by J. M. Maurer
Yes, I’m running out of time. And to my chagrin, as I head out of town the blue lights flashing behind me aren’t helping my situation one bit.
Chapter Eighteen
Addison
“Rusty said he issued Ben a ticket last week.”
I jerk my line of sight from my passenger’s side window and look at Rachel. She’s driving me home after what up until now was a pretty enjoyable baby shower. She flicks on the turn signal, and the tick-tock sound grates on my nerves almost as much as the fact that Ben hasn’t said a word.
“And just so you know,” Rachel says, leaning into the wheel to take a right, “I slapped him a good one upside the head for doing it.”
I’m not sure what to say, so I deflect, especially since I’m not sure why Ben hasn’t mentioned anything about it. “At least Rusty loaded up all the baby gifts and got them into the back of your car. Which was nice, by the way. I do hope you don’t plan on wrecking it,” I tease, plastering on what Rachel would know is a fake grin if she took her eyes off the road and looked over at me.
“Ha!” She lifts her foot off the accelerator, but only because we’re approaching the town square, where the speed limit takes a sharp dip, and the cops are known to hide, just waiting for speeders—like Ben. “I’m trying to be careful. You know I hated what happened to your car. And Rusty should have never given Ben a ticket without a warning. He was only going sixty in a forty-five. I don’t see the big deal. With nothing but cornfields for miles, there’s hardly even a house on either side of the road.”
I don’t mention the fact that corn doesn’t grow in December. I get her point. Even so, a pang of disappointment hits as I sit and wish Ben would have been the one to tell me. “You’re right. It’s no big deal. I’ll remind him not to speed.”
And ask him why he didn’t mention anything the day it happened. Maybe he forgot. He does seem to have a lot on his mind. With my due date approaching, I’m sure he just didn’t want me to worry about it. I roll it off my shoulders as Rachel takes a left onto the road that winds around the perimeter of the lake.
“I think it’s sweet how Ben’s moved you in with him. How he’s there for you. How he’s hopped in and started getting to know everyone around town. Honestly, Addison, I don’t know how you turned him down. Heck, I’d marry the man if he asked me. The baby making you loco, or is it that new cough of yours preventing oxygen from entering your brain?”
I laugh through the moist cough she’s talking about. “My respiratory status has nothing to do with it. But I do think the baby’s running out of room. It’s been getting harder and harder to breathe these days. And I know you, Rachel. You would not marry Ben. Your heart’s been with Rusty since grade school.”
“Well, Rusty hasn’t asked, and we’ve been kinda serious for what, something like ten years now? I don’t think he’s ever gonna ask.”
“Why don’t you ask him?” I counter. “It’s been done before. You won’t be the first to break tradition.”
“Because, like you, I want to know he loves me and wants me. If he does, don’t you think he’d have asked?” Rachel says, her tone turning sad, her eyes fixed on nothing but the winding road ahead.
“I see your point. It doesn’t help that we’ve been fantasizing about our wedding day since we were old enough to dress up and pretend.”
She reminds me of the fake wedding ceremonies we did at recess, which makes me laugh. We were only in second grade, voicing a rather fragmented set of made-up vows under the wooden fort at the far edge of the playground. Rachel had no more squeaked out “Do you take Dalton” when he slipped the oversized ring he’d made out of grass onto my finger. Rachel didn’t get to finish her lines because impatient Dalton went ahead and shouted his untimely and inappropriate, “I do.”
“I almost forgot about Fort Chapel. Thanks for the memory and for throwing me an awesome baby shower.”
“You’re welcome,” Rachel says, driving up and over the last hill before the house.
I open my mouth to add on to my words of thanks, when suddenly a nauseating flutter begins taking over inside my belly. My thoughts grow fuzzy. My skin turns ice cold. My eyelids close in hopes of erasing the vision I’ve seen. But when I open them, Ben’s arms are still around some woman. To make matters worse, I recognize her as one of the women from my Internet search, her pretty smile and those talons of hers all over Ben in more pictures than I want to remember.
