Unconventional

by Isabel Love

  He’s right. Having them acknowledge what I went through, it helps. My chest feels lighter, and breathing…it’s easier.

  I nod, looking at my best friends, and somehow the seriousness of the moment brings out an inappropriate laugh. I just unloaded my painful past on my best friends in the middle of a bar, and we’re sitting here, getting all emotional in public. All the emotion of a moment ago turns into levity and I bust up. At first, they gawk at me like I’ve lost my mind, which only makes me laugh harder, but then Logan joins in, as does Max, and soon the three of us are laughing so hard the people at the bar start looking at us to see what is so funny.

  We settle down and I drain my beer, smashing down the pile of shredded napkin in front of me.

  “I just have one more question,” Max says, eyebrows furrowed.

  “Shoot.”

  “If you guys were outside last week because you got upset, why was Monica worried about Quinn?”

  I mull this over. Why would Monica have been worried about Quinn?

  “Are you sure Quinn isn’t pregnant?” Logan asks.

  “No, she isn’t pregnant. She knows what happened with Anna, she would tell me,” I say.

  “So you’re still using condoms every time?” Max asks.

  I hesitate. I haven’t been using condoms with Quinn, but I’m sure she’s on birth control. I mean, Quinn and I weren’t even exclusive when we started going without them; she didn’t want kids any more than I did. I just figured she thought it was safe to go without and I trusted her.

  “Fuck, Charlie. What birth control is she using?” Max asks.

  “I don’t know,” I admit.

  “You didn’t ask?”

  I shake my head. How could I be so stupid?

  “When was the last time she had her period?” Max asks.

  “How am I supposed to know that?” I bark, anxiety filling my stomach again.

  “I assume you’re fucking her regularly; it’s kind of hard to miss when they’re on their period.” Logan rolls his eyes.

  I rack my brain, trying to remember Quinn having her period, and come up with nothing. We’ve been sleeping together for months, and not once has she ever turned me down due to her period.

  “Well, let’s just say she is pregnant, how would you feel about that?” Max asks.

  I think about it. Quinn, carrying my child, her belly growing round with our baby…having a little girl with Quinn’s wild red hair, or a little boy with my dimples.

  My heart starts to beat faster and I smile at the thought of having a family with Quinn. I’m in love with her. I can’t imagine having a family with anyone else.

  “Oh fuck, you’re smiling. I can’t believe this, Charlie Nelson. You’re smiling at the thought of her pregnant,” Logan observes.

  “I don’t know anything yet, but I’m headed over there tonight after we’re done here.”

  “Well what the fuck are you waiting for? Go ask her!”

  I stand, reaching for my wallet. Logan puts up his hand for me to stop. “We got this covered. Just go.”

  “Thanks!” I call over my shoulder, practically running out the door.

  “Text us!” Max shouts.

  “I will, bye!”

  Maybe that’s why she’s been distant—she’s pregnant but she doesn’t know how I’ll react. This time I refuse to be kept in the dark.

  “I’M SO SORRY, MRS. Campbell,” Dr. Stewart, my OB-Gyn says to me, eyes serious and full of concern. “You’re bleeding internally. This is because the placenta has invaded into the uterine wall, into the layer of muscle and has started to invade your bladder. We are going to have to do emergency surgery.”

  “But the baby…I’m only five months pregnant.” How can they do surgery on my uterus now without harming Noah?

  “We will do everything we can to save the baby, but I have to be completely honest with you, his chances are not good. At 19 weeks gestation, his lungs are not stable enough to breathe on their own.”

  “Then I don’t want the surgery.” I cradle my belly, the small baby bump only just starting to show.

  “Without the surgery, you’ll die. This won’t fix itself.” I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping this is a nightmare, hoping I’ll wake up soon.

  “I don’t care. I’ll take that chance,” I tell the doctor.

  “Quinn, don’t be stupid,” Reid says. “We can have other kids.”

  “I don’t want other kids, I want this one!” I shout, tears spilling in hot rivers down my face.

