Redemption

by Rebecca Sharp

  Wiping my face, I mumbled, “Sorry, I was really hungry. And I’m eating for two…”

  “Well, at least you have that excuse for it now,” he said with a laugh.

  “Hey!” I swatted him with the back of my hand but couldn’t stop myself from laughing, too, before I dug into the second taco on my plate. They tasted like heaven; I wasn’t going to be ashamed.

  “Tell me something,” he requested a few minutes later, the serious look in his eye forcing me to pause and my adrenaline to pick up. “Why did you sound sad earlier?”

  Slowly, I chewed and swallowed my last bite.

  “When you talked about the volunteer work,” he continued. “You had this sad look in your eyes even though you sounded like you really loved it.”

  My gaze dropped to my empty plate, wishing there was something to eat so I didn’t have to answer.

  Instead, I opted for, “Why do I have to answer your question when you didn’t answer mine?”

  It didn’t matter that I took my chin up a notch; he pulled it right back down.

  “My house. My rules.”

  I sighed, feeling the chill of sadness creep back into my chest. “It just… reminds me of my parents. Hard to believe that people who can care so much and do so much for others can also care so little… How they can be so stuck on rules that they forget the principles behind them… like love… and forgiveness.”

  A few seconds of silence passed, as we were both mourned how people could make choices with the best intentions but lacking love.

  “I’m sorry, Tay.” He grabbed my hand and his warmth fought back against the cold pain. “You’re sure—”

  “Yes,” I said tightly, cutting him off. “I’m pregnant and not married. I’m sure they won’t be okay with it. I wish I wasn’t but I am.”

  I squeezed his fingers, not for comfort, but I needed him to stop pushing. I’d lived with Miriam and Isaiah Hastings for twenty-six years. There were certain things… certain commandments, I’d say if I were feeling poetic, that they’d carved in stone.

  Having a baby out of wedlock was one of them.

  They were Catholic and old-fashioned and yes, there were still people like that in this world.

  “And what about the father? I know you don’t want to tell me who he is, but what does he have to say? Are… are neither of you interested in marriage? I mean—” he broke off with a harsh breath, “I mean, does he not want to be a part of the baby’s life?”

  Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

  Do. Not. Cry.

  I leveled him with a calm stare, taking a breath so deep that not even sonar could see the bottom of it, and asked, “Would you?”

  He was taken aback by my question, his brow furrowing harshly. I thought maybe he wondered if, somehow, my baby could be his; but the rapidity with which it disappeared indicated he was confident it wasn’t.

  “Honestly, can’t say I’ve ever thought about it, Tay,” he admitted, pulling his hand from mine to wipe the back of it over his mouth. “But right now, I can’t think of a reason in Heaven or on Earth why I wouldn’t. I mean, it’s my kid. Of course, I’d want to be a part of his life.”

  My throat clogged even as I managed a smile.

  Even if it meant having to give up your peace, your girlfriend, and your dreams?

  The man in front of me was both the same and different from the Ash I’d known, and that knowledge made me even more uncertain and afraid of what his answer would be.

  “But he doesn’t?” he asked, bringing me back to the moment. “The dad… he doesn’t feel that way?”

  This time, my gaze plummeted to where my hands were clasped in my lap. Of all the poor timing I’d had since arriving on the ‘best’ coast, my prayers for mercy—or at least for time—were answered.

  Saved by the house phone ringing, Ash groaned and pushed back from the table, he picked up the cordless receiver, about to decline the call when he looked at the caller ID and saw who it was.

  “I have to…” He trailed off as he stood, pulling open the front door to take the call outside.

  “Hey, Danny. Sorry, babe. Busy day…”

  The chair squeaked against the wood as I pushed it back; I couldn’t bear to listen anymore. Washing both plates and realizing that there were no dishtowels to dry them, I began to notice just how minimalist Ash’s cabin was. And how it needed a good cleaning. Thankfully, there wasn’t much in it so there wasn’t much to keep organized.

