by Marie James
I laugh loudly. His situation may have been worse. As I recall, I don’t think he’d even been intimate with Emmalyn at that point. I don’t know which is worse for them, not knowing what they’re missing or going without the carnal pleasure once having them.
“You’ve been a complete asshole the last couple of days,” I say speaking freely now that it’s only the two of us. “What gives? Because I think Snatch and Itchy are about to form a mutiny.”
“This shit was only supposed to be a week, ten days top. Middle of last week was our window, and rather than being at home, I’m stuck here with you assholes.” He shakes his head. “Em says it’s okay; we’ll just try again next month, but I know she’s upset. I feel like an asshole because it’s not happened month after month and at least this month she can blame me rather than turning it around on herself. At least this month we don’t have to cross our fingers. We don’t have to pray and beg. This month we know it won’t happen.”
“Fuck, man. Sorry about that.” What else can I say?
“She told me she didn’t know if she could have children. That piece of shit Bobby hurt her so bad one time the doctors told her there was a ton of damage to her body, so much so that getting pregnant would be difficult. If I could raise that motherfucker from the dead so he could die all over again, I’d give up my soul to make that happen.”
“You want to have kids? I mean I know Em wants them, and you’ll give her anything she asks for, but do you want them?”
“I honestly never thought I did.” He looks off into the dark room. “You and I were a lot alike in that respect. I never wanted to settle down. I didn’t want the same woman in my bed night after night. I knew it would be boring. We have too much going on, too many chances to get hurt. We risk dying every time we head out.”
I shake my head because he’s preaching to the choir right now. It’s exactly how I feel.
“But, man,” he sighs. “I have Em, and I couldn’t imagine it any other way. Do I want kids? Fuck yeah, I want kids. Kids with Emmalyn will be like heaven. I never considered fatherhood before her, but now I honestly can’t wait.”
He reclines back on his bunk, and I leave him to his misery.
Fatherhood. It’s a foreign concept to me at best.
Until Kincaid started in on his daddy-knows-best tirade, I’d never even considered fatherhood an option. I mean I guess I thought about it. You have to think about it each time you wrap up before fucking a chick, but that’s honestly the furthest any thought of children has invaded my brain.
I think he’s wearing rose colored glasses. I don’t have a lick of experience with children, but I know they show up completely helpless, covered in shit and spit up. Who wants that responsibility? Not me, I can say that honestly.
Children also mean either settling down or having to have some sort of relationship with the same damn woman for years and years. That idea makes my skin crawl. There’s not a woman I’ve met yet, that I’d be willing to make that type of lifelong commitment to. I shudder when I think about it.
Kid slinks back into the room an hour later.
“You better have cleaned that damn shower after that shit, Kid.” I glare at him, thankful I’m in my thirties and can control my dick better than his young ass can.
“It’s clean,” he grumbles and falls back on his rack. “When is this shit going to be over?”
“Soon, I hope,” I answer.
We’ve already completed the job we were technically sent out here to do. Now we are working another case from the information we obtained while working the original case. We know, even as bad as we want to go home, that we can’t leave shit up in the air. There is always work to be done, always someone to save, but when we have direct information about someone that needs help, we never walk away. We wouldn’t want someone else to do it if it were people that we loved involved, so we’d never do that to others.
“I hate not having any form of cell service out here,” Kid says.
“Khloe’s fine, Kid. Doc is there, Em too.”
“It’s not that. I know she’s safe, but she had midterms this last week. She was super stressed over them.”
Khloe has recently turned eighteen, and she’s now in her freshman year at college. Emmalyn is taking classes as well. Kid has been nothing but supportive of her. He protects her with a fierceness I wasn’t able to see months ago when I had the conversation with Kincaid about him using her. I regret even having those thoughts. Kincaid told me Kid didn’t see Khloe as a club whore, but at the time I couldn’t accept it. Thankfully, he has proven me wrong every step of the way.
They’ve been through a lot. Kid was hurt on a mission which caused him to lose his memories. He pulled some stupid Kid shit; stuff that was pretty typical of him before Khloe came along. Somehow, the lucky bastard convinced her to forgive his sorry ass, and they’ve been inseparable ever since.
“I bet she did great, man,” I say to him. “She’s studying every chance she gets. We all know how smart she is.”
“I know,” he says running his hand over his head. “I just wanted to be there for her. I didn’t realize being away from her would be this hard.” He pauses momentarily as if he’s recalling something he doesn’t want to share. “It’s amazing how easy it is to fall into a routine with someone.”
See, boring.
“I miss my arms around her at night. I miss the way her breath washes over my skin when she sleeps. I miss the way she shoves her cold feet under my legs to warm them. I miss the way she… oh fuck,” he grumbles and walks back to the bathroom.
“Clean it!” I yell at him as he curses and slams the bathroom door. Poor fucker, life’s tough.
Chapter 5
Unplanned pregnancy or not, there was no way I’d let that skeezy looking doctor put his hands on me. I flew out of that abortion clinic as fast as I could.
