I pulled at my overalls, but they were stuck to my ankles, heavy and soaking, so I kicked them to the side and pulled on the pale blue sweat pants. I pushed myself to stand, holding onto the vanity because the room had started to spin. I opened the bathroom door and found John right where I left him, sitting on the edge of the bed.
He stood up as soon as he saw me, his face drained of color as he shook his head. “Are you okay?”
My lips began to quiver, and I looked him in the eyes. “I’m bleeding.” I pulled in a deep breath, hearing my heart break and everything inside me crumble with an exhale. “And I’m pregnant.”
Chapter THIRTY-THREE
Tuesday
“How far along are you, Miss Patil?”
The doctor moved the ultrasound on my belly, the question echoing through the room like a violent alarm. My baby was safe, its heart beating fast and strong on the monitor, but I still couldn’t breathe. I was out of days, out of hours, out of minutes. I was out of time with John.
The doctor’s hands moved to palpate my belly, checking for pain, but his words kept rolling around in my head. How far along are you? It was the question that when answered would reveal everything, and my heart was screaming for me to run away. Because when I answered it, my time would be over. My eyes shifted to John, to his legs braced apart and his face hard with worry. I didn’t want him to find out this way. I wanted time to explain, to convince him it was an accident, to beg him to believe me, but I didn’t have that now. I was looking into his eyes, knowing it was the end, and yet he was holding my hand, telling me everything would be okay.
The doctor asked the question again, and I shook my head and started to cry. John’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though reading something on my face. His expression hardened, and he tilted his head toward the doctor, silently telling me to answer the question.
“Twelve weeks,” I whispered, but the sound was so quiet, said between heart-wrenching sobs, that the doctor asked me to say it again.
“Twelve weeks,” I said as clearly as I could.
The doctor nodded, scribbled notes in my chart, but all I could do was look at John. To the expression on his face that was filled with confusion. But there was pain there too. Pain that I put there. He took his hand from mine and stepped backward, just as I knew he would. He was leaving me. This was the end. He was leaving me, and I deserved it.
I sat up, my eyes welling with tears as I tried to get off the bed. I needed him to listen to me. I needed him to know this wasn’t what he was thinking. I needed to explain. But the doctor urged me back on the bed, telling me I needed to stay settled, and John moved farther and farther away from me.
“John,” I whispered. “Listen to me.” I needed him to look at me, to see me, to know that I wouldn’t purposely do this to him. “I love you.” And although my words were almost so quiet I couldn’t hear them, his face twisted in pain at the sound of them.
The doctor continued to ask me questions, but I couldn’t focus enough to answer. Because my heart was dying as I watched John turn around and walk out the door.
An hour later, I lay in bed watching the rain fall, spattering against the large window of my hospital room. Giant, thudding drops, telling me the storm wasn’t close to being over. I wrapped my arms around my abdomen and closed my eyes. I was trying to block out the chill that had settled in the dim room, fiercely wanting to protect the baby I’d only just found out about, but was already terrified of losing.
There was desperation in my heart that was foreign to me. A gut-wrenching, heartbreaking desire to wake up—but my eyes had been open for a long time now, and everything that had happened over the past eight weeks was mine to own.
“I’m prescribing light bed rest until you can get in to see your primary doctor.”
I nodded, turning to watch the doctor scribble something on my chart before I looked out of the window again. John hadn’t come back yet, but his truck was still in the parking lot. I could see it from my bed, and the sight of it gave me hope.
“The ultrasound was clear, and I don’t see any signs of bleeding inside the uterus. But just as a precaution, no sex, no exercise, no shopping. Just stay off your feet for a few days, and if the bleeding continues, come back in. Do you have any questions?”
I wrapped my arms around my belly and shook my head. “Why am I bleeding? Is it because of the fall?”
He scrunched his shoulders and lowered his clipboard. “It could be anything. Possibly your fall.” He lowered his pen and looked at me. “Blood volume increases during pregnancy. Tissue becomes more delicate. There could be any number of reasons. But I don’t want you to worry. Twenty-five percent of women bleed during pregnancy for completely benign reasons. Your baby looks strong and healthy. You’re over twelve weeks, which means you’re out of the danger zone. Chances are this will be a one-time event. Follow up next week with your primary doctor. It was likely just a vaginal tear and this will be the end of it.”
I pulled in a breath, looked out the window again, and nodded. He closed the folder and patted me on the knee. “You’re free to go whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, then turned back to the window and continued to watch the rain.
A tap sounded at my hospital door a short time later, and the door opened just as I looked up. John walked into the room, his head covered by a drenched hoodie, his eyes hollow, but possibly looking more beautiful than I’d ever seen him before.
I swallowed, sat up a little straighter and folded my hands in my lap.
I’m not ready for this.
I knew when I saw his truck he’d be back, that I couldn't avoid this conversation forever, but I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be.