  Something to do tomorrow—after I found a new OBGYN and made a doctor’s appointment.

  I didn’t want to be here when he came back in. I didn’t want to answer any more questions, when there were so many left unanswered to myself.

  At least there were clean bath towels in the small linen closet in the hall. Grabbing one, I locked the bathroom door behind me and cranked the shower on hot.

  How would his girlfriend feel if she knew?

  Shampooing my hair, I chastised myself for thoughts that were borne a little too much out of jealousy and not enough reality.

  Danny seemed decent and I hadn’t been raised to dislike someone just because she had something that I wanted. And I’d wanted Ash for a long time—a long time filled with strings of other women who’d ‘had’ him.

  But Danny was really pretty. Like a model, with her long brown hair and matching brown eyes, she and Ash looked perfect together.

  I glanced down as the water washed the suds off my body. I, on the other hand, was short. Bordering on midget territory. It was okay before… I’d always thought everything about me was at least proportional, though small. But now… the skin of my stomach was stretched with its slight bump, my breasts were much larger—maybe not in the grand scheme of all boobs, but for me, they definitely stuck out more.

  And around Ash, they tingled.

  Especially because everything he said, about wanting to be in his supposed-child’s life, was all the right things. But this wasn’t the Ash I knew. And while this version certainly seemed better, it wasn’t my life… or my heart at stake… It was my child’s.

  It wasn’t my life or my heart at stake… did you hear that, Heart?

  Maybe one night’s good sleep in bed would reset my whole body—including all the parts that seemed to wake up only around him.

  Groaning, I remembered that there was no bed, only a small couch that, while made for my size, was definitely not made for sleeping.

  They say sleeping while you’re pregnant is incredibly uncomfortable at the end… guess this will be some good practice, huh, Baby?

  “Oh, no…” I groaned as I dried off.

  My brain seemed to be failing me more and more. In my attempt to avoid further questions, I’d forgotten to bring my suitcase full of clean clothes into the bedroom.

  Wrapping the towel around me, I unlocked and peered out the door.

  No sign of Ash.

  Maybe he was still on the phone…

  I cringed as the floor squeaked beneath my bare toes.

  “Taylor.”

  I jumped with a squeal, frantically clasping the towel that was about to drop and reveal behind door number two.

  Ash stood in the kitchen, partially hidden by the refrigerator. He looked over at the commotion I created and froze. His blue eyes stormed as he took me in.

  In an instant, I was back in Denver. That same look accompanied with so many words of adoration, and even more touches that defied description.

  “You… scared… the crap out of me,” I said, gasping for breath between each word, my heart beating like a bass drum.

  “Sorry. Thought you saw me.” And then the look was gone.

  My thighs squeezed together as he fully faced me, resting the side of his hip against the counter as his muscles flexed until his shirt pulled tighter over them. All that manual work on his restaurant was paying off in ways that football never seemed to accomplish.

  My thighs were wet.

  They were dry when I left the bathroom a minute ago.

&nbs
p; Maybe I hadn’t thought this through.

  I’d always been attracted to him. Wanted him. But now I was putting myself in a one-thousand-square-foot proximity to him. All day. Every day.

  And with all my hormones.

  I gripped the towel tighter, knowing my nakedness wasn’t the only thing it was hiding from him now.

  My attention snapped to the mason jar he was holding filled with clear liquid, and it reminded me of how much he drank on tour.

  “Water,” he said as though he knew what I’d been thinking. “For you.”

  “Oh… thank you. I just… I just came for my suitcase.” I rambled, my eyes searching everywhere for something to hang onto before they fell back onto him. “I’ll change in the bathroom and then you can have your room—”

  “Taylor,” he cut me off with a small laugh, strolling toward me. “I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”

  “But—”

  “No buts,” he cut in as my breath got cut off.

  When he got close to me, it was as though he were a vacuum, sucking all the oxygen from my air.

