Knocked Up
Page 24
“Have a good weekend, William.”
I don’t reply to his comment. I adore Mary. It’ll just take time before I can sit across from them and not remember this exact moment.
He nods and pushes back in his chair. “You, too, Teagan. And don’t worry. You’ll land on your feet. Perhaps this will help nudge Drake into finally looking for one of those hobby farms you two have always discussed.”
His comment brings back all the doubts I had only hours ago, but I don’t tell William. If he knows I’m fearful my relationship with Drake is slowly crumbling, Mary will be on her cellphone inviting me over for drinks and dinner before I can board the next MAX train.
“Yeah, maybe.”
William stands and presses a quick fatherly kiss to my cheek. “You’re a smart girl, Teagan. You’ll figure out what to do next, and if I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”
He gives me privacy to load up my personal items. Other than a handful of pens and two packages of ChapStick, I only have one picture frame to grab. It’s a three-piece frame and holds a photo of Drake and me in the middle in one of our rare vacations to Saint Lucia. The other holds my parents, and the final one is on Drake’s medical school graduation day. He’s still in his robe, diploma held high, his other arm curved around my waist. The grin he’s flashing me is how I always think of him.
We were so full of hope, so full of excitement, and the thrill of victory of him completing medical school.
With my chest burning, I say quick goodbyes to the rest of the library’s employees, granting brief hugs to the friends I’ve made, even if most of them are at least ten years older than me.
Out on the street with my picture frame tucked under my arm, I debate what to do. I only left the apartment an hour ago and Drake will still be sleeping.
Instead of going home and disturbing him, I head toward Powell’s bookstore, grab another cup of coffee, and lose myself in the endless floors and rows of books.
Perhaps buying a few new paperbacks will boost my spirits.
* * *
—
Armed with a sack holding three new paperbacks and the picture frame, I’m trudging up the stairs to our apartment building in the Pearl District of Portland. The trip to Powell’s boosted my spirits minimally.
I never thought I’d love living downtown in a city or on the West Coast until we moved to Portland. We spent Drake’s medical school years in a crummy studio apartment in the Wrigley Field area of Chicago, but that was way more intense—busier and louder than Portland. There’s always a sense of calmness in the Pearl District, despite the crowds and the mass transit. People move at a more relaxed pace, much more like Nashville than Chicago. I love the country, but I’ve also enjoyed getting to experience living in different areas over the last several years.
Still, there’s something about Portland that has soaked into my veins. Something I never want to dig out, either.
I reach my apartment and fumble through my purse for my key. It’s only noon, and Drake could still be sleeping, so I’m quiet as the latch catches and I push open our squeaky door.
I gently set my purse and bag down on our entry table, then put my travel mug on the counter.
A grunting sound hits my ears and I frown.
Then I grin. I know that sound. It’s the sound Drake makes when he’s close to coming.
Perhaps he’s awake after all, and if he’s taking care of himself, I at least want to watch.
I step around the corner and stop.
All the blood rushes from my face, my fingers begin tingling.
I’m frozen and have no idea what to do.
I have a full view of our bedroom and our bed, where Drake has a woman bent over the mattress and is pounding into her like a man who can’t get enough. The stranger’s blond hair flies and flips from the force of Drake’s thrusting behind her.
I hear another grunt and I’m flying down the short hallway to our bedroom before I can stop myself.
“What in the hell is going on in here?” As soon as I begin screaming, Drake pulls out of the woman, who scurries over the edge of the bed. He grabs a towel from the floor and wraps it around his waist.
This isn’t happening. This absolutely can’t be happening.
It’s totally happening. How long? When? Why? A thousand questions pound against my brain, making my head hurt.
“Teagan,” he says, stepping toward me. “Teagan, honey, please.”
“Don’t you dare come any closer,” I hiss at him.
Holy shit. This is actually real. He’s been cheating on me? I shake my head to dislodge the thought or the scene in front of me, but it’s no use. The blonde he was just fucking on our bed is crouched on his side of the bed, arms sliding into a shirt that is absolutely not hers.
It’s Drake’s dress shirt.
Oh my God. I’m going to explode, shatter into a gazillion furious pieces, and tear both of them to shreds with the fragments.
“Get out,” I demand. “Get out of here right now, before I completely lose my shit.”
“Honey, this isn’t what it looks like.”
Everything, all of my doubts over the last several months, comes together. Every concern I’ve had, every fear that’s been niggling in my mind for months now. We’re not in a rut—
We are over.
I push down the bubbling hatred and anger and all the shit I’ve probably suspected but have been too naïve and scared to name for at least six months and turn to Drake.
“Give me an hour to clear out. I’ll leave my key on the counter when I leave.”
“Honey.” He steps toward me and I take a step back.
The blonde is still getting dressed, and if she is bothered he’s not paid an ounce of attention to her, she’s not showing it. Great. He’s not even cheating on me with someone that matters, he’s just fucking people he doesn’t give a crap about.
“Please, Drake. It’s over. If you can do this”—I wave my hand out—“and in our bedroom, no less, we have nothing left.”
“But—”
I shake my head, tears spilling down my cheeks. I swipe them away. Damn it! How many times can I cry today?
“Don’t.” I stare at him, show him every ounce of pain I’m feeling, and see only a minimal amount of pain reflecting back in his eyes. God, that hurts, too. “Don’t fight me on this. Just give me an hour to get out of here.”
Without giving him time to answer, I hurry to the bathroom and lock the door behind me.
Then I sit down on the closed toilet seat, throw my head into my hands, and bawl my eyes out.
Fired from my job.
A cheating boyfriend exposed right in front of me.
What in the heck am I going to do now? And where am I going to go?
Love stories you’ll never forget
By authors you’ll always remember
eOriginal Romance from Random House
randomhousebooks.com
What’s next on
your reading list?
Discover your next
great read!
* * *
Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.
Sign up now.