“I still don’t see how this is possible,” I say.
“I fell,” Sutton tells the doctor. “Did that hurt the baby?”
He pats her leg. “Your tests look normal, but I’ll order an ultrasound just to be sure.” He keeps talking about prenatal care, vitamins, scheduling an appointment with her OB-GYN, but my brain can’t keep up.
“Wait,” I cry out. “This is wrong.”
“Pierce,” Sutton says.
“No, I had a vasectomy. This can’t be right.” The doctor looks down at Sutton. “Don’t look at her. She wouldn’t cheat on me.”
“Of course,” he says. “I wasn’t suggesting that.”
Sutton sits up and leans into my chest. “It will be fine. It must be some sort of miracle.”
“How could this happen?” I ask, wanting an explanation more than a miracle.
“Nearly one out of every hundred vasectomies fail,” the doctor says. “It’s possible that’s what happened.”
“I want you to check,” I bark. “How can you check?”
He looks at Sutton. “We could check sperm count.”
“Good, do it.”
A nurse leads me to a private room, and I proceed to masturbate into a cup, something that wasn’t at all fun. We have to wait for results, which just take a few minutes. Sutton lays in the bed waiting on her discharge papers, her hands resting on her belly, smiling. She takes my hand, placing it on top of her flat stomach. My arm is so tense—if she wasn’t holding it so firmly, it would sling-slot right back.
“Can you not do that?” I snap.
“Do what?”
“I can see you picking out names in your head.”
She clenches her eyes shut, holding back tears. God, I can’t deal if she starts crying right now.
“I’m just as shocked as you are,” she says, “but we talked about you getting a reversal anyway. This just means you don’t have to go through that.”
“I never said . . .”
“You said you’d do it for the right woman. Am I not the right woman?”
“Sutton, you’re the only woman. I love you.”
She sits up, her eyes holding mine hostage, and she looks at me suspiciously. “Were you lying? When you said that, you were lying, weren’t you?”
I don’t answer. What the hell am I supposed to say? She gets up and heads for the curtain. God, everyone is hearing this.
“Answer me,” she yells.
I lied. I know it. Now she knows it. Hell, the person one curtain over with the bladder issue knows it.
She breaks down in tears.
I see it happen as clear as I saw her fall in love with that baby.
I see the moment I break her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Normally, this room would give me a hard-on just thinking about it, but I’m sitting on the bed surrounded by handcuffs, lube, floggers, nipple clamps, and butt plugs, and all I keep thinking about is how each one of those items could hurt Sutton or the baby. What a waste of a good spreader bar.
Turns out, the doctor was right. My sperm count is normal; the damn vasectomy hadn’t worked. If I hadn’t always been religious about using condoms, I could have been a father several times over, and with women that didn’t mean anything to me.
Sutton means everything.
But she’s avoided me since yesterday at the hospital. My only hope is that she shows up tonight, to our night in the suite. Maybe we can work things out. I seem to communicate better with her when nudity is involved. Glancing at the clock, I wonder if she’ll show up.
I hate this. I hate not being with her.
A baby? I can’t get past that single thought. I know I didn’t have the best reaction at the hospital. I was stupid. My only excuse is that I was in shock. Still, Sutton needed me, and I let her down. That won’t happen again. I even thought about calling Dr. Lorraine, but I didn’t. This is partly her fault, after all. She’s the one who confiscated my condoms. Surely, some of the blame lies with her.
What kills me is Dr. Lorraine’s prediction something like this would happen. I leave the women that love me. Technically, Sutton’s the one who left, but the vasectomy lie was my escape plan. I’ve sabotaged this relationship from the beginning. Even if she’d never gotten pregnant, this would have been my way out. She’d said it herself—this was her deal breaker. She didn’t know she was giving me ammunition to blow up our relationship.