I went home and begged my mother to let me keep the baby; her stance on the issues hadn’t changed. My father came home while I was packing my things and went ballistic. He was angry beyond reason, and I could tell there would be some problems for Mother for not having told him. I’d hoped for sympathy from him. I prayed he’d let me stay. He refused and told me my mother’s ultimatum stood. If I didn’t abort the baby, I had to go.
It wasn’t as simple as not being able to live under their roof. If I left, I was told to never come home again. They assured me they’d never accept my bastard child or me back into their home.
Thankfully I had purchased my car and most of my clothes from working summers in high school, so they couldn’t make me leave without those. My cell phone, on the other hand, was purchased by them. They paid the bill every month. When my father insisted I leave it there, I smashed it to pieces. Not only were they kicking me out, forcing me to live on my own, they were also going to take away my only form of communication. I was raised my whole life in what I would consider a happy home. Now, I don’t even know who those monsters are.
That is how I find myself at the Maternity House. I was smart enough to have grabbed a few of the pamphlets from the abortion clinic before I left.
I’ve been living here for several months. My tuition was paid for through the end of my last semester, so I was able to complete my degree. I’ve given up my teaching position at Little Elm. The Superintendent is a deacon in my father’s church. Even though I was such a whore getting pregnant, bringing shame on my family, they still told as many people as they could. A way to gain sympathy I’m sure.
I worked part-time at a steakhouse after losing my job at the school. When I graduated, I went to full-time hours. I didn’t bother showing up for my graduation ceremony. There was no one there to support me, so I didn’t see the point, besides; I had a shift to work that day.
I have a small room to myself here. I’ve decided on a semi-open adoption. I’ve been able to pick the couple I want my child to go to, although I won’t have any other information than their first names. I feel like it will be better this way. I kno
w if I have too much information, I’ll more than likely try to find them later.
“You’re sure about this?” The house counselor comes out once a month, but this is only my second time meeting with her. Her line of questioning reminds me too much of the nurse counseling at the abortion clinic.
I nod my head. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“There’s funding, Misty. You can keep your baby. My file says you graduated college recently,” she says looking back down at the folder that holds all my information. “With help, you could raise this baby on your own.”
“I’ve already picked the parents. They can give him a better life than I ever can.”
“You haven’t signed the official paperwork, Misty. Nothing is set in stone yet.”
“I think adoption is best.” I could keep him, and I know I’d struggle every day.
He needs a family that is already prepared to help him. I’ve done the math. I’ve done all the research. I know that even with my degree, that first-year teachers make too much to qualify for Medicaid, but not enough to really take care of a child. I’d have to sacrifice insurance, and I know how important that is. It would be irresponsible for me to just hope nothing happens.
“Okay, well I have the paperwork here to make it all official.” She opens the folder back up and pulls a paper-clipped stack of paper out. “This,” she says sliding the top page of the packet across the table to me, “Is the expedited consent. Once you sign this and it is filed with the court, you can no longer back out. Do you understand?”
I nod my head and pick up a pen from the tabletop. My hand hovers briefly over the signature line. I remind myself that my son will have a wonderful life with Rachel and Stewart. I scribble my signature and try to force the walls up around my heart. The baby moves, and I wonder if he can feel my anguish. I hope he doesn’t grow up hating me because I had to make such a difficult decision.
“In forty-eight hours this paperwork will be filed, Misty.” I nod my head in understanding. “You’re making a very brave choice. I can see how difficult this is for you. I commend you for your strength.”
We complete the rest of the packet quickly. I’m amazed at how easy everything is. A handful of signatures and the baby growing inside me is no longer mine.
“What happens at delivery?” I ask the counselor.
“When the baby is born he will be taken to the nursery. Hospital staff will move you to a different area. The adoptive parents will take over his care immediately.”
“I won’t get to see him? Hold him?” She shakes her head no.
“That’s part of that expedited consent. Research shows that it’s more difficult for the birth mother if contact is made with the baby.” She gives me a weak smile. “At that point in the hospital, you may want to change your mind, but you can’t. Not without a lengthy court battle. It’s best if you move on from it without seeing him.”
Tears fill my eyes.
“Do you want to discuss the resources available for keeping the baby?” she asks softly.
“No,” I say more forcefully than she deserves. “Thank you for your help.” I stand from the chair quickly. “I have a doctor’s appointment.”
My appointment isn’t for another couple of hours, but she doesn’t know that. I head back to my room, grab my purse, and leave the Maternity Home.
I drive straight to the doctor’s office and park in their parking lot. I wish I could drive around, letting the cool early spring air fill my car, but that would be irresponsible. I’m doing my best to save every penny I can make, and wasting gas won’t help.
I sit in the car and people-watch until my appointment time draws near. I find myself talking to him absently. I promise him a better life. I guarantee him a better mother than I can ever be. I tell him he’ll have every single thing he could ever dream of.
My heart is breaking, but I know the best thing I can do is to make this sacrifice. My heart will be incomplete beginning with the second he is born and handed off to another family, but giving him a future full of promise is my way of being a good mother.
