Sorry,” the kid said, sounding like he was anything but. “Rules, you know?”
Callum didn’t reply. After he had the package safely in his hand, he pulled me outside and into the limo that was waiting for us.
“Don’t you want to know what was so important?” I asked when he made no move to open the envelope.
“I’ll look at it later,” he said. The car lurched forward, and Callum reached over and pressed the button on the console in front of us so that the fan started circulating air through the backseat. Then his hand tightened around mine and he sighed. “It’s my book.”
“What?” I asked, shocked. “I thought your book was cancelled.”
“It is.” He picked the envelope up from where he’d set it down next to him and held it out to me. “But the package is shaped like a book and it’s from Archway. It must be an advanced copy that got sent by mistake before they could cancel the delivery.”
He was watching carefully for my reaction. I knew he was telling me what was in the package because he was trying to be more open with me, even though his first instinct had been to hide it, to protect me from it, knowing it would be painful for me.
He was trying.
I appreciated it.
And I wanted to show him that he didn’t have to protect me from everything, that I could handle things, that I wasn’t some wilting flower.
I took the package, opened it, and pulled out the book.
On the front cover was a picture of Callum, sitting at his desk, the New York skyline twinkling behind him. The final book would have been in hardcover, but the galley was a paperback, glossy and shiny.
“You look very powerful,” I said.
Callum laughed.
“You do.”
“Oh, yeah?” He was amused.
“Yes.” I turned it over in my hand, running my fingers over the small type on the back, the promises of huge print runs and a publicity tour that I had started to help plan. My chest tightened. “I’m –”
“No.” He pressed a finger to my lips, his eyes locking on mine. “This is not anyone’s fault but mine. I shouldn’t have done what I did. I cost you your job. I will make it up to you.”
I glanced back down at the book. “Did you write this yourself?”
His eyes opened in faux shock. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“You know everyone uses ghostwriters.”
“Not me.”
“Can I read it?”
“Of course you can read it.”
I slipped the book into my bag and glanced out the window. The tint of the glass gave everyone a slightly muted look, as if Callum and I were the only people in the world, that we were in our own little bubble.
“Hey,” he said, taking my hand. “You will find a better job.”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll sue them.”
I laughed. “No.”
“Why not? They can’t fire you for dating an author.”
“That’s not why they fired me. They fired me because I started a fight at their fancy dinner.”
“You shouldn’t be responsible for my behavior.”
“We can’t sue them.”
We were pulling up in front of the restaurant now, and Callum didn’t wait for the driver. He opened the door himself, then stepped out onto the sidewalk, reaching for my hand.
As I was whisked out of the limo, a wave of light-headedness swept over me, and I stumbled in my heels.
“Whoa,” Callum said, his hand tightening around my waist. “You okay?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m fine.” But as I was saying it another wave of dizziness swept over me, this one stronger and more powerful than the last.
I swayed and Callum’s hands circled my waist, holding me up.
“You’re not okay,” he said. “Sit down.”
He led me to a bench on the sidewalk.
“I’m fine, I swear.”
“When did you eat last?”
“I’m not sure,” I said truthfully. We’d been served breakfast on the plane, a goat cheese and avocado omelet, some fruit, but I’d been too nervous to eat.
He was on the phone now.
“Who are you calling?”
“My physician. He’ll see you right away.”
“Oh, no, I…” My throat tightened. “Callum.” I put my hand on his arm and took a deep breath.
“Callum Wilder for the doctor,” he said into the receiver. I heard him making arrangements with the doctor to meet us back at his apartment. He hung up and turned to me. “He will meet us back at the apartment in twenty minutes.” His eyes searched mine. “Can you walk to the car?” He didn’t wait for my answer before he shook his head. “I’ll carry you.”
He stood up, but I grabbed at his wrist again. “Callum, please.”
“What?”
“I need to tell you something.”
“What is it?”
I took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”
His face was a total blank. Not surprised, not upset, not worried …just nothing.
I searched his blue eyes for any clue as to how he was feeling.
“Callum?”
“I’ll take you to the car, Adriana.” He picked me up and brought me to the limo.
Forty-five minutes later, I’d been examined by Callum’s personal physician, a man named Dr. Greystone. He looked like his name – grey and fit, with sharp eyes and a narrow nose than ended in a hook. He was incredibly kind, efficient, and made you feel as if nothing could hurt you.
He took my heart rate, checked my blood pressure, and took a vial of blood. He said my dizziness was probably due to low blood sugar from not eating for so long, and that it was common in early pregnancy.
He told me to make sure to eat at regular intervals, and to call him if it happened again.
Callum walked him to the door.
He’d been silent during the whole examination, holding my hand when it was time for me to get my blood taken, asking questions of the doctor, but other than that, not showing much emotion.
Once the door shut behind the doctor, Callum returned to the couch.
I was propped up on some pillows, a blanket slung over me, and I gripped the fabric in my hands.