I know I’ve done that in other relationships, too. For Daphne, it was her kids. I told her I wouldn’t be a stepdad, would never marry her. The difference is, she wasn’t strong like Sutton, who knows her own mind. No, Daphne thought she could change me.
Dr. Lorraine was right: I do always have a way out.
I hear the lock on the door, and Sutton steps inside. I can feel the relief flow through me as she softly shuts the door behind her. “Baby,” I begin, but she puts her hand up.
“I don’t want to discuss it,” she says. “I just want to be here with you now.”
I shake my head at her. “If you think I’m going to tie you up, spank you, or use anything else in this room while you’re pregnant, you’ve lost your mind.”
“Make me feel better,” she says softly. “I just want to feel better.”
I pull her into a kiss.
*
I wake up and reach out for Sutton, but there’s only empty space. I open my eyes and see her on the edge of the bed, buttoning her shirt. I sit up, and the sheet pools around my waist. “Sutton?”
She doesn’t look at me. “I think we need some time apart.”
I scoot down beside her. “No, we don’t.”
“I can’t be with you right now,” she says, getting up, and I see she’s fully dressed.
“Then what was tonight about?” I ask, trying to control the tone of my voice.
“That was goodbye,” she says, reaching for the door handle.
I storm toward the door. “A goodbye fuck? Really?”
“Just speaking in a language you’ll understand,” she says with undeniable sarcasm.
She moves to open the door, and I hold it closed with my hand. “Don’t walk out that door.”
She stares me up and down. I’m buck-naked. I can’t really follow her. “What are you going to do, Pierce?” she spits out.
She’s so fucking angry. I’m sure it’s not the first time I’ve pissed a woman off. I’m sure it’s not the first time I’ve deserved it, either, but this time it hurts. “I love you.”
“Not the way I need you to.”
“What the hell does that mean? Now my love’s not enough?”
“I know you love me—I do,” she says. “But sometimes the way we love someone isn’t the way they need to be loved.” She leans up and kisses me on the cheek. “Don’t feel bad, Pierce. This is my fault, too. I knew deep down you were lying to me, but I ignored the little voice in my head. This is just as much my fault as yours.”
She slips out the door, leaving me naked and stunned, but only for a second. No way I’m letting her go. I rush to get my clothes on. If I’m not loving her the right way, then I can learn how to do it right. Still zipping up my pants, I rush out the door, seeing the elevator door closing. My mother always told me you shouldn’t have sex with a woman unless you are willing to be tied to her for the rest of your life. Because a child ties you together, like it or not.
“Don’t you want to hear what I want?” I yell, banging on the elevator door. “I just needed a damn minute.” I keep beating on the door long after I know she’s gone, but the door gets off easy. The curse-out I give the universe is much worse.
I search high and low for Sutton, unable to find her anywhere, and unable to convince anyone to tell me where she’s gone. I’ve crisscrossed the city from the Mississippi River to Lake Pontchartrain and everywhere in between. Nothing.
I don’t think she’d go to her dad’s house, but I checked just to be sure. She’s not at my place, or either of our hotels. Dylan hasn’t seen her, or i
sn’t telling me if she has. She’s not answering my calls or texts. It’s like she’s vanished into thin air.
It’s amazing how quickly things have turned to shit. I spent half the night looking for her, and the next morning I’m feeling it. My eyes hurt from being up all night. My head hurts from worry. My neck hurts from stress. Even my fucking knuckles hurt from gripping my steering wheel so damn tight. But nothing, nothing, hurts more than the pain in my heart.
I swear the child in Sutton’s belly better be a boy because I’ve already got too many women to keep up with. It’s times like this I wish you could track your girlfriend without seeming like a stalker.
After what’s happened, is she still mine?
Always—that’s the only acceptable answer to that question.
After another fruitless day of searching for Sutton, including hitting all of the same places I hit yesterday, I walk into my hotel, spotting my namesake asleep on his fluffy dog bed. I lean against the wall and sink down beside him. “This is what love gets you,” I say to my furry friend. He only lifts his head, placing it down in my lap.
