Knocked Up

by Stacey Lynn

  My hands ball into fists until my knuckles ache. I’m really not liking where this is going. When he doesn’t continue, I tilt my chin, silently telling him to continue. I’m too pissed to speak and last night taught me a lesson: when I do that, I screw up.

  “So anyway, they figure, Cara’s knocked up and pregnant, and me, well, I’m never going to give them a child or get married or have whatever it is they want me to have—”

  “Your parents are dicks.”

  “Yeah. My dad is, Mom’s okay, but she doesn’t have much of a backbone to stand up to him. But that’s not really the point. Last night, Cara and I get ambushed and I got us the hell out of there. See, Cara and Jimmy and I, we all grew up together. I’ve known them my whole life, and up until I told my parents, only a couple guys I dated while in the closet and Cara and Jimmy know I’m gay. But after Jimmy died and Cara moved out, she quit calling me and taking my calls, so last night when I figure out the reason they wanted our families to get together for dinner is because they expect us to get married—two problems solved for them— and there was no way in hell I was having that conversation with our parents and Cara without talking to her, so I got us the hell out of there.”

  Yeah…about as bad as I expected.

  Ice chills my veins and sends a shiver down my spine and it’s all I can do not to shove my fist through a wall.

  “And the pictures?”

  “Yeah, see, that’s where you’re really the biggest asshole on the planet.” He holds out his forearm and I see the script on his arm. Be you. Be true. It’s vaguely familiar, but I’m too focused on what he says to give it more than a passing glance.

  “Jimmy was the cheerleader of our little trio. The perfect son, loved his life, but he loved his friends and his sister too. And when we were teenagers, he used to tell Cara, ‘Be you, honey. Be whoever you need to be and be happy.’ And me, he was always telling me I had to be true to myself because he wouldn’t be friends with a hypocritical asshole. Eventually, the three of us, we shortened that to this.”

  Shit fucking damn.

  “I get it,” I say, clenching my teeth together. Fuck, I’m not cold anymore. I’m burning up. Fury is boiling over, red sparking the edges of my vision.

  “Actually, you don’t,” Graham says, “because you did this tattoo. You inked me with Jimmy’s words before I got the courage to come out. But the last thing I did before I came out, was come here and sit in your chair. It was Jimmy’s words, but it was your hand inking them into my skin that gave me the courage to do it.”

  “You’re shitting me.” I press the palm of my hand into my chest, a lump larger than Texas building in my throat.

  “Nope. And I think you get it now, because last night, whenever those pics were taken, by whoever, they didn’t know that the reason she was smiling at me and had her hands all over me was because she was looking at me, telling me how much she loved you. She said it must be fate that we’re all connected in a way that goes deeper than anything we could have imagined. And when she told me she loved the ink, I told her she loved you, and she got all fucking goofy smiley at me and said she did.”

  She loves me. She’s not falling in love with me, she might have been before last night, before seeing her brother’s words inked into her friend’s arm by a gun I held in my hand, but she learned that and she loved me.

  “I love her,” I say, teeth aching so bad they might snap right out of my gums, and I don’t even give a shit if this guy believes me. “I fucked up last night, and I know it. But I had shit in my head about how Stella and I grew up, how she deserves better than some guy from the slums and a drug-addicted mother and I saw her with you, the kind of guy she deserves, having a drink while she’s pregnant and I didn’t think.”

  “You didn’t.”

  Damn. This guy. I’ve got him beat by about fifty pounds and six inches and he’s not intimidated by me in the least.

  “I’ll make it right.” I have no idea how, but I will. I’ll bleed myself dry figuring out how to make this right.

  “You better.”

  “She still at your place?”

  “Don’t know. She said this morning she was going to call Jenna and Dan, talk to them about getting her stuff out of your place and back into her studio.”

  “She’s not fucking moving out.” No way in hell. Last night, spending the first night alone without her in weeks was bad enough. No way in hell I’m doing it permanently. “Where do you live? She and I need to talk.”

  Chapter 28

  Cara

  I call Luca, explained I won’t be in and why in an abbreviated version, and he’s not bothered at all by my taking the day off. It’s probably the sniffling and crying over the phone as soon as I hear his voice that makes him even more compassionate than usual.

  I do not, however, call Jenna. At least a half dozen times I find myself staring at my phone, her number pulled up on my screen, but I’m unable to press the send button.

  I don’t want to deal with anything, and I managed to pack enough last night, as haphazardly as it was, to last me through the weekend at least. There’s no point in waiting to get my stuff out of Braxton’s, but there’s also not an urgent need. We’ll have things to talk about eventually, and there’s still a baby we’ll need to figure out a way to raise together. I would never keep that from him, but I can’t imagine forgiving him anytime soon either.

  Plus, it’s not like he’s called to apologize or talk either.

  Every time I blink, his words and his scowls flash through my mind so much that by the time Graham returns home, I’m still curled in a ball on his couch, HGTV binge-watching marathon on for background noise only.