Callum sat down at the other end of the couch and bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “When?” he asked.
“When what?”
“When did you find out?”
“In Michigan.”
“Days ago.”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“When were you going to tell me?”
“I wasn’t sure,” I said. “I mean, I wasn’t sure that I was actually pregnant. So I thought it would be better to wait.” I’d told Dr. Greystone that I’d had a positive pregnancy test, and that, along with my late period and other symptoms, made him almost certain that I was pregnant. The blood test would prove it for sure, but it was all but confirmed.
Callum turned to look at me, and my chest tightened, the feeling of anticipation inside of me threatening to overwhelm me.
And then his eyes lit up, burning bright blue. “A baby,” he murmured. “We’re going to have a baby.”
“Yes.” I waited for his reaction, my body wound so tight I thought it would crack into a million pieces.
And then his face broke into a smile. “A baby,” said. “Oh my God, a baby.” And then his arms reached out, wrapping around my waist and pulling me toward him until I was in his lap, and then he was kissing me, his lips moving from my forehead to my cheeks to my mouth.
Relief washed over me like an ocean wave. Tears welled in my eyes and I began to cry.
“Hey, hey,” Callum said, his thumb brushing the tears from my cheeks. “Why the tears?”
“I was so afraid,” I said, not realizing it until I just said it. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t want the baby.”
His eyes clouded with confusion, and his hands cupped my cheeks. “Adriana. I would never, ever not want a part of you
.”
A sob escaped my throat and the tightness in my chest disappeared. I hadn’t realized until that moment how badly I wanted this baby. It had been my fear -- my fear of Callum not wanting it -- that had stopped me from allowing myself to be happy and excited.
He kissed me again, his lips warm as they moved over my skin, kissing away my tears.
“A baby,” he kept saying, his voice full of wonder.
His hands slid down my body and over my stomach, and we both looked down and I was still crying happy tears and the moment was everything I’d wanted it to be and more.
We went out to buy something for the baby.
We wanted to celebrate and it seemed like the perfect way to do it.
Callum made me drink about three gallons of water and eat a bunch of crackers before he’d let me set foot outside of the apartment. Even so, he was extremely protective of me, holding my hand, never leaving my side as we shopped.
We returned to the apartment two hours later with two onesies, a rattle, three baby blankets, a package of pacifiers, and numerous containers of Chinese food.
We’d been totally out of our comfort zones in the store, not sure exactly what to buy for a newborn, but something about it seemed so fitting, so right. We marveled at how small the baby clothes were and how something so tiny could require so much stuff.
When we got back home, we talked and ate our Chinese food.
“We should find a new apartment,” Callum said as he loaded my plate with chicken and broccoli. He’d been insistent that I get something with vegetables, telling me it was imperative that I make sure to eat enough and get plenty of nutrients.
“What’s wrong with this apartment?” I asked.
“It’s not appropriate. There’s no room for a baby.”
“There’s four bedrooms!” I said. “One for us, one for the baby, one for a playroom, and one left over. And you already have a separate office.” I forked some food into my mouth. It was delicious. Now that I’d told Callum I was pregnant, I was beginning to think that the stomach issues I’d been experiencing earlier were totally psychological. My stomach felt fine now.
“It’s not ours.” He glanced at me and then looked away.
I reached out and took his hand in mine. “Hey,” I said, and he looked at me. “It is ours. This place is perfect for a baby.”
“It’s too –“
“It’s not too anything,” I said, reaching for an egg roll. “I’ll put some pictures on the walls and I’ll decorate the nursery and…Callum, this place is perfect.”
He smiled and squeezed my hand, and when he leaned over and gave me a kiss, it felt like the kiss of forever.
After dinner, Callum insisted I stay on the couch while he cleaned up.
He led me to bed, and on the way, I spotted the advanced copy of his book peeking out of my bag. I slipped it out and brought it with me to the bedroom.
I changed into one of Callum’s t-shirts, brushed my teeth, and settled into the big platform bed.
“You’re sure it’s okay if I read this?” I asked, opening the book.
He shrugged. “Of course. But I don’t see the point. It’s not going to be published.”
“I just want to read something before bed,” I said. It was a half-truth. While it was true that I wasn’t tired, it was also true that I wanted to read Callum’s words. I wanted to know his background, how he’d grown up, what his story was. I wanted to know everything about him, and I thought maybe this book would help me do that.
So I settled into bed, with Callum next to me typing away on his laptop. (I’d told him to go into his office to work, but he insisted he wasn’t going to leave my side. I told him it was going to be a long nine months if he thought he wasn’t going to leave my side, that it was impossible for him to be with me every minute, but his eyes flamed at my disobedience, and so I knew not to push it.)
Half an hour later, I was resisting the urge not to start flipping past pages and skimming Callum’s book. It wasn’t that the book was poorly written – it was actually quite well written.