Sutton’s left a huge vacancy in my chest, and no one else will ever fill the spot. For the life of me, I can’t figure out how that happened. How the hell did she get this hold on me? And how can I make sure she never lets go? No answers, only questions swirl around in my head.
How the hell do I find her? And when I do, how the hell do I convince her to listen to me? Rationally, I know she’ll have to talk to me at some point. She is carrying my child.
Unless . . .
She wouldn’t? Would she? My heart rate through the roof, the dog starts to lick my hand, sensing my panic. What if she’s getting an abortion? The thought shoots fear through my entire body. It shouldn’t. I mean, I got a vasectomy for a reason. I’m not father material. But now, regardless of what happens, I am a father. I saw her reaction when she found out she was pregnant. She wanted that baby. Still, what if?
The fear in my veins makes me realize I wasn’t lying when I told Sutton I’d get a reversal for the right woman. I just didn’t know it was true. I didn’t know that until right now. I’ve traded the fear in for something else. Something better—love.
“This is what love has done to me,” I say, petting the hotel mascot. It’s made me focus on someone other than myself. No longer consumed with what I want, but what she needs and wants. My eyes close. Visions of Sutton flash in my head, like my mind is playing a movie—every little thing about her. My problem before was that I couldn’t remember, and now I can’t forget. My heart won’t let me.
Women should come with warning labels. This one is going to be a clinger. Man, it would be great to know that in advance. This one is going to be crazy as fuck.
Sutton’s would read: This woman is going to hijack your heart. Possess your soul. And own your cock. Enter at your own risk.
I just hope she can forgive me for this. Is it really my fault I’m so bad at love? It’s not like I had any good examples. I know she’ll tell me that’s a fucking excuse, but she doesn’t know the half of it. Usually, this would be when Annie would call or just show up, but she’s disappeared, too.
Pulling out my phone, I fire off a text to Sutton. We’re keeping this baby!!! I add a few exclamation points just to piss her off. Leaving her sweet messages hasn’t worked, maybe being an asshole will?
My phone rings two seconds later. Lucky for me, she took the bait. I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist busting my balls. Getting to my feet and leaving behind my celebrity stray dog, I answer my phone to her rant. “First off, I’m keeping this baby. There is no we. Second . . .”
Why do women count when they get upset? My mother used to do the same thing when I was little. Pierce, stop that right now. One, two . . . Trust me, you didn’t want her to get to three.
Waiting patiently for her to take a breath, I’m grinning like a fool, knowing she’d only be this pissed off if she still loved me. I walk out to the sidewalk, looking up at the stars. Finally, she pauses. “Where are you?” I ask. “I’ve been looking for you for two days.”
“Do you listen to me when I talk?” she asks, but I know she doesn’t expect me to answer. “I told you I need some time.”
“Didn’t realize that meant I can’t even know where you are.”
She exhales. “I need a break. I’ve been thinking about my mom a lot for some reason. I might fly out to . . .”
“Is that safe?”
“Pregnant women fly all the time.”
“Not my pregnant woman.”
“Goodbye, Pierce.”
The line goes dead. I didn’t even get the fuck with the goodbye this time. I slip my cell phone back in my pocket, frustrated I didn’t get to say anything I really wanted and needed to say to her, and I’m not sure when I’ll get another chance.
My cell phone rings in my pocket. I grin a little taking it out, thinking she’s calling back to bust my balls about something else.
I see Annie’s name flashing. She must be psychic, knowing I need her right now.
“Annie, thank God you called because . . .”
“I’m calling from the hospital,” a strange voice says. “You’re the emergency number listed on the phone of Annie . . .”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
An empty bottle of whiskey between us, we laid on my bedroom floor, littered with half-eaten snacks and wrappers. At fifteen years old, we weren’t even close to the legal drinking age. Still, Annie always seemed to have the connections. She wasn’t one to hold back, but tonight she barely drank. I’d never done anything like this before. I was always the one taking care of her after a few too many drinks. Maybe she figured it was her turn. She leaned up on her elbow, looking down at me.