  Dr. Stewart sighs regretfully, and I know I’m not going to like what he has to say next. “Actually, there is a strong likelihood that we may have to remove your uterus.”

  “What?” I say, not understanding. Reid squeezes my hand.

  “Isn’t that a hysterectomy?” Reid asks.

  He nods. “It is often difficult to separate the placenta from the uterus and preserve the uterus at the same time. We will make every effort, but you will likely need a hysterectomy.”

  Numbness seeps into me. This is too much. I can’t think.

  Noah might not survive. He probably won’t.

  They’ll likely need to remove my uterus, which means I can’t ever have kids again.

  I won’t ever get to feel my child growing in my belly.

  I won’t ever get to be a mom.

  “I’ll give you guys a minute, but there is no decision to make here. You need this surgery, Mrs. Campbell.”

  When I hear the click of the door, the sobs take over. Reid hugs me to him, smoothing my hair and rubbing my back.

  “I can’t do this.”

  “It’s okay, Quinn. We’ll deal with this.”

  “How?”

  “Together. I’ll be there every step of the way.”

  A knock on the door snaps me out of my thoughts. I quickly wipe the tears off my face, amazed that I can still produce them. Footsteps approach the kitchen and I steel myself for what I have to do. Be strong.

  Charlie comes into view—beautiful Charlie, with his blond hair, blue eyes, and golden skin. Why does he have to be so beautiful? It hurts to look at him.

  “Hey,” he says. Why does his voice have to sound so good?

  “Hi.”

  He comes closer and I try not to breathe. This doesn’t work, of course, and his scent reaches me before he does, woods and spice wrapping around me like a familiar warm blanket. Why does he have to smell so good?

  “I missed you,” he says warmly. Why does he have to be so sweet?

  I can’t do anything but nod, not wanting to tell him I missed him too, that I haven’t washed the sheets on my bed so I could hug his pillow and smell him every night.

  “Did you miss me too?” His eyes burn into mine and I know I’ve done a piss-poor job of hiding the fact that things are going to change, but I couldn’t break it off with him while he was away. As difficult as it is, this needed to happen face to face.

  I look away and take a deep breath. “We need to talk.”

  He nods, not surprised.

  Heaviness fills me, my limbs weighing a thousand pounds. I open my mouth to rip the bandage off but he interrupts me. “Are you pregnant?”

  His question pierces me and I can’t stop the sharp intake of breath at the agony I feel. Oh, how I wish were.

  “No, why would you ask me that?”

  “Are you on birth control? I should have asked you after that first time we went without condoms, but I assumed you were on something. I’ve come inside you a thousand times and I don’t remember you having a period. You would tell me if you were pregnant, right?” Vulnerability makes his voice quiet, but I hear his fear. He thinks I’m pulling an Anna, but I’m not.

  “I’m—”

  “I wouldn’t freak out on you, Quinn. I know I’m fucked up from what happened before, but I’d be there for you. I’m here for you. We haven’t talked much about the future, but nothing would make me happier than having a family with you.”

  I close my eyes, the pain too much t
o bear. I can’t look at him anymore, the hope in his eyes, the love in his face, the tenderness in his stance, he’s too perfect. If I needed any more convincing that what I’m about to do is the right thing, he just gave it to me. Charlie deserves to have a family with someone.

  That someone just isn’t going to be me.

  I clear my throat. “And how would that work? We would get a babysitter when we want to have a threesome?” My voice is strong. Good job. Keep going.

  His eyes cloud with confusion. “What? I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

  “I’m saying I don’t think this is going to work out for me anymore, Charlie.”

  He gawks, rubbing the back of his neck. “Why? Because of the threesomes? I told you, we don’t have to do that if you don’t want to. It can just be me and you.” His eyes pin me, and he begs me to tell him the truth. “Why won’t you tell me whether or not you’re pregnant?” He’s so tense, his shoulders bunch up, and I long to soothe him with my touch.

  I meet his gaze and tell him. “I’m not pregnant.”