I pressed my fingers hard against my lips, trying to prevent the sob, but it was too late. I hated seeing him like this—hated knowing I was the cause of it. “John, I―”
But he held up his hand, stopping my words, and sat down in the chair beside my bed. His head sagged from his strong shoulders, defeated in a way I’d never witnessed in him before. Then he sat forward, bracing his arms on his knees as he looked at the floor. “Is the baby okay?”
I pulled in a jagged, painful breath. “Yes.”
He looked to the window where the rain had softened, but the sky was as menacing as ever. Then his eyes met mine for the first time, the deepest, darkest brown that bared a thousand souls. He shifted his gaze to my belly and pressed his fingers to his lips. “How long have you known?” His face contorted with pain.
My chin began to quiver, but I wouldn’t look down. “Five days.” The admission of truth caused my stomach to roll in disgust, but I welcomed the discomfort. I deserved it.
His eyes never wavered. “Did you know?”
I looked away then, not able to make myself answer, but his words came again.
“Did you know the baby wasn’t mine?”
Tears spilled from my eyes, down my cheeks, and into the corner of my mouth. “Yes.” I sobbed. “Yes, and I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
He squeezed the bridge of his nose, turning to face the window again. This rock of a man was trying not to cry, and it was tearing me apart.
John
I squeezed the bridge of my nose, my head pounding, my throat so tight it was suffocating—because I finally got the confirmation I’d come back for. She knew she was pregnant, she knew the baby wasn’t mine, but she didn’t tell me. My heart felt like it had been rolled by a semi-truck, pounding the muscle into the black earth over and over. “Whose is it?”
I looked back at her, into her puffy eyes that were vibrant green but showed her devastation.
“His name’s Austin,” she stated. Her voice was small, defeated, and shaking. “Austin Stratton.”
I swallowed. “Does he know?”
She hesitated a moment then nodded. I pushed my head back to my shoulders and gripped my forehead; her answer clawing at my heart. “You told him, but not me?”
“John, he’s my baby’s father―”
“And who am I, Tuesday? Who the fuck am I?”
“John!” she cried. “Don’t do this.”
“Does he know about me?”
She shook her head. “It’s not what you think―”
“Does he know about me?” I asked again.
She shook her head and her lips began to tremble. “N-no.”
I sat forward and pressed my fingers to my mouth. “What does he think of the baby? What does he think of this?”
She looked to the window, where the rain was softly beating against the dark glass. “He wants to marry me.”
A surge of adrenaline ran through my body and I stood up. Hearing those words twisted my gut so painfully I couldn’t see straight. “Is that what you want?” I pushed the tray table away from her bed, needing there to be nothing between us. Nothing but her and me, me and Tuesday.
She shook her head, and tears ran down her cheeks as she clutched her stomach. “John, you’re scaring me,” she whispered.
“That’s bullshit!” I yelled at her. “You know what you want. Just tell me! Tell me what you want!”
“I want you!” she yelled. “And I want my baby to have its father!”
I shook my head, my throat constricting so tight I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get the words out. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Her face contorted with hurt and sorrow, and she looked down to her lap. “You can’t ask me to choose between you, John. You can’t do that.” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not my choice to make!” She looked up, her voice stronger. “Because my baby deserves a father. I never had one, he left before I was even born, and I won't take that away from her. I won't take that away from him. I can’t.”
I nodded, meeting her eyes one last time before backing up a step. “Then you’ve made your choice.”
She sobbed, but no words came from her lips any longer. I looked to the bedside table and saw her discharge papers already there. “I’ll take you home.”
Her body was shaking so hard it was difficult for me to watch. I’d never seen anyone cry like that before, as though her whole body, inside and out, was feeling every part of her pain. But she did everything like that. She kissed like that, with her whole body. And she made love like that.
I rubbed my hands over my face, needing to leave, needing to think—even though every part of me wanted to crawl in beside her and hold her so tight that she would stop shaking. To kiss her and tell her everything would be okay. But I couldn’t let myself. I didn’t know if I believed it. I couldn’t share her with anyone, and the fact that she was asking me to, proved she didn’t know me as well as I thought she did.
“Tuesday, it’s time to go.”
She turned to me then, her face red and streaked with tears. “Will you come with me?” she asked. “Will you take me home and will you come inside? Will you hold me? Because that’s what I need right now. I need you to hold me. I need you to love me. I need you to be with me. Will you be with me, even though I’m pregnant with another man’s child?”
I only stood there shaking my head, because even though she needed me to do all those things, I couldn’t.
“Then go,” she screamed. “Leave me!”
I shook my head again, my chest heavy from the sight of her. “I’m not leaving you like this. I’m taking you home.”
“No. You’re not! Leave me! Just do it! Please… please just do it!” She pulled in a breath and looked me in the eyes. “I need this pain to be over. Please,” she whispered. “Becky is already on her way.”
I looked to the closed door, everything hurting so badly I could hardly see straight. She continued to cry, filling my head with sounds that would never leave me because the sound of her tears mirrored the tearing apart of my heart. I gripped the back of my neck, squeezing so hard I knew I would leave a bruise, then I forced my feet forward, making myself walk away.
