Dear Agony

by Georgia Cates

  “I said no.”

  “What do you expect from me? I’m halfway through this pregnancy. The baby, which you want nothing to do with, is coming soon.”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t have a plan yet.” I don’t want to have to think about it.

  “You’d better be coming up with one soon. I can’t be pregnant and hanging in limbo. I need to secure a place for the baby and me to live.”

  “I’m not ready to make this decision. November is still a ways off. We have time.”

  She huffs and turns her back on me. It actually lifts my spirits a little; reminds me of my mother when she was annoyed with my father.

  “Your visit with the doctor went okay?”

  She hesitates before answering. “Fine.”

  I’m relieved to know all is well but I’m a little irritated that a one-word answer is all I get. Not that I really deserve more.

  “Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

  “Can’t think of anything.”

  She isn’t volunteering any information. She’s going to make me ask. “The ultrasound went well?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were they able to tell what the baby is?”

  “Yes.”

  The woman is trying to kill me. “I want to know, Rose.”

  She turns to look at me. “Why? You want nothing to do with this baby. It shouldn’t matter to you if it’s a boy or a girl. It would be easier to stay detached if you didn’t know.”

  She isn’t wrong. “I’m sure it would be better if I didn’t find out but I can’t help myself. I want to know.”

  Rose puts her hand over her stomach. “We’re having a boy. Our son is healthy and growing right on schedule.”

  A boy. A son. I’ve always wanted one.

  I cough to move the lump swelling in my throat but it doesn’t budge. “Thank you for telling me.”

  Those words are all I’m able to say before I have to leave the kitchen to pull myself together.

  I’m going to have a son.

  I go to my bathroom and splash cold water on my face. I push my wet hands through my hair and look at myself in the mirror. I hate the person I see staring back at me.

  That man wants to turn his back on his son. Give up on life because it doesn’t meet his criteria.

  But there’s another man there too—the one behind the brown irises. He wants to fight. He wants to hold on to life with Rose and his unborn son. He dreams of having a happy family and life together.

  Am I not the luckiest man in the world to have a beautiful woman, the mother of my son, who loves me regardless of my illness? Regardless of my prognosis. Regardless of the way I’ve treated her.

  I pull myself together and return to the kitchen. Rose has prepared her dish of étouffée and is sitting alone at the table. Same as she has the last six weeks, I’m sure. “Mind if I join you?”

  She looks up at me and seems startled. “I would like that.”

  Rose and I once dined together every night at this table. She’ll never know how much I miss this time with her.

  She lowers her fork. “I’m glad we’re doing this. I have something I want to discuss with you.”

  I hope she doesn’t try to revisit the topic of moving out. It’s not happening.

  “I want him to have your name.”

  It’s a no-brainer for me. “He’s my son. A Pascal. Of course, I want him to have my name.”

  “I want him to have your whole name. Bastien Auguste Pascal. And I want to call him Gus.”

  Shit.

  She wants to give our son my name? Despite me telling her to abort him? Despite me saying I’ll never see him? Despite being the prick Vale so aptly called me?

  My heart swells in my chest to the point it feels like it may explode. And that bulge is back in my throat. Bigger this time than before.

  “Gus. My mother would love that,” I choke out. Rose couldn’t possibly know that Gus was my mother’s nickname for me when I was a child.

  God, I feel like such a bastard. Such a selfish and shitty man.

  “You like the name Gus?”

  “I love it. It’s perfect.” I’m going to have a son and he will bear my name. It’s so undeserved. How can she continue to give to me?

  She gives because she loves.

  She doesn’t smile at me anymore. Barely even looks at me, and yet I know she still loves me.

  My body aches from the loss of her. Not just physically. Damn if I don’t miss that too, but it’s her. My Rose. My baby girl.

  As time passes and the pregnancy progresses, I can’t imagine how hard it’ll be after Gus arrives. I don’t even want to think about it.

  I won’t. It hurts too much.

  Three Weeks Later

  -

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  __________________________________

  Rose Middleton

  ∞

  “Baby. Mama.”

  I groggily open my eyes, still lost somewhere in the between stage of sleep and wake.

  “Bae. Bae. Mama.”

  My eyes widen and my heart tries to escape my body through my chest wall when I realize the yelling I’m hearing isn’t a dream. And it sounds like it’s coming from downstairs. Inside the house. And it’s not Bastien’s voice.

  I get out of bed, slipping my robe over my gown as I walk to the staircase. “Bash?”

  “It’s bae bae mama.” Who the hell is that?

  “Stop calling her that, you asshole. I told you her name is Rose.” The tempo of Bash’s voice is sluggish. Maybe even a bit slurred.

  Oh, God. I hope he hasn’t had some kind of episode while he was having dinner with his friend from college.

  I wrap my robe around my body, secure it with the belt at my waist, and descend the stairs. “What happened to him?”

  Bastien is sitting on the third step from the bottom, his forearms resting on his thighs. “Jack Daniels happened.”

  Why would he do this? The idiot knows that mixing large quantities of alcohol with a muscle-weakening disease is asking for trouble. “Are you drunk?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “A little, hell. Pascal is hammered.” His friend slaps him on the shoulder. “Telling you. Just like old times.”