  “I said you could stay here, and I’m not going to make a guest sleep on the couch. No fucking way, Pixie. And I’m certainly not going to make my pregnant guest sleep on the couch.”

  I swallowed hard, the steel edge in his eyes threatening me if I continued to argue.

  “Okay…” I agreed, reaching for the handle to my suitcase while my other hand tried to keep the towel from dropping.

  He just shrugged with another laugh as he took my suitcase from me, the movement brushing his chest against my towel-covered one, my nipples hardening instantly against the coarse fabric.

  “I… ahh… washed the sheets, but if you need anything else…” His words trailed off just like my breathing had. He picked up my case with one arm and hauled it into the bedroom without a backward glance.

  I rushed over to the couch to fluff the pillow and open up the blanket that was folded on top for him, even more guilt rushing over me and my eyelids fluttered to try to keep the tears at bay.

  Anyone would have given me the bed, Heart. What did we just talk about?

  “Thank you, Ash,” I said from the doorway into the bedroom. “Really, thank you.”

  Even though it was my decision to come here, I hadn’t expected all of this and those two words didn’t seem like enough.

  He half turned and gave me a lopsided grin that made my need to get to a pair of panties all the more critical.

  “You’re welcome.” He held my gaze for an extra second.

  So many times, people brushed off ‘thank yous’ with ‘not a problem’ or ‘don’t worry about it.’ But, in the last twelve-plus hours, I’d imposed on Ash’s life, relationship, dreams, and home. And he gave without asking for anything in return—without hardly asking anything. So when he said, ‘you’re welcome,’ I knew he’d acknowledged how much I’d asked of him and my gratitude for it. And for some reason, that made me feel just a little bit better—as though we both understood just how much it was.

  Goosebumps rushed over me in a forceful wave as he walked by me.

  “Goodnight,” I said quietly.

  He paused when we were shoulder-to-shoulder. “I… ahh… have breakfast plans in the morning.” ‘With Danny’ went unsaid but not unfelt. “I bought eggs and cereal and waffles so make yourself at home and feel free to sleep in, just don’t freak out if I’m not here when you get up.”

  My head jerked in a manner that sort of resembled acknowledgment.

  “And don’t—” he growled “—disappear without at least a note before I come back,” he said with a low, hoarse voice.

  His mumbled ‘goodnight’ reached me just before the bedroom door shut.

  And then I was alone. Again.

  Although, I was never really alone anymore. I tugged my flannel sleep shirt over my stomach which was much more pronounced after how much I’d eaten.

  Still, it felt like there was a piece of me missing when he was gone.

  Go to bed, Heart. You’re delirious.

  Ash

  I woke up to the most horrible sound. One that still haunted my nightmares and brought me right back to the past. To college. To frat parties. To football parties. To concerts. To after-parties.

  To all the morning afters.

  I shot up from the couch that I regretted accepting from Larry now having had to sleep on it. The cushions had so many lumps and bumps in them not even a whole fucking season of Nip/Tuck would be able to save them.

  For a second, I was actually afraid the vomiting noises were coming from me. There were countless times where I’d heard the sounds and didn’t think anything of them—until I woke up the following morning covered in my own vomit. But it took even less time to realize they weren’t—and that meant there was only one other person who could be throwing up violently in my bathroom.

  Throwing the blanket off me, I didn’t even think about putting pants on over my boxers. I didn’t even think about my morning wood from dreaming about my unexpected houseguest. I didn’t think about anything except that she was deathly-fucking-ill.

  My hand jerked on the handle.

  “Taylor! Unlock the door!”

  “No…” She trailed off with a whimper as I heard her begin to heave again.

  “Taylor, open the goddamn door right fucking now,” I yelled.

  I didn’t—couldn’t—care how harsh I sounded. My heart was pounding like a bull trying to escape into the ring. She sounded terrible. Fuck, what if it was the fish? What if I’d fed her bad fish? What if it hurt the baby?

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  Click.