  “Are you sure? Why haven’t you gotten a period?”

  “I’m positive I’m not pregnant. I would tell you if I was,” I promise him.

  His posture relaxes, but only a fraction.

  “Then why are you talking about babysitters and threesomes?”

  “I just don’t know how our unconventional relationship would be appropriate for the future.”

  “We make the rules, Quinn—that’s what I’ve said all along. I’d never put sex before our family. I’m sure things would change as our relationship evolves.”

  “You’re missing the point, Charlie.”

  “Well then tell me what the point is!” His voice is full of frustration.

  “I don’t want to be in a relationship with you anymore!” I shout.

  He flinches as if I’ve slapped him. “Why?”

  “Things are getting too serious. You knew I didn’t want a relationship from the start.”

  “I didn’t want one either, but things changed. I’m in love with you, Quinn.” He clenches his jaw.

  “Well, I’m changing them again.”

  “I don’t understand. We’ve been inseparable for the last two months. Have I been making it all up in my head? Look at me and tell me you don’t have feelings for me.”

  His eyes are so beautiful, despite being full of pain and confusion. It would be too easy to tell him the truth, but then what? How can we have a happily ever after when his includes a family and my body can’t produce one?

  It’s better this way. He deserves to be happy. He’ll find someone else, someone not broken like me. He’s young and wonderful. He’ll move on.

  I meet his gaze and force the words out. “I don’t love you, Charlie. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

  His face crumbles, pain etched in his expression. I keep my eyes open, not allowing myself to be a coward. I need to see the pain I’m causing him.

  “I don’t believe you,” he whispers.

  I shrug, pretending to be indifferent. “It doesn’t matter what you believe.”

  “Kiss me.”

  I splutter. No, I can’t kiss him. I can’t touch him or I’ll take everything back and beg him for forgiveness.

  “No.”

  “Just one last kiss and I’ll be out of your hair.” He walks closer, invading my space.

  “No.” I back up, keeping distance between us.

  “Please, can you give me a kiss goodbye?”

  I hit the wall, unable to back up any farther, and he steps closer. My pulse hammers in my throat at his proximity. “Why?”

  “Let’s call it closure.” He leans down, his gorgeous face just inches from mine. My chest rises and falls and I put my hands on his chest to stop him from coming any closer.

  It’s a mistake, because I feel his heart thudding against his chest. I feel his warmth, his strength, and I long to feel his arms wrap around me.

  “Just one kiss and you’ll go?” I waiver.

  “If you still want me to go, I’ll go.” Those cobalt orbs beg me.

  I nod, wanting to feel his lips one last time.

  He kisses me, and it’s desperate. His arms wrap around me and pull me into him. My arms snake around his neck and I bury my fingers in his hair. I pour all of my feelings into this kiss. With my body, I tell him I love him, how sorry I am, how much I’ll miss him.

  I miss him already and he’s still here.

  His tongue tangles with mine and he lifts me up, bracing my shoulders against the wall. The kiss spirals out of control as my legs wrap around his waist and his pelvis grinds into me.

  We can’t have sex. I’ll never be able to convince him to leave if I feel him inside me again.

  It takes monumental effort to tear my lips from his, but I do. “Stop,” I whisper.

  He smiles down at me, as if he proved his point. “You still want me.”

  “That’s just chemistry.”

  “You’re lying to me.”

  “You said you’d leave after one kiss. I want you to go.”

  The light drains out of his eyes and his expression turns blank. He sets me back on my feet and takes a step back, putting distance between us.

  “Okay, I’ll go. Goodbye Quinn.”

  Tears threaten to fall. Don’t cry. You can cry when he’s gone.

  “Goodbye Charlie.”

  He stares at me, cataloging my features as if he wants to burn this moment into his memory.

  Then he turns around and walks out of my house.

  I slide down the wall, hug my knees, and sob.

  Shitty shit shit.

  “CONGRATULATIONS, CHARLIE. I’M PROUD of you, son. You deserve this promotion.” My dad’s sentiment sounds genuine and I try to bask in his praise, but I still feel hollow, like an organ is missing.