I pulled the door open, filling my lungs with the same air she breathed for the very last time, and left—just as she asked me to, and I didn’t look back. I would never look back.
Chapter THIRTY-FOUR
John
The road was black and dark, like everything else around me. Like my life, drained of all color since the moment I walked out of that room. I tried to breathe, although my chest was so tight I could hardly manage, but I did. Just enough to keep living. Just enough to feel the pain that was spreading like poison through my veins.
The yellow lines were dashing by on the road in front of me, the wipers swishing from side to side, clearing the rain from my windshield as I sped down the highway. I knew I should slow down, but I couldn’t. I needed to be far away from her; so far away, I wasn’t tempted to go back again.
Her cries rang like a blaring scream in my head, growing louder and louder with each second. And soon all I could see was her face. Visions of the day we met, kissing her against the display in the hardware store, finding her in the back room in tears because she was so tired, the way she melted in my arms like warm honey, and her hair, her wild and crazy hair framing her face when she sat on top of me as we made love.
The screams kept coming, louder and louder, filling every part of me with memories, taking every bit of life I had left. The sound grew louder, but I welcomed it, surrendering my heart to all of it.
My phone began to ring in the passenger seat, and I glanced over. Lisa’s name flashed across the screen. I turned away, knowing I couldn’t bear to explain why we’d left. My hands tightened on the steering wheel as I looked back to the road. But it wasn’t black anymore; it was bright and blinding. The screams weren’t my memories of Tuesday; they were the blaring sound of a semi-truck.
I swerved to the side, causing my tires to skid and spin. I gripped the steering wheel, not even fighting it anymore because my life had ended the moment I walked out of that hospital room. My truck continued to turn, round and round, and just when I thought it wouldn’t stop, my whole life went still.
The darkness filled my truck again and I slumped over in my seat. Silence took over the dark night as I replayed the events of the last few seconds. Then my shoulders began to shake, hard and uncontrollably, and for the first time since I was five years old, I let myself cry.
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Lisa’s voice called through the empty living room as I closed the door behind me. It was past one in the morning, six hours since our panicked departure from the party, two hours since I left Tuesday at the hospital. Ginger was asleep at her feet and barely glanced up when I came inside.
“Everyone is worried sick about you.”
I threw my keys on the table and ignored her, not caring when they slid off the surface and hit the floor.
She stood up, looking to the closed door. “Where’s Tuesday?” she whispered. “What happened?”
None of your fucking business.
It was what I wanted to say, but I didn’t. I was numb, and all I wanted was to sleep and forget about everything that had happened over the past eight weeks. Forget about everything that had happened since the night she walked into that fucking bar.
Lisa covered her mouth with her hand and followed me to my bedroom. “John, you’re scaring me. Why did you leave like that? What’s wrong? Talk to me. What happened?”
I sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward to grip my skull because it hurt so fucking bad. But not just my head. Everything hurt. My body, my heart, every fucking crevice of it.
I rubbed my hands down my face and turned to face her, knowing she wouldn’t leave until I explained. “Tuesday’s pregnant,” I said. “She fell out in the rain and started bleeding. We left because I took her to the hospital.”
“Oh, my God.” She sat down beside me and touched my arm. “Is everything okay?”
I nodded, knowing it was the baby she was asking about, then I shook my head and met her eyes. “The baby’s not mine, Lisa.”
Her brows knit together. “What?” Her breathing slowed, as though she couldn’t quite understand what I was trying to tell her.
“It’s not my baby. She’s pregnant with another man’s child.”
She covered her lips and shook her head. “How do you know?”
I stood up, raking my hands through my hair. “Because she’s twelve weeks along and I only met her eight weeks ago. That’s how I fucking know!”
Lisa didn’t deserve my anger, but I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I was so mad I could hardly see straight. So broken I didn’t know if I’d ever be whole again. The scene at the hospital played in my head over and over, shredding me further than I ever thought possible.
“I asked her what she wanted, and she said she wouldn’t choose. I didn’t even care that it wasn’t my baby, Lisa. I didn’t even care.”
I heard her sob behind me but I couldn’t turn around. I couldn’t handle seeing her cry when I was so close to losing it myself.
“What did she say?” she whispered.
Tuesday’s words ran through my mind for the thousandth time. You can’t ask me to do that, John. That’s not fair.
“She said she couldn’t choose.”
“Is she still seeing him? The father?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, the thought of her with another man turning my stomach. “I don’t know,” I said in a low, distant voice. “I didn’t ask.”
She put her hand on my shoulder and pressed her forehead against my arm. “Don’t you think you should find out?”
“No.”
“Why?” she asked between tears.
“Because she needed to choose.”
Tuesday
Becky stood behind the couch, gripping my shoulders as dozens of new customers filled the shop. She softly kneaded, trying to ease the tension in my muscles that hadn’t felt normal since she picked me up from the hospital two days ago.
Waiting for Tuesday: Suspicious Hearts Book Two Page 22