“You’re funny when you’re drunk,” she said. “Drunk people either get funny, angry, or sexy.”
I looked up at her, full of liquid courage, and said, “Sexy.”
Her whole body seemed to smile. “I was beginning to think you didn’t notice.”
“I notice,” I slurred out.
“Promise you’ll remember this tomorrow,” she said.
“Promise.”
“I want to make sure,” she said, leaning in a little closer. My courage kicked up a notch, and I rolled over on top of her, kissing her. Another thing I’d never done before, kissed with full body contact, and we seemed to fit together like we belonged.
Annie whispered my name to slow me down. “I don’t want this to be like it was with other boys,” she said. “Just kissing. Okay?”
“Really?” I asked, playing with the strap on her tank top.
She smiled up at me. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready for more.”
She never said she was ready for more, even when we moved to my bed, and I respected that. The party raged on way past her curfew, with us kissing and cuddling.
She ran her fingers through my hair. “Pierce, I’m going to clean up the evidence, then go. I’ve got to get home.”
I just moaned, the room spinning. “Stay,” I groaned, reaching out for her. “More.”
Giggling, she kissed my forehead then left.
*
Leaning down over her hospital bed, I gently kiss her forehead. “Damn it, Annie!” I mumble under my breath, listening to the doctor explain the symptoms of drug overdose, asking if I know what her drugs of choice are. I shake my head no, staring down at her in the hospital bed. A jogger found her passed out in her car. It will take a little while to know what exactly she took, but they found sleeping pills, anxiety meds, and alcohol in her car.
The doctor asks me if I know how long she’s been using. As far as I knew, she hadn’t since we were kids. Since that one night! That night had scared her clean.
“I didn’t even know she was back in New Orleans,” I say, my voice hoarse.
He explains they don’t know if the overdose was intentional or an accident. They didn’t find a suicide note in her car, and they don’t have a clear answer as to
when she will gain consciousness or if she’ll have lasting damage. Basically, they don’t know shit.
The doctor excuses himself, leaving me and Annie alone, just the two of us. The way it was for so long. If I’m honest, Annie is the first girl I ever loved, other than my mom.
Sitting down next to her bed, I take her hand. It’s warm and soft. She looks so fragile lying here like this, wires and tubes coming in and out of her, surrounded by machines. She lays in the middle of it all, like the eye of a storm. Now I know why hurricanes are named after people. People do the most destructive damage to each other.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “It’s my fault you’re here. I refused to talk about that night, though you wanted to—needed to. It wasn’t your fault, what happened that night. I know that. I’ve always known that.”
I wait for a second, hoping she’ll open her eyes and respond, but nothing comes. We have such history together. My life story is wrapped into hers, and it’s not a happy one.
We all have a story to tell. I’m here, she’s in that hospital bed, and this is the story I’ve got.
PART TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
SUTTON
“I’m sorry, only one visitor at a time,” the nurse says.
Dylan hugs my neck. At first, I thought this was a joke. Annie left me a voicemail saying ride or die. That was it, the whole message. I thought Pierce must have told her about the baby, and she was intervening on his behalf, but then Tawny called and told me Annie had overdosed. Without thinking, I ended up here, and now they won’t let me in.
“Please,” I beg a nurse. “I need to see the man who’s with her. I just need to make sure he’s alright.”
“Sorry, I can’t let you back. I can let him know you’re here,” the nurse says.
“No,” I blurt out without much thought. “I don’t want him to feel like he has to leave his friend.”
“Look,” Dylan says, “she’s pregnant. That’s her baby’s father back there.”
The nurse glances at both of us. “Wait here.”
To the Fall Page 19
