by Pamela Ann
“Um … well, I love you, too. So much that I feel like a total ass for being the person to break it to you, but it’s part of my job being your best friend and all … so here goes.” He took a sharp breath, giving me the full scale dramatic facial expression popping his mouth open with a loud ‘tsk.’ “Okay … um … River-and-that-skinny-bitch-have-gone-official-thirty-minutes-ago-on-Billboard-Music-Awards.”
Nervous much?
“Sheesh, you should apply for one of those radio car commercials where nothing makes sense when they start mentioning APRs and shit.” I appreciated his effort, and I felt bad he was nervous about it, but the news didn’t come as a surprise. Before River had handed me my freedom papers, he had confided a little secret—that he might be taking things seriously with Petra.
It had taken him two months to show the world he was taken, but I knew he’d made it official with her in private days after being with me. River didn’t wait. When he wanted something, he went for it. This wasn’t any different.
Petra was awfully loyal and catered to his sexual demands without problems. She was the perfect woman for him. The perfect partner and the perfect candidate to be his wife.
Thinking of that last bit made me wince. But it was something I’d have to get used to. River wasn’t the kind to invest his emotions half-fast. If he had set his mind on Petra, he would go in full-throttle, and that pretty bundle included marriage. I knew this because he had done the same with me. Nor did it surprise me he’d moved to New York. Oh, yeah … They were scouting for apartments. So, yes, I knew they were totally hand in hand, yours and mine, let’s grow old together … together.
It wasn’t so long ago that I was his love. His first and only love. But not anymore. Petra had taken my place. I supposed she deserved it. She had waited like a true angel and put up with whatever River threw at her. She deserved to be his only woman, and I supposed I was just damn grateful it wasn’t Willa.
Still, the shock hadn’t worn off.
I was rid of him … just how I wished him to be.
Just gone.
Out of my life.
Forever.
Gone.
Like the damn wind.
He had closed the door on me. I had felt the finality. Those words of goodbye … and that kiss on the forehead that said he was wishing me well on my journey, a journey of being alone, trudging through life without him next to me … I was at a loss for words. How could I say anything? I was never good with goodbyes. A part of me hated him for that—for putting a lid on it in lieu of closure. It was the most unendurable thing I’d have to go through, yet he had done it without pause … without hesitation.
While I had reeled from our kiss, from the mind-altering sex we’d just had, River had come in that bedroom armed with a goodbye. I had been unprepared. Distraught and clearly shocked from the gob-smacking events that had happened hours before. I’d never felt lonelier until he gave me those papers. Ending our deal an hour after he had kissed me, shifted my entire fucking world, and rearranged my life, and just like that, he had been done.
Just like that …
He could’ve just slapped me; it would’ve had the same effect as those damn papers.
Yes, I hated him, and yes, I hated myself even more for missing him a little. And double damn yes for always thinking about that kiss we had shared on the court. That kiss—a kiss of death, a kiss of life. I’d never felt more alive until his lips had captured me wholeheartedly. They had demanded all of me, arresting everything I held against him, all that I was, every little secret, my pains, my happiness—it had taken my darkness and replaced it with light. He’d painted my black with his white. One simple gesture … yet it had morphed me into something—someone—else. It had transported me to a different dimension. A world without pain, without hate, only pure unadulterated bliss. An endless supply of ecstasy.
My fears hadn’t been misplaced. I’d had every right to be afraid of it—of him—and what those lips could do to me. River and his goddamn lethal kiss had tilted my axis. It had changed me. That bloody toe-curling, all too consuming, forever and a day kiss had ruined me. I hadn’t been the same since.
“Oye! Earth to Cara!” Anton clapped his hands before leaning over to get a red velvet. “Don’t be mad, okay? Remember, I’m the birthday boy, so you’ve gotta treat me good and extra special today, ya hear?”
If he only knew where my thoughts had been …
“I’m not mad, babes … just dog tired.” Reaching out to him, I gave his arm a quick tight squeeze before I grabbed ahold of my coffee and took a lengthy sip. “Enough about me. What’s new in the land of Anton?”
Kells was in New York, busy with fashion shows, so it was up to little ole me to make this celebration extra special. If only I could summon the energy gods to strike me some much-needed vigor, I’d appreciate it greatly. But alas, I had to make do with coffee and chocolate. Not bad for a second-rate selection.
For Anton’s Coming Out anniversary celebration, we dined at Sugarfish sushi before heading to a few clubs to party. Our party consisted of a dozen or so people. Some, I had met, but most were new faces, making it harder for me since I had to conceal my lack of enthusiasm. It wasn’t them, nor was it Anton’s fault that I was such a Debbie Downer.
It worsened when I took a few shots of tequila. I became sweaty, dizzy, and just downright miserable. If it weren’t for Anton’s insistence I go home, I wouldn’t have gone. I would’ve stayed put and partied with them even in my fatigued state. But thank goodness, I went home. I hopped in bed with my shoes on. The moment my head touched the pillow, I was out cold.
The following morning, nothing much had changed. Addison, my manager, arranged an appointment at the doctors for a quick physical and to also have my body infused with a cocktail IV drip full of vitamins and minerals to revitalize my depleted system. I’d heard of this. I remembered Parker, my other douche of an ex, recommending it. He used to have it done each time he got back from filming or when he had needed a quick boost after a night of partying.
It took every ounce of energy to get to my destination, but I made it safely to Beverly Hills, even though I arrived five minutes later than my appointed time.
Dr. Tan was this strict looking Chinese lady. She wasn’t at all irked about my late arrival because I knew she’d charge me for it, anyway. She made a thousand bucks an hour for consultations alone. But she was discreet and catered to the clients’ hours. She also ran her medical office efficiently. So, yes, we Hollywood snowflakes paid extra for the bells and whistles. But I’d rather dish out the extra than have my medical information plastered all over the internet.
A few years back, I wouldn’t have considered this, but with my rising fame, Addison wouldn’t take any chances. My manager was meticulous when it came to my image. The less gossip, the better the chances of landing a movie role. If it were up to me, I couldn’t care less really, but to shut Addison up, I had to do these little things.
After drawing several tubes of blood, a quick urine test, vital tests, and physical examination, I thought I’d never make it to the white leather recliner. The cozy spot where they’d stick a needle in my arm’s vein for the IV drip.
Two hours and forever minutes later, I was about to walk out of the clinic when Dr. Tan resurfaced, stopping me from leaving.
“Uh-oh … Please don’t tell me I tested positive for HIV?” Yes, whenever I was nervous, my idiot mