JJ was busy with work and barely had time to text with him. A storm in the Gulf had knocked one of their oil platforms off-line, and he’d been busy trying to supervise repairs to that and had been mostly unavailable to chat.
Eric chose to think maybe Tracey had as much trouble connecting with JJ as he had. For now, that was the easier alternative to believe in, until he had time and energy to focus on that situation.
Once life settled down, he’d suck up enough bravery to ask JJ for Tracey’s number and shoot her a text, at least, asking if she wanted to talk or wanted him to go away.
And he’d gracefully accept her answer if it was go away.
He refused to force himself on her. Not just because consent, to him, was vital in a relationship, but because he also refused to be an asshole.
One other good thing about his new hometown—he’d discovered there was a BDSM club in Sarasota. Another item cluttering his mental to-do list was to investigate joining it.
If only to make new friends and get him out of the house and into a social setting every once in a while.
Because if nothing else, Cara’s death had reminded him that he was alive, and he should try to figure out how to make the best of it.
Chapter Eighteen
Four weeks after returning from California, and Tracey was buried up to her eyeballs with classes and work. At least she was too busy to mope and feel self-pity about missing Eric. She had tried to get hold of JJ a couple of weeks earlier, but he’d apparently been out in the Gulf and out of contact, and she’d…gotten busy with her job and school and Em.
She’d debated trying again to contact JJ to get Eric’s information, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized maybe that wasn’t the wisest idea.
Especially since she’d let so much time pass. Now she’d look like an asshole.
Wouldn’t she? Besides, phones worked both ways. If Eric was a Dom and really wanted to be with her, wouldn’t he have tried to contact JJ, who he was good friends with?
Right now, her focus needed to be on work and school. She’d spent too many damn years focused on everyone and everything but herself.
And Eric was still grieving, that much was obvious. Maybe alcohol had played too much of a role in their weekend for both of them. Maybe he hadn’t enjoyed himself. If so, she’d rather have the memories of two really hot nights than some ego-scorching truth, or putting him in an uncomfortable spot of having to admit to her that there wasn’t anything else for them in the future.
When she awoke Wednesday morning, she sat up in bed, then bolted for the bathroom, where she promptly puked her guts up.
Dammit.
She knelt there for a moment, waiting for her stomach to settle. Last night she’d tried a new-to-her sushi place on the way home from work, a little treat for working so hard and getting two As in a row on tests in her classes.
Won’t be eating there again.
She had to open this morning. As she dragged herself into the shower, she realized she felt tired, achy, even her breasts felt tender.
Fucking hell, PMS. Terrific.
She made a mental note to toss a few tampons and a bottle of Motrin into her purse. She wasn’t cramping yet, but the way she felt, it wouldn’t surprise her if she started by the end of her shift. Menopause couldn’t hit her soon enough. For the past six months, her periods had been irregular, sometimes late, sometimes early. Back to late again this month, apparently.
Except by the time she finished work she felt exhausted and opted to head home instead of to Brandon’s. She called Emma on her way home and let her know, apologizing. Maybe this wasn’t food poisoning, maybe it was a stomach virus. They’d had two people call in sick that morning, and another had left early while she was working after puking his guts up in the parking lot while retrieving carts. And she damn sure didn’t want to spread it to everyone in Brandon’s house.
Especially not to Jeff, because he had enough health problems as it was. He’d just gotten the latest PICC line removed and was feeling better than he had in a while.
She’d pulled into the driveway when Brandon called her. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I really don’t want to get Jeff sick. I threw up this morning and thought maybe it was food poisoning, except I’ve got people dropping like flies at work today with a stomach bug. If I’m coming down with something, I don’t want to spread the love.”
“Ah, okay. Gotcha. That’s appreciated. Can we bring you some dinner? We can set it on the porch and ding-dong ditch you.”
She started to say no, but he was offering. One thing she’d learned since she’d rebuilt her relationship with Brandon was that he didn’t make offers he didn’t mean.
“Okay. But, no joking, please set it on the porch and text me. Don’t even touch the doorknob.”
“I’ll send Stuart with a container of food after we eat. Is Ruth home tonight? Should I send enough for two?”
“No, she’s closing tonight. I’m going to grab a shower.”
“Hope you feel better.”
“Thanks.”
She went inside and the shower helped her feel a little better. But she didn’t set up in the living room, because lord knew Ruth would have to dodge the demon germs at work, she didn’t need the contagion spread around the house more than necessary.
Tracey had just heard the sound of a car in the driveway when her phone chirped with a text alert. From Stuart.
Bring outcher dead! ;)
She smiled and headed for the front door.
Thank you. I really appreciate it.
She opened the front door, and there sat not just a container of roast beef and veggies, but another one with salad, and a third with two cupcakes. Stuart tapped his horn, and she smiled and waved at him, blowing him a kiss, which he returned.
After getting a glass of water, silverware, and paper towels, she took everything into her room and shut the door, putting her laptop aside in lieu of the TV. Honestly? She felt so dead she wouldn’t be able to study anyway. And right now, she was caught up, so taking one night off wouldn’t kill her.
Once she finished eating, she dumped the containers in the dishwasher and started it. Then she took antibacterial wipes and wiped down the counters, the faucet, and the fridge handle. Next came the front door handles, inside and out, the TV and cable box remote controls in the living room, and the bathroom she used across the hall from her bedroom.
Maybe that’ll help prevent the spread of the plague.
Then she settled into bed with the TV timer set and hoped she felt better in the morning.
* * * *
Nope.
Ruth stopped in Tracey’s open bathroom doorway the next morning. “Are you okay, honey?”
She spit into the toilet. “No. I think I’ve picked up that bug everyone else has at work.”
“Oh, yeah. Three girls left last night during their shifts. It was crazy.”
“Maybe I should call in.” Except, even as she spit again, now her stomach felt better despite the aching in her body. “I don’t want to spread this. How do you feel?”
“I never get that. Hay fever and allergies, yes, but I haven’t had a stomach bug in years.”
With her stomach finally settling, Tracey stood and rinsed her mouth. The thought of coffee rolled her stomach, though.
Dammit.
Hot tea it’d be. She thought she had some mint tea. Maybe she could drink some and go back to bed—
Except…this morning, she was supposed to open. They were letting her run the morning as she would as an assistant manager.
Shit.
She’d go and tough it out and keep a small bottle of hand sanitizer in her pocket and use it a lot. Hopefully, she wouldn’t spread this.
“No coffee?” Ruth asked.
“I honestly don’t think I can handle it this morning.”
She smiled. “Well, at least whatever it is, it’s nothing serious. Not like you’re pregnant or anything.”
&nbs
p; Tracey started to agree when an icy wave of horror washed over her.
It must have translated to her expression, because Ruth’s eyebrows shot up. “Trace?”
“Holy shit,” she whispered.
“What?”
It was…it was one fucking weekend. And she was on the pill!
No, it couldn’t be that.
Could it?
Except when she was pregnant with Em, she couldn’t even buy bags of coffee without gagging, where before—and after—she pretty much needed coffee to be reasonably human.
“Tracey, you’re scaring me.”
“I’m scaring myself.”
“But—” Ruth clapped a hand over her mouth. “California!” she muttered. “Shit!”
With Emma, it’d been exactly four weeks, when figured back, that she’d started puking and her other symptoms had shown up.
But I’m forty-one damn years old!
Tracey took a deep breath and held up her hands. “Look, the most logical answer is stomach bug.”
Ruth finally dropped her hand. “You should buy a pregnancy test kit.”
“I’m not buying one at work and have some cashier spread rumors about me when I’m just sick. I’ll get one at a drugstore on the way home and check it in the morning if I don’t feel better.”
In reality, her brain had slammed shut and locked down against the possibility that she was preggers.
Haha, good one, nope.
Nopity nope nope nope.
Because that would be a massive shit-storm of a problem. No way would she give a baby up, or get rid of it—
Wait, stop it! You’re sick with stomach flu, idiot! You are not pregnant!
But somehow, that didn’t feel right.
Still, as her mug of water for her hot tea rode the carousel inside the microwave, she watched it turn and tried to quiet her mind and convince herself of that.
* * * *
Throughout the day, Tracey lost herself in a barrage of chaos at work, including a truck delivery that was late and then had problems with their lift gate not working, meaning a repair crew had to be dispatched. That put them behind unloading the truck. Two more cashiers were forced to leave early due to the tenacious stomach bug, so at one point, Tracey and one of the office clerks ended up grabbing tills from the safe and manning registers when the lines grew too crazy.
By the time she was ready to clock out at two, the store manager looked at her with an arched eyebrow. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Not really, no.” Still no period, but no return of that morning’s nausea, either.
“If you need to call in tomorrow, don’t be a hero. We’ve got enough people sick.”
“I’ll see how I feel.”
As she headed away from work, she stopped at the first drugstore she passed and bought a test kit. Then she pulled into a McDonald’s and took the tester inside with her to their bathroom. She couldn’t wait until she got home.
She locked herself into the wheelchair accessible stall and did the test. With horror, she watched as it developed.
Positive.
No…nononononono!
In a panic, she drove to her doctor’s office and after tearfully explaining to the receptionist, they were able to work her in, starting with a urine test.
That one was harder, because she’d just peed, but she managed to squeeze more out.
Fifteen minutes later, a nurse was handing her tissues as Tracey sobbed while the doctor confirmed she was pregnant.
“But I was on the pill!”
“Accidents happen. You said your period has been fluctuating lately. It’s not unheard of for there to be a problem.”
That didn’t help her feel better.
The doctor looked grave. “Do you want information on local abortion providers?”
“No! I just…” She drew in a shaky breath. “It’s complicated. Very, very complicated.”
“Well, due to your age, I’m going to want to see you more frequently than your first pregnancy. You’re now in the high-risk category. We’ll get you set up on a schedule and get you some information.”
Thirty minutes later, she sat in her car, trembling. She now had several appointments scheduled, and did it make her a horrible person to pray this didn’t fuck up her promotion?
And…
Holy hell, now she had to track down Eric, if nothing else because she owed it to him to tell him he was going to be a father. But…
Shit.
She’d let so much time elapse she wouldn’t blame Eric if he never wanted to hear from her again. And what if he thought she’d done this on purpose?
She couldn’t think, could barely breathe, and didn’t know what to do next.
I need to talk to Bran.
If anything, he’d at least be able to calm her down and help her think. He’d be level-headed and help her process…this. She knew Brandon wasn’t due home until late that evening because he was at the new store, supervising things there.
And…she couldn’t face Emma and Grace right now.
Using Google, she found out where the new store was and headed north to Bradenton. Fortunately, she spotted Brandon’s car parked in the shade under a tree in the store’s lot and parked next to it. Then she sent him a text.
Can you please come outside? I need to talk to you right now. It’s an emergency. I’m parked by your car.
She was leaning against the side of her car, arms hugging herself, when he literally ran out of the building about two minutes later. She was already crying as he ran up to her and engulfed her in a hug.
“Honey, what’s wrong? Is Emma okay?”
“It’s not…it’s about me.”
He turned them so he was leaning against the car, cradling her against him as she sobbed. “Sweetheart, talk to me. You’re scaring me.”
“I…I’m pregnant.”
He didn’t respond at first. “Say whut?”
“Apparently one fucking weekend in California did it.”
He made her look up at him. “Your old boyfriend?”
She nodded. “I was even on the pill.”
“Wait, he didn’t use a condom?”
“No.”
“Are you fucking serious?”
“It was my choice. We talked about it and I took the chance.”
“That doesn’t fucking matter, Trace. He could have put you at risk!”
“No, I put myself at risk.” She sniffled. “Plus we were both pretty drunk both nights. I’m not proud of that, but it’s a two-way street.”
“Have you told him yet?”
“I don’t even know how to get hold of him. Jeff and I had to check out so early Sunday morning to make it to LAX, and I overslept as it was. I forgot to get his cell number. I had told him I’d call him, then I didn’t…then I didn’t know how since I’d let so long go by, and I’d had trouble getting in touch with JJ. I don’t even know if he’ll want to talk to me now, it’s been so long. I wouldn’t blame him, either.”
Brandon looked murderous, and she couldn’t help loving him for it. “You said he’s a friend of JJ’s, right? I want JJ’s number. I’ll call him and get this guy’s info from him and deal with him myself. He’s going to have to pay for this. He needs to support his baby.”
“What am I going to do?” She knew part of it was the emotional shock, but fuck trying to do this on her own. If she was going to have a baby, she couldn’t do it on her own, and she was damn well kidding herself if she thought she could.
She needed her family.
Her true family.
Especially if Eric decided he didn’t want anything to do with her now.
“You can move in with us, for starters. That way we can help you take care of the baby and you won’t have to quit working.”
The shakes had finally hit her. He dug into his pocket and grabbed his car keys. “Get your stuff, lock your car, and get in my car and start the engine so it’s cooling off. I’ll drive you home. You can’t drive like this.
Stuart and I will come get your car for you tonight.”
“Bran—”
“Tracey.” He rested his hands on her shoulders and stared down into her eyes. “I know you’re scared right now, honey, but we’ll take care of you. You’re the mother of my child, and you’re going to be a mom again. I’m going to find this sonofabitch and make him take care of his responsibilities.”
She felt torn between wanting to dive into the familiar safety of Brandon’s protective rage and trying to defend Eric. “Please don’t attack him. He doesn’t even know.”
“He didn’t try to contact you after that weekend, did he?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t try to find him, either. So it’s really a two-way street. I’d told him I’d call him…and I never did. I wouldn’t blame him for hating me.”
When Brandon dropped into Dom mode, she was helpless against him. “Get your things, and get in my car,” he quietly said. He closed her hand around his keys. “Now.”
“Yes, Sir.” She couldn’t help it—it popped out.
He smiled and kissed her forehead. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You have me and Jeff and Stuart. And Em and Grace, too. This’ll be okay, I promise. And maybe he will want to be involved, you don’t know. Let’s get you home and calmed down, for starters. I need to go in and grab my stuff and tell everyone I’m leaving. I’ll be right back.”
* * * *
When Brandon appeared around the back side of the customer service counter where Eric was supervising the install of the workstations there, it looked like the man radiated white-hot rage.
Holy shit. “You okay?”
“Walk with me.” Brandon set off at a jog toward the office.
Eric followed. “What’s going on?”
“I have a family emergency I have to take care of.” Brandon grabbed his laptop, shut it without bothering to turn it off, and started packing his stuff. “Look, here are the things I need to make sure get taken care of today…”
Eric took notes on his phone as Brandon talked, keeping up with him as they headed toward the front of the building and out into the parking lot.
Blues Beach [Suncoast Society] Page 15