It was filled with all kinds of information about business philosophies and theories, examples of the risks Callum had taken to get where he was, the doors that had slammed in his face, the times he’d had to fight for himself and refuse to take no for an answer.
If you were interested in starting your own company or wanted insider information about how things worked, the book was great. But there was no Callum in it.
“Are you sure a ghostwriter didn’t write this?” I asked him.
“I’m sure.” He took the book from my hands and set it down on the nightstand. Then he reached over and shut my light off. “You need to sleep,” he said. “You’ve had a long day.”
“I’m not tired,” I was murmuring, but even as I was saying it, I could feel the heaviness behind my eyes.
I snuggled down into bed, and even though I thought sleep would be impossible, I drifted right off.
When I woke, the room was dark.
A sliver of light shown through under the door from where Callum had left the hall light on for me.
Callum slept next to me, his breathing slow and easy.
I was disoriented at first but it wasn’t because I didn’t know where I was. I knew exactly where I was, knew I was at Callum’s apartment with him.
But something had woken me up. My heart was pounding, and I thought perhaps I’d had a dream and didn’t remember it.
But then the sound of something crashing to the floor came from the living room, loud enough to be heard through the bedroom door, and I sat up.
“Callum,” I said, but he was already awake and out of bed.
“Stay here,” he commanded. “Stay here and do not come out, no matter what you hear.”
“No matter what I hear?” I was throwing off the covers, but he was already in the hallway. No matter what I hear? What the hell was that supposed to mean? I grabbed my cell phone and crept toward the door, listening.
There was silence for a few moments and then I heard voices.
Callum, yelling at someone demanding to know what the hell they were doing.
I cracked the door, and down the hallway, I saw a shadowy figure moving out from behind the couch. He had a familiar build, a familiar way of moving, one that seemed easy and relaxed but was anything but. I caught a glimpse of dark messy hair, a sharp nose, a red polo shirt.
Jason.
Callum’s old business associate, the one who’d spit on me that day outside of the writer’s dinner. The one I’d met in Florida, the one who’d accosted me in the bookstore, the one who’d thrown a brick through Callum’s window.
I watched as Callum shouted at him, watched as Jason ran quick through the apartment and out the front door, Callum chasing after him.
Why the hell was Callum chasing after him?
I ran to the living room, dialing 911 as I went.
The line rang once, twice…
“Come on, come on, someone answer,” I whispered, not sure if it was out loud or in my head. I looked down, realizing that I was stepping on something crunchy. Glass? It pricked the bottom of my feet, and I rushed to another window, watching through the pane of glass as Callum ran, barefoot, down the empty, darkened street after Jason.
They disappeared around the corner and out of my view just as the 911 operator answered my call.
“911, what is your emergency?”
“Yes, hi, someone came and broke into my house,” I said. “My apartment.”
“Address?”
I rattled off Callum’s cross streets, using the signs on the corner as a guide.
“Is the intruder still in your house, ma’am?”
“No,” I said. “My boyfriend chased him out of the house.”
“And where is your boyfriend now?”
“He’s… I don’t know, I saw him go around the corner, but he’s gone.” My voice was a wail at the end. I wasn’t in any danger, but Callum was and my heart was pou
nding, the adrenaline coursing so hard through my veins that my hands were shaking and my legs felt wobbly.
“We have a patrol car in the area, ma’am, and the police will be there in just a few moments.”
The operator stayed on the line with me, her voice calm and soothing, until a couple of minutes later when a police cruiser pulled up outside.
“The police are here,” I told her, and thanked her for all her help before I hung up.
I watched out the window as two officers stepped out of the cruiser. The siren was flashing, splashing red and blue lights across the dark pavement.
And then Callum came back from around the corner. My breath caught in my chest as I watched him talk to the police, his back straight, his chin thrust in the air, his demeanor serious.
One of the policemen wrote something down on a pad, and then the two cops into their cruiser and left.
A moment later, the door to the apartment opened, and Callum appeared.
“What happened?” I asked, running to him. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He took my hands in his and looked me over, his eyes raking up my body. “Jesus, Adriana, you’re bleeding.”
I looked down to where I’d stepped in the glass. There were tiny scratches across the tops of my feet. Callum reached down and scooped me into his arms, carried me to the couch and set me down.
“Don’t move,” he commanded. He left the room and I checked the bottom of my feet to survey the damage. There was hardly anything, just a few little scrapes. I’d been lucky.
Callum returned a moment later with band aids and antiseptic, cleaning my wounds and placing the bandages on my feet, even though I protested that I didn’t need any of it. The cuts weren’t even bad enough to sting when he washed them.
“You need to take care of yourself,” he admonished, placing the last band-aid over a tiny scratch on the top of my right foot. “No, I need to take care of you.” His chest heaved, his voice catching with emotion. “I can’t believe… I should have never…”
“This isn’t your fault,” I said, shaking my head. “He’s crazy, Callum.”
He stayed silent.
“What did the police say?”