  “So today was productive, I take it.”

  His gaze scans me, and he reaches over and flicks off the television.

  “How was your studying?”

  Graham’s eyes have dark circles under them. His tousled hair from this morning is even messier, strands flipping every which way, which tells me exactly how stressed and worried he is. He’s probably been tugging on it all day.

  “Go shower,” he says, ignoring my question and tossing the remote onto a chair so it’s out of my reach. “Seriously, you need to get cleaned up.”

  “I don’t want to.” I want to mope and whine and revel in my broken heart.

  “You’ll feel better. Did you call Jenna?”

  Nothing will help me feel better. I shake my head and find myself unable to look Graham in the eyes. Instead, I stare off at the now blank television screen. “No. I don’t want to bother her.”

  “She’s your best friend.”

  “And married to Braxton’s best friend. I don’t know if I want to tell her anything until I figure out what I’m doing next.”

  “You know your problem?”

  “Yes, I know about fifty of them.”

  The cushion next to me depresses from Graham’s weight and he pulls me into his arms. My hand falls to my stomach and I collapse into his hold.

  “No. You only have one, and it’s that you’ve never liked taking help from anyone. You always want to do it alone, but right now, there’s more than just you to think of.” My hand tightens on my stomach on instinct. “And you have to talk to Braxton.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “I know.”

  My gaze falls to my hand, my swollen abdomen beneath it. It looks like I have a melon in my stomach, even if it is a small one, but there’s absolutely no hiding my pregnancy anymore from anyone. “It hurt, Graham. So much. I keep hearing everything he said, how he could think I’d cheat on him. Or lie to him.”

  All those stupid painful emotions I’ve done a sucky job of pushing away all day return and I shove my head into Graham’s neck, hating that I’m such a wreck and that I trusted Braxton and I fell in
love with him, even if I told him I wasn’t already there to save face.

  God, he’s destroyed me and all over some stupid assumption he didn’t even ask about.

  “I hate men,” I choke out over a sob.

  Graham doesn’t say anything. He holds me for a few more minutes, running his hand through my hair and over my shoulder, soothing me until I calm down, and then he kisses the top of my head. “Go shower. You’ll feel better if you get cleaned up and while you’re doing that, I’ll order us some pizza.”

  “Pepperoni and sausage and jalapeños,” I mutter. Pizza actually sounds good.

  “Jalapeños on pizza?”

  “It’s really good.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” He gives me a gentle shove. “Now go.”

  I groan, stretching my legs as I roll off the couch in an overdramatic fashion.

  “Fine, I’ll go. But I’m showering under duress.” I glare at him.

  He grins. “Noted.”

  * * *

  —

  I’m in the hall bathroom after my shower, just finishing blow-drying my hair when it happens. When I feel it.

  “What?” I whisper to my reflection to the mirror, but I’m already setting down the hair dryer and brush and lifting up the pale blue camisole I put on after my shower. It’s tight on my stomach, stretched across everything that’s growing, but it also makes everything look cute. I ignore the cute factor and lean forward. I need to get closer.

  Then I feel it again.

  A tiny little flutter. Like eyelashes against my cheek. Or the wiggle of a ladybug in my palm. And it happens again. In the exact same spot.

  My hand falls there, and I press my thighs against the bathroom counter getting my stomach as close to the mirror as I can, and I’m staring down at my stomach, staring at where I feel the little flutters.

  I see nothing in the reflection. I press my hand more firmly to that area and…

  The baby. I can feel it. It’s early, but I feel it again and then a third time.

  “Holy crap.” I am in awe, and tears form in my eyes.

  It’s amazing. I watch my reflection in the mirror. A tear drops off my chin and hits my shirt just above my right breast.

  After several moments, I feel another flutter. A kick. My baby is kicking me and it’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

  “Graham!” I shout, tugging down my shirt and fixing the waistband of my gray yoga pants. “Graham!”

  I call his name again, hurrying down the short hallway toward his kitchen and living room.

  “You have to see this!” I cry out again and reach the end of the hallway that opens up into the small living area, the even smaller dining area, and the galley kitchen beyond.

  And I freeze.

  He hasn’t answered me, but now I know why.

  Graham is resting against the kitchen counter bar top, but he’s relaxed, a little less disheveled, and his eyes are pinned on me. I barely pay attention to him because it’s the guy a few feet from him that catches my attention and steals my breath.

  Braxton is here. He has his hands on his hips, one hand holding his hat. His dark head of hair looking like he’s been wearing his hat all day. He’s in his typical jeans and thermal shirt, this time a deep, dark red that looks absolutely fabulous on him.

  And both of their eyes are on me.

  “Are you okay?” Braxton asks, taking a step toward me.

  Graham steps in front of him, though, blocking his movement toward me, but I still step back toward the hallway.

  “What are you doing here?”

  All my joy flees and is replaced with something darker, something cold that eats away at all the happiness I’ve just experienced.