  No, it’s not just like old times. And I’m well beyond ready for this asshole to go. “Thank you for bringing him home. I can take it from here.”

  “You’re pregnant. Don’t you think you need some help getting him up the stairs?”

  No way this guy is helping Bastien up the stairs. They’ll both end up taking a tumble. “We’ll manage.”

  He holds his hands out, defensively, as though I’ve offended him. “Okay, bae bae mama. Whatever you say. You’re the boss lady.”

  “Call me next time you’re in town. We’ll do this again.” They won’t if I have anything to do with it.

  I stand over Bastien, my arms crossed, waiting for his drunkard pal to leave. I won’t mention his illness in front of his friend—or how irresponsible his actions are—but he’s batshit crazy if he thinks I’m letting this nonsense go.

  Bastien doesn’t give me time to rip him a new one. “I know what you’re thinking but don’t be mad at me. I only had a few drinks. I’m really not that drunk.”

  He’s so full of it. “Then why are you sitting at the bottom of the staircase needing my help to get to your bed?”

  “The Jack and Coke hit a little harder and faster than it used to. I wasn’t expecting it. My body is a little unsteady but my mind is mostly with it.”

  “You’re thirty-seven years old, Bastien. A grown man. I’m not going to chastise you. No point in it. You’re going to do whatever you want regardless of what I say.”

  “Not true.”

  I have no intention of standing here debating this. He’s not likely to remember anything I say anyway. “It’s late and I’m tired. I just want to go back to bed.”

  “Sorry we were so disruptive. I didn’t intentionally wake you
. I was going to sleep on the couch but Wesley wouldn’t stop yelling. The asshole wanted to get you out of bed so he could see if you were as hot as I said you were.”

  I might be flattered by that if it weren’t the middle of the night.

  “The couch isn’t a bad idea.”

  Bastien uses the handrail for support as he pulls himself up. He lifts one foot and then the other, testing their strength. “My legs don’t feel unsteady. I’m fine to make it up the stairs.”

  He can say he’s fine all day long but I’m not letting him climb these stairs. “I don’t share the same opinion, and I don’t want to find out which one of us is right.”

  I know it’s something he wants to put off for as long as possible but he’s going to be forced to move his bedroom downstairs soon.

  “I’ll go up and get a pillow and blanket. You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

  He doesn’t argue. Probably because he’s a bit drunker than he’s willing to admit and less than confident about making it to the top of the stairs.

  Bastien’s on the sofa—out of his shirt and pants—with his head in his hands when I return with his bedding. “Already have a headache?”

  “No. Just thinking.”

  “About?”

  He takes the pillow and blanket from me and tosses them to the floor. He grips the front of my robe and gown, pulling me closer so I’m standing between his legs. “You. Me. Us.”

  He presses his forehead to the bump of my belly. “I miss you so much, Rose. You can’t possibly imagine how much.”

  He’s wrong. So very wrong.

  I shut my eyes and bask in the feel of his touch. I slide my fingers through the back of his hair and grip it. “I know how much I’ve missed you. And it hurts. So much it steals my breath and I can hardly breathe.”

  His hands grasp the backs of my thighs beneath my nightgown and slowly move upward until his palms grip my cheeks. I’m a prisoner within the circle of his arms and I don’t want to escape. I want to stay exactly like this—wrapped in his embrace—forever.

  His fingers slide into the waistband of my panties, and he fists the fabric. “I’m so tired of missing you.”

  I cradle the sides of his face, forcing him to look up at me. “You don’t have to miss me. I’m right here. I never left you, not even for a minute.”

  “I need you, Rose. I need you so badly.”

  “You can have me. I’m yours. Always.” I untie the belt of my robe and push it off my shoulders, letting it fall to a puddle on the floor. “I love you, Bash. That’s never going to change.”

  “I love you, too, baby girl.” His grip tugs downward, dragging my panties down my legs until they join my robe on the floor. My gown is the final piece to fall, and I’m standing naked in front of him.

  He grips my hips and kisses my belly. “I’ve wanted to do that for such a long time.”

  “You’re the only thing that’s been standing in the way.”

  He steers me toward him using the grip he has on my body. “Closer.”

  I go to my knees on the sofa to sit atop him. We haven’t been this close in months. I covet the feel of his skin pressed against mine. Being this near only makes me want to be closer. To become one.

  This is the reason I stayed. The reason I held out hope. Vale was right. He just needed time to sort his thoughts and priorities. He now sees what he would lose by not being part of our lives.

  I push at the waistband of his boxer briefs. “Get these off.”

  My body moves with his when he lifts and lowers himself back down on the sofa. “Won’t hurt the baby?”

  I shake my head. “No. It’s fine.”

  And then nothing remains between us. We become one.

  No beginning.

  No end.

  ***

  Bastien kisses the space between my breasts and then licks in an upward motion. “You taste salty.”

  I giggle. “I think sweat usually does.”