I look at the clock and realize it’s time to head inside. I check in and wait for my name to be called.
“You should be putting on more weight, Misty,” the nurse chastises as I step down from the scale.
I work all the time now. By the time I get off work when the restaurant closes, sleep is all I can think about. I don’t feel like I should weigh more; I’m huge. I’m not starving myself or anything; I just really have no appetite. “Every time I eat, I get heartburn,” I respond.
“Yeah,” she says leading me to the exam room. “That’s the worst part about the last couple of weeks of pregnancy.
“Blood pressure is good,” she says rolling the cuff back up. “Any contractions yet?”
I shake my head no.
“Okay, the doctor will be in next.”
I wait forever it seems before the doctor shows up. If I thought I could get comfortable on this table, I’d lay back and take a nap. Sleep doesn’t come so easy these days. I hurt all over. My hips, shoulders, and almost every joint in my body seems to be retaliating against me.
A sharp knock on the door is followed by the doctor making his way into the room.
“Good to see you again, Misty. Any complaints?” I watch as he makes his way to the sink to wash his hands. “My hips are hurting more,” I answer.
“That’s very common,” he says drying his hands and turning the light switch off. “Chart says we’re at thirty-six weeks. Is that correct?”
He grabs the sonogram machine and rolls it to my side. “Yes, sir.”
“Lay back and let’s take a look at the big guy.”
I position myself how he needs me and turn my head to face the wall. I don’t even flinch when the cold gel hits my stomach. I’ve had several sonograms since moving into Maternity House. I was told we have more since the child will be put up for adoption.
Many adoptive parents insist on it, not wanting to take a risk of something being wrong with the baby. The counselor insists it’s so they can be prepared and there are no surprises on delivery day, but I know better.
There was another woman there a month or so ago. One of her sonograms revealed a spinal abnormality. Her adoptive parents backed out very quickly.
I’ve never watched the scene on any of my sonograms, not even the one at the abortion clinic. My heart couldn’t take even a black and white picture of my son. I remind myself each and every time I come in here that I’m doing what’s best.
I close my eyes and listen to the fast, steady rhythm of the heart beat as the doctor checks it. It’s the only consolation I’ll give myself. It’s a sound I will hold in my heart for as long as I live.
“Baby is looking good,” the doctor says handing me a towelette for my stomach and turning on the light. “Thirty-six weeks means it’s pretty safe to go into labor at any point now. With a male, though, we need to try to keep him in as long as possible. His lungs could use a little more time to develop better.”
“Thank you, doctor,” I say sitting up.
“I bet the adoptive parents are super excited,” he says hitting a button on the screen. I hear the small printer working across the room. “I’ll make sure one of the girls gets these to them,” he says holding up the backward facing strip of sonogram pictures.
I give him a brief nod and climb off of the table. The adoptive parents were quite disappointed when they found out they wouldn’t be involved in my doctor’s visits. This was a right I wasn’t going to give up. I didn’t want to build a relationship with them; it would only make things harder. They already get my baby; they don’t need my friendship too.
Chapter 6
Another mission, another three weeks away from home. I should be grateful it didn’t last six like the last one. Even after following all of the information we received, we never found what we were looking for. Kincaid had to finally call it when the intel we’d been given had gone cold.
Th
is latest mission has brought us to Costa Rica, not a beautiful coastal town on the beach, but one of the seediest places in Central America. This is where an abducted teenage girl was taken. One minute she’s on a luxury cruise with her parents, lazing away in the sun, and the next she’s being hogtied and sold to a well-known sexual deviant.
This mission is counted as a success simply because we found her alive. She’d been repeatedly raped, beaten severely, and tortured within an inch of her life. She’ll have nightmares and struggle every second of the rest of her life, but she’s on her way back home. I pray each time we rescue a girl that she’s not pulled down by the memories of the abuse she suffered. We hear all too often that many of them end up institutionalized or worse yet, they take their own lives, unable to live with the pain.
We were able to pull four other girls out of the hellish brothel also. The government is working now to get those girls home to their families. They have a hard time trusting the police because many times the people who’ve taken them have politicians and people they've been raised to trust in their back pockets. There was one girl in this last group who refused to talk. Her captors swore if she ever escaped they would kill every member of her family. She believed them even though in most of these situations the men who abducted them have no clue about lineage.
“I’m surprised you agreed to this,” I tell Kincaid as I tip my beer up to my lips.
He rolls his eyes at me. “Ace pretty much threatened me.”
Ace did most of the groundwork for this mission, so it’s only fair he’s rewarded him with a night out before we head back.
“We have a few things left to do tomorrow,” I say narrowing my eyes at him.
He laughs loudly. “He doesn’t know that.”
I smile and look over at Ace, Snatch, and Itchy. They’re laying it on pretty thick with a large group of women. They’ll walk away with at least one woman on their arms. Snatch is very likely to pull two for the night. For some reason, foreign women love the Mohawk and the endless tattoos covering his body.