“Addison,” Rachel says, a solemn tone overly evident in her voice, which clues me in on the fact that she’s seeing what I am.
“I don’t know who she is, but do me a favor and drive around the lake.” Maybe she’ll be gone by the time we make a second pass. Maybe she’s no one of consequence. Though why would Ben be embracing her the way he is if she’s not important to him?
I don’t know. First a speeding ticket. Now some exquisitely dressed brunette in his arms. What else is there that I don’t know about this baseball phenom named Ben Peterson?
I need to breathe. And think.
Chapter Nineteen
Ben
I follow Marissa Messmer out the front door and stop when we get to her car. “Thanks for driving all the way out here.”
“No problem. I’m thrilled for you, and it gave me a chance to pick up a few things for Mom and Dad while I’m here.”
“I feel like I owe your parents everything. They’ve done so much for me. And you, Marissa, will always be the sister I never had.”
“Well, Dad wants you to report in February despite the email you sent him. Mom wants you at the house so she can feed you. And I have to agree. Maybe this time away has been what you need. We all miss you, Ben. You belong in the game.”
And I miss them, but not to the extent I’ve got my ticket ready for spring training or anything. I’ve not even given February a thought. My focus has solely been on Addison. The thought of packing up my family and heading to Arizona for six weeks hasn’t even entered my mind.
My family. The words come to me so easily. Because that’s what Addison and our baby are. They’re my family. And they’re more important to me than the thrill of the first pitch on opening day, or the prospects of putting a custom-cut ruby and diamond studded World Series ring on my finger.
I want a different ring now.
I pull Marissa into a friendly hug, just as I’ve been doing for years now because she and her family took me in as more than just another arm. They treated me like one of the family.
“You might think I belong back on the mound, but I belong here. Thanks for the vote of confidence, though.” I squeeze Marissa once more, release my hold, and back away. “And make sure you tell Lillian that Addison approves of all the remodeling she did.”
“Mom had fun at this house. Aside from the nosy neighbor next door, no one knew who we were around here. And to think, we’re only ninety minutes west of Cincy. With Dad always working so much, their quick getaways to the lake were just what Mom needed. She’s going to miss this place.”
“I can see why, but she doesn’t have to. You’re all welcome to visit anytime you want. I know you’ll adore Addison.”
“I’m sure I will.” She peers past me, her gaze taking in the house one last time. “Trent would love it here.”
“He would.” I follow her gaze. “I’ve certainly grown to love it. Addison only sold it because after her parents died, she couldn’t stand being here alone. I think that’s why she moved into that dinky apartment instead of buying another house. It’s small. Nothing like this place.” I turn back to Marissa, content that the weight of my past is behind me yet beyond excited about the bright future ahead. “I’ve wanted to put a big Christmas tree in front of the window that looks out onto the lake for days now, but I’ve also been trying to keep Addison off her feet. Lately, her energy’s been low, and I’m not sure if it has to do with spending the holidays in this house or if it’s a product of nearing the end of the pregnancy. Either/or, the place looks amazing. This’ll be a nice su
rprise for her. Thanks for helping me decorate.”
“No thanks needed. I was happy to help. Now it sounds like Addison could use some pampering. So I’ll let you get to that while I work on getting Trent here sometime next summer. Holding a baby will be good for him. Maybe even set things in motion so he feels the need to knock me up.” She winks with a smile.
I laugh. “Knowing your mom and dad, you should probably have a ring on your finger first.”
“That’s the problem. Trent wants the ring. And I’m not talking about a plain band that means forever.” She lifts a brow. It’s as if she’s telling me my return to the mound is the key to getting the ring Trent has his heart set on.
“I think Trent’s the one who needs to screw his head on straight.”
Marissa laughs. “I’ll tell him you said that.”