  He licks my skin again, evoking another snigger. “You’re still mighty sweet. And plenty spicy. Perfect combination.”

  I wrap my arms around his neck and squeeze. “It feels so good to be in your arms again.”

  “You might not have been in my arms, baby girl, but you were always in my heart.”

  He squeezes my back and my swollen belly pushes against his abdomen. He releases me and looks down between us, touching my tummy.

  “Our son is growing.” I love hearing him say our son. “Lie on the couch. I want to explore.”

  I move off Bastien and lie flat on my back. He presses his palm to the center of my chest and slowly drags it downward, stopping between my breasts. “These have gotten bigger. More than a handful now.”

  My nipple grows hard beneath his touch when his hand slides over to palm one of my breasts. All of my nerve endings are firing at once. “Bigger and more sensitive,” I say.

  “They were great before but I like this version too. A lot.”

  “I bet you do.” Bastien has made it no secret. He loves my boobs.

  His hand moves lower, over my bump, and he leans down to kiss it. “Hey, Gus. This is your dad. Everything going okay in there?”

  Oh. My. God. Hearing him talk to Gus makes my heart melt into a puddle on the floor. It’s . . . overwhelming.

  He rubs his hand in a circular motion around my tummy. “I can’t believe there’s a part of me growing inside you. It doesn’t seem real.”

  “It didn’t seem real to me either. Not until I started feeling him move.”

  Bastien lifts his head to look at me. “You already feel him moving?”

  “Yeah. I have for a month. Maybe longer. He’s still small so it’s not strong, but he lets me know he’s in there.”

  “You didn’t say anything about it.”

  “We’ve hardly said anything to each other in weeks.” When he raises his eyes to look at me, I know he understands the raw honesty behind my statement.

  He presses his forehead to my stomach. “Oh, God. This whole thing is so messed up.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.”

  “I can’t make myself better.”

  “I don’t know how to beat it into your head that your illness doesn’t matter to me. I love you, degenerative muscle disorder or not. Wheelchair or not. Bedridden or not. I don’t care as long as I have you.”

  He lifts his head, shaking it. “And I don’t know how to make you understand that it does matter to me. The prognosis I’ve been given is not the life I want.”

  “You have a son on the way. He needs his father. I need his father. I don’t want to do this alone.” I’ve been on my own. But I don’t want to go there again. Even with Vale to help with Gus, the thought of raising a child without Bastien is terrifying.

  “You’ll always be taken care of. Even after I’m gone, you won’t ever have to worry.” He kisses my stomach again. “I need to know you’ll tell my son how much I loved him.”

  Did he really just say that to me?

  What is happening here?

  It feels like the pendulum swung one way and now it’s swinging back again.

  “No. I will not do that.” I shake my head. “You’ll have to tell him yourself.”

  I push Bastien away, get up from the sofa, and bend down to get my clothes from the floor. “Really? We’re back to that place again?”

  “We were never not at that place. Why would you think otherwise?”

  “How ’bout telling me you’re tired of missing me. Claiming you need me. Kissing my belly and talking to Gus. Saying you’ve been wanting to do that for so long. You don’t think that led me to believe something had changed?”

  “Everything I said is true, but it doesn’t mean I’ve changed my plan. I’m still going through with it.” He reaches out for me but I step away from his touch.

  “I swear I didn’t mean to mislead you to think otherwise.” I seriously love this man, but right now, I don’t like him worth a damn.

  How the hell did h
e think he could make love to me without making me believe it was a sign something had changed? How can one man be so incredibly extraordinary while equally selfish?

  He’s not going to change. Not for me. Not for his son.

  What the hell am I still doing here?

  I should have left weeks ago.

  “Gus and I will never be enough of a reason for you to stick it out and try. I get that now.” It’s hardly bearable to acknowledge but it’s sinking in.

  “I’m sorry I keep hurting you. I swear I don’t mean to.”

  I step into my panties and pull them up. “I know it wouldn’t be easy. But in the end, it would have been worth it. We would have been worth it.” I pull my gown on over my head. “This was the last time. I’m done begging you to stay.”

  He grasps my wrist. “I don’t want you to go like this.”

  “I’m heartbroken, Bash.” I pull my wrist free of his hold. “You’ve given me no choice. There is no other way for me to go.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  __________________________________

  Bastien Pascal

  –

  Rose hasn’t spoken to me in two days. I keep thinking—and holding out hope—she’ll come around and say something. Anything. But I get nothing.

  I walk into the kitchen and she leaves. I knock on her bedroom door and she doesn’t answer. I see her in the hall at work and she turns and walks in the opposite direction.

  To say I’m excited to see her standing in my bedroom doorway is a huge understatement. “Rose.”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Of course. Come in.” I scoot over, giving her a spot on the bed next to me like I’ve always done. Desperately hoping she’ll come to me.

  Holding her again. Sharing those raw, bare, exposed moments. Being inside the woman I love. All reminders of how deeply I miss her.

  This is where she belongs.

  She shakes her head. “Everything I need to say can be said from here.”

  Shit.

  “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about our relationship since we were together the other night. I’ve made some important decisions I need to tell you about.”