  “What is it, Cara? Are you okay?” Graham asks, and my eyes flicker from his concerned look to Braxton’s even worse one, but I’ve never seen this expression on him and I don’t know what to make of it.

  I look back to Graham. “What’s he doing here?” I’m almost shrieking. Panic is buzzing in my veins, making my arms tremble and my voice shake.

  “He came to talk. Now, what were you shouting for? Is everything okay?”

  Behind him, Braxton’s lips are pinched together, his gaze never moving from me. I can feel him watching me he’s so intense.

  I shake my head. “I’m okay.” I’m not telling him why I was crying out like it was Christmas morning and Santa just delivered me a real live unicorn. Actually, screw that. Braxton’s here. And I’m not letting him ruin this. Not this.

  I look directly at him, showing him all my pain and my hurt and there’s no joy in my voice when I say, “I just felt the baby move.”

  Chapter 29

  Braxton

  I just felt the baby move.

  I move quickly, too quickly for Graham to stop me, and I’m in front of Cara, her wide, terrified blue eyes on me as she steps out of my reach. I missed it.

  I missed my baby move for the first time.

  “Cara—”

  “Don’t you dare come any closer to me.”

  “I can explain.” My gaze drops to her stomach. I’ve had my hands all over her, but every night we’re on the couch I’m touching her, pressing my hand to her belly in hopes I’ll feel the baby move and of course, of course, it happens on this day. When I can’t touch her, when I can’t pull her into my arms without fear of getting a right hook to my jaw. “I’m so sorry, honey. So sorry. Please let me explain last night.”

  “Why should I? You didn’t care about letting me explain.”

  “I know. I’m a dick. That’s part of what I need to explain.”

  “No explanation needed. That was loud and clear.”

  I’d smile at her sass if she weren’t so damn angry she might twist off my balls.

  Car keys jingle behind me, and then Graham is next to me, pushing me out of the way to get to Cara.

  “No bloodshed, you two, these carpets are a pain to keep clean.”

  I grunt, because this dude not only has some serious guts, after we got the shitty part out of the way at my office earlier, I also learned he’s hilarious.

  Cara could do worse with a friend than Graham, but not sure she could do a whole lot better.

  I stand there, watching another man bend down to kiss her cheek, but the entire time Graham is moving toward her, touching her, resting his hand on her belly that I desperately wish was my fucking hand, she’s still gaping at me.

  He whispers something in her ear and I can’t hear it, but her eyes flash wide as her jaw sets back to really, really mad, and probably more hurt.

  “Pizza should be here soon,” he says when he moves back. “Already paid and tipped so you two have fun. I’m going out for a while.” He grins down at Cara. “And if you’re not here when I get back, I’ll get the key from you some other time.”

  “I’ll be here,” she snaps, still staring at me.

  My lips twitch but I pull back my grin before it comes out. The hell she will.

  “Mm-hmmm.” Graham steps toward me and slaps my shoulder. “Be good to her.”

  “I will.” It’s not a promise. It’s a vow.

  I’ve got a short fuse and not many manners, but if Cara gives me another shot, I’ll break my neck proving to her that taking a chance on the guy who got her knocked up is the best risk she could ever take.

  Cara lets loose a low sound, might be a growl, as she watches Graham walk away and then it’s the two of us, in his small but decently decorated and not too flashy apartment.

  I step back out of the hallway, closer to the living room to give her space to walk through. I hadn’t planned on her being in the shower when I got here, but I’m thankful for it. Gave me a few minutes to talk to Graham about her state of mind sin
ce he hadn’t seen her all day.

  Move slow. She’s not pissed as much as she is hurt.

  “Can we talk? Please?”

  She chews on her bottom lip and then pops it out, moving past me to a black leather chair that’s facing me. There’s another chair like it on the other side of a round table and a small matching couch.

  I move to the couch, close enough I can touch her, but I don’t.

  “You talked to Graham?”

  I clasp my hands together, elbows on my knees, and face her. “He came and talked to me today. Told me about last night.”

  “Of course he did,” she mutters and crosses her arms, collapsing back into the chair.

  Her pout is adorable, but I’ve got a long, bumpy road ahead of me and there’s no clear navigation.

  “He cares about you, and I know it might not seem like it, but I do too, honey. I’m so damn sorry about last night, about thinking the worst of you, not giving you a chance to explain anything. I should have trusted you enough to not even need an explanation—”

  “Yes. You should have.”

  The pain in her voice, in the narrowed blue eyes that are stormier than the bright Caribbean Sea, slice right through me. It’s the chin trembling that almost does me in. The way she blinks harshly, I know she’s fighting off tears.

  “Cara—”

  “Why? Why would you say those things to me? I thought…” She shakes her head again. “I don’t think I can talk to you about this. Not yet. You hurt me.”

  “I know. And I will probably hurt you again. I’m human and I’m an idiot sometimes but I swear to you, you give me another chance, you let me make this right, it’ll never happen again.”