“Please do.” I check my watch, noting the setting of the sun, and see Marissa shiver from the cold December air. “Addison should be back soon. Want to stay for supper? She’d love to meet you.”
“And ruin your surprise?” She shakes her head. “Thanks, but I gotta get back. By the way, your attorney squared everything away, including dealing with your agent. The eighty million you’ve netted over the last five years, Carter did well with his percentage of your pay. He knows it. And all the complaining he does to you, it’s just his way of telling you he isn’t ready to see you hang it up. With you, it’s about more than money to him.”
“I’ll be sure and send him an announcement after the baby comes,” I say, more than certain Carter’s actions are, in fact, all about the money I make him.
“And I’ll send you an announcement as soon as Trent puts an engagement ring on my finger.”
“You better,” I say, watching as Marissa opens the door of her car.
“And you better invite us to the wedding. We are family, you know.”
“You can count on it.” After my parents passed, the Messmers were the only family I had.
“Family stays in touch. And visits. And pops in for a warm weather vacay during spring training in Arizona.” Her smile knows no bounds. “See you there, Bender. And bring your new family with you.”
She tosses a sisterly kiss at me with a wave of her hand as she hops in and closes the door. The Messmer family couldn’t have popped into my life at a better time. Much the same as Addison did when our paths crossed last spring.
Chapter Twenty
Addison
I’m confident placental shunting’s messing with my head. Even so, I don’t know if I should be upset with Ben, or angry at the woman. Whoever it is I end up directing my raging hormones on better beware. I can almost feel my estrogen levels reach an all-time catastrophic high. And besides, what else would be causing my most recent onset of nausea?
At least by the time we make it back around the lake, the shiny red convertible BMW is gone. And hopefully it took the brunette that had her claws on Ben with it. I still don’t know who she is. But the pearly white smile from all those pictures of her standing next to Ben mock me like a flock of crows pecking away at my eyeballs.
I wish I could unsee what I just saw. But I can’t. Nor can I keep having Rachel drive me in circles around the lake.
“You sure you don’t want to have a sleepover at my house?” Rachel asks, the tone in her voice soft and caring.
A sleepover back at my apartment sounds plausible. And the fifty-degree temp I set the thermostat at when I agreed to move in with Ben might even cool me off. Though I highly doubt it. I’m livid. And I’m not even sure why. There’s got to be an explanation for Ben’s behavior. I just need to ask.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” I sigh, gearing myself up as Rachel pulls into the driveway. “I’ll shoot you a text later,” I tell her.
Ben must have been waiting. He’s at the car faster than I can coerce my belly to let me out. “Hello, ladies. How was the shower?”
He helps me out and immediately kisses the side of my head.
My surly mood all but slaps him. As it is, my hands quiver at my sides; there’s not a nerve ending anywhere in my being capable of firing off such a knee-jerk reaction in response to the turmoil I’m feeling.
Thankfully, Rachel chimes in, eagerly coming to my rescue. “It was a wonderful afternoon. You should know we played a bridal shower game where I’m supposed to keep track of the number of times Addison breaks a bow while unwrapping her gifts. She broke four ribbons. Five if you count the one that fell apart when she tried to help pack the car. If the old wives’ tale is true, you should probably give her some time to recover between the next four pregnancies. Space those baseball-loving babies you’re destined to give her out a bit,” she advises, shoving a box holding a wipe warmer to his chest, and then continues without missing a beat. “I’m not sure the ribbon thing applies at a baby shower. But since you two are doing this backwards, I suppose it applies here—”
Ben cuts her off, making easy work of removing some of the gifts from the back seat, and reminds Rachel that our current relationship status isn’t what he wants. The candid tone of his voice lifts a layer of anger from my shoulders, taking with it some of the weight of worrying about that woman with it. My heart skips a beat when I remember the night Ben looked into my eyes and proposed.
But the facts remain in the forefront of my mind. Ben’s been keeping things from me. The biggest secret apparently being another woman.