  I threw the door open. Taylor was sitting on the floor in flannel pajamas, her hair in messy, stuck-together strands as one of her hands tried to hold it back. And her face looked greener than the Wicked Witch of the West.

  “Christ, Taylor.” I fell to my knees beside her, cupping her cheeks, my fingers sliding back to thread into her hair and force her gaze up to mine. “What happened? What hurts?”

  “Ash…” She trailed off into a strangled groan and, even though it couldn’t physically be hurting me to see her suffering, it did.

  And it hurt so fucking bad.

  She tore her face from mine just in time to dry heave once more into the toilet.

  “Shit, Tay, I’m sorry. I’m such a fucking idiot. Such a fucking idiot,” I swore, on the verge of strangling myself for doing this to her. “I’m calling an ambulance and taking you to the hospital. It must have been the fish. Fuck.”

  Her head began to shake an angry ‘no’ until the sudden movement worsened her nausea and she heaved over the bowl again.

  “See, even your body says not to argue with me, Pixie,” I grunted.

  My hands were on the floor about to push me up when a tiny grip around my wrist stopped me.

  “It’s not food poisoning,” she rasped, her voice sounding painfully ripped apart and raw. After the last round, it looked like the vomiting had vacuumed out every trace of color from her cheeks. “It’s because of the baby. It’s just morning sickness.”

  Understanding crashed over me like a hangover after a blackout.

  I was an idiot.

  I didn’t know shit about babies or pregnancy, but who hadn’t heard of morning sickness?

  Like the explanation cost her the last of her energy, Tay’s eyes drifted shut and with a muffled curse, I caught her as she began to tip to the side.

  “Are you sure?” I asked against her hair. “Can I get you out of here?”

  All I needed was the slight nod against my chest before I carefully lifted her so as to not disturb the beast.

  Instead of putting her back in bed, I carried her out to the couch. Yeah, that shit was uncomfortable, but there weren’t windows in the back and for some reason, I felt like she needed some fresh ocean air.

  Throwing open the windows and the front door, I grabbed a cup and filled it with water. Kneeling in front of her, I held the
glass up to her lips, her small hands rising to tip it. After a few hesitant sips, relief spread through me as some color crept back into her face.

  “Any better?” I asked, taking the cup back from her and pushing the hair away from her face.

  To see her so sick… I couldn’t even remember any of my drunk friends—and definitely not myself—ever looking so terrible.

  “I’m okay,” she said, softly. “Sorry. Hasn’t happened that bad for a little while.”

  Probably from the flying and stress of yesterday, if I had to bet. Still, I offered, “I’m still willing to let my fish tacos take the blame.”

  That brought a weak smile to her face.

  “Well… maybe you should put a disclaimer on them for pregnant women…”

  “Ouch.” I laughed. “Alright, guess I’ll have to do something a little more low-key tonight. You’re really testing my chef-ing limits, Miss Hastings.”

  The hardly a quarter of an inch that her smile grew made my chest swell farther.

  “Damn,” I swore, finally letting out the breath that had been wedged with pure panic inside my chest.

  Returning briefly to the kitchen, I wet a paper towel with cold water and brought it over to her. Brushing a strand of hair back from her face, I gently laid the cool compress on her forehead before my hand drifted down to her cheek, my thumb brushing over the soft skin that had just a touch of pink back in it. “You scared the shit out of me, Pixie. You really did.”

  I lost myself in her eyes, their murky green clogged with the emotions she fought so hard not to crumble under. Eyes that were always strong, eyes that always had a plan and knew everything; they were still strong but also wary. There was no plan for this—for the turn her life had taken. She saw only a few steps in front of her, but the rest was an unknown. I knew that life; I saw only a few steps because I was too drunk to see any further. But she didn’t. No plans. A different future. I knew what that meant to a mind like Taylor’s—and I knew how hard she was trying to hold it all together in front of me.

  “Sorry…” she croaked, her eyes falling from mine. “Thank you… I-I’m really okay now. You can go… I know you have plans.”

  Shit.