  “Thanks Dad.”

  “Too bad it means you have to relocate. We won’t be able to see each other as often.”

  Now he wants to visit, I think. I’ve been here for 26 years and he’s never wanted to visit much until the last couple of months.

  “We’ll still see each other. New York is only a short plane ride away.”

  “True enough. Do you need any help packing?”

  “No, Logan and Max are stopping by tomorrow, we have it covered.”

  “When do you fly out?”

  “Monday.” Today is Friday, so I have a weekend to pack up my life. Luckily, Picture This is helping me relocate.

  “What about Quinn? Will she be moving with you?” I swallow what feels like a piece of shrapnel.

  “We broke up.”

  “You did? That’s too bad. I liked her.”

  “I did too.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Let us know when you get settled in.”

  “Will do.”

  We say our goodbyes and hang up.

  I turn slowly in my desk chair, assessing the boxes and supplies in my office. My chest aches and I rub it, almost expecting to find a gaping hole. Surprisingly, it feels completely normal on the outside. Isn’t that funny, how someone can be hurting so badly on the inside but show no sign of it on the outside?

  My cell chirps with a text notification. I want to ignore it, but I know Max and Logan won’t leave me alone if I don’t text them back.

  Max: You’re coming out tonight, right? Happy hour?

  Me: I’m not feeling it.

  Logan: No fucking way, you’re coming.

  Me: I don’t feel like partying tonight.

  Max: Do I need to remind you that when I tried to sulk after Monica dumped me, you forced me to come out and threatened to bring strippers to my house?

  Me: I’m still not coming.

  Logan: Okay, either you’re coming out or we’ll be there at six PM with strippers. What’s the name of that strip club you chose for Max’s bachelor party? Allure?

  My stomach drops at the thought of Tallah showing up at my place to give me a lap dance.

 
Me: Don’t you dare.

  Max: Then just come out. Eat, get drunk, and give us our last happy hour before you move.

  It really is our last happy hour. Fuck.

  Me: Okay. Fine. I’ll be there, but I’ll be grumpy.

  Logan: What else is new? You’ve been grumpy for the last two weeks.

  Max: See you later.

  I pocket my phone and sigh heavily. Domenic, Tabby, Max, and Logan have tried to talk me out of this promotion, but I’ve made my decision. I can’t stay here. Everything reminds me of Quinn. Every room in my house has some memory of her in it. Every club or bar I frequent, we visited together. Even my damn camera is ruined with the memories of taking so many pictures of her.

  I can’t bring myself to delete them, but looking at them hurts.

  Especially the sexy ones.

  The pain hasn’t stopped me from jerking off to them—seems to be the only thing my cock will respond to these days.

  What I need is a fresh start, and a new job in a new city will give me that.

  From now on, I’m going to avoid relationships. Any dealings with women are going to be about sex alone. Maybe I’ll have a new rule: no repeats, one-night stands only. That way, no one can get attached.

  My cock laughs at me. He only wants one person.

  “So do I,” I tell my cock. Then roll my eyes because I’m talking to my cock. Heartbreak will do that to you.

  My body aches for Quinn. I want to talk to her. Hug her. Kiss her. Fuck her.

  But she made it clear that she doesn’t want me.

  LOUD BANGING ON MY door jars me out of sleep, and I squint at the alarm clock on my nightstand: 3:30. I struggle to remember if it’s morning or afternoon. The drapes are closed, covering the windows completely, so I’m unable to check for daylight.

  The pounding continues so I force my body to get up. As I near the door, I hear the shouting.

  “Quinn! Come on! I’m not leaving here until you open the door.”

  It’s Monica. I’ve been dodging her for weeks, ever since the bridal shower, actually. At first, I knew she would want to check with me to make sure I was okay with her news, and I can’t begrudge my best friend her happiness. I wanted to give myself more time to get used to the fact that I have to watch her belly grow with this pregnancy.