I hold it together for as long as I can, stunned further when I look around at all the holiday decorating he has done. Maybe that’s who she was. Some sort of home decorator or something. Yeah, or something. What kind of home decorator hugs a man like she loves him?
Sadly, my confusion and anger aren’t allowing me to enjoy what all Ben has done to the house. Right now I don’t particularly care about the beautiful Christmas tree that’s covering the majority of the back window. My heart needs to know who the woman is and just exactly what she means to Ben.
When the last gift is inside, and I see all the baby gifts strewn across the floor, I lose my composure and let a deluge of tears I’d been fighting stream down both my cheeks. So much for hoping things would work out with Ben, and just when I was starting to believe he truly is in love with me.
Ben looks at me like he hasn’t a clue why I’m so emotional, then pulls me into his arms, his warm hands caressing my back to calm me down. I don’t fight him. I selfishly soak up the feel of his touch, granting myself one last moment this close to him.
“Baby, what’s wrong? Exhausting day?” He palms my cheeks, his handsome face taking on an expression of deep concern. “These don’t seem like happy tears. Did someone say something mean? Tell me who it was and I’ll let ’em have it.”
He seems so sincere. I can’t control my reaction. The vision of his arms around the woman is eating me alive inside. “I need to know who she is,” I say feeling a twinge in my head, my voice hitching as I work to suck in a breath.
“Who?”
Oh. So now he’s going to play stupid. So typical of a man. I throw up my arms, then wipe my fingers across my face, determined more now than ever to find out who this woman is.
“The woman. You had your arms around. Fifteen minutes ago,” I huff each word. “Don’t even try pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about. Surely you haven’t forgotten her already. Or the way she held on to you. It was like she was just counting the seconds until she could come back to you.”
Ben’s posture stiffens as he jerks his head back, his lids squeezing shut the same time he plunges both hands into his hair. He turns away and lets his sight roam past all the decorations in the great room, through the kitchen, and up to the ceiling before it lands back on me.
“It’s not what you think,” he says, his voice shaky.
“Oh! It’s not what I think? It’s never what we think. Is it, Ben?” I move away, suddenly noting the dress I’m wearing feels overly restrictive.
“Trust me! It really isn’t,” he insists.
“Then tell
me, Ben. What were you. Doing with. Your hands all over. That woman?” I hiccup through additional throbs of pain and attempt to refill my lungs with air. God, what is happening to me? Why do I suddenly feel so ill?
“My hands weren’t all over some other woman.” He steps closer, an emotion-choked tone in his voice. “Please believe me when I tell you it’s not what you think.”
I want to reply, but the rolling in my stomach is relentless, nearly pushing the cake and ice cream I just ate up and out of my esophagus. Add my case of unrelenting nausea to everything else I’m feeling, and I’m not sure I’m thinking rationally.
Fixating on the image of Ben with the other woman seems a lot easier at the moment than believing him.
I feel like crap.
I can’t seem to stop crying.
I’m an emotional and physical mess.
When I don’t respond, Ben raises his voice. It’s as if he thinks my mental status is preventing me from hearing him, or the sweat that’s dripping down his reddened face has somehow muffled his tone. “Babe, you’ve had a long day. I’m sure you’re tired. How about you slip out of your beautiful dress and into something cozy and comfortable. And I’ll—”
Cutting him off, I let my emotions take over. “I know cozy. And comfortable. When I see it, Ben.” I try more breaths between words, but I’m too upset and can’t seem to catch my breath. “I didn’t hallucinate. Because I’m tired. But I am tired. And I think. I just want to go home.”
Needing to think, I turn to leave, hearing a strangled groan belt out of Ben’s throat. Not liking what I’m hearing, I twist to meet a pained expression covering his face. Feelings of deep sadness mix in with lightheadedness and almost in unison with a pounding that has now taken residence inside my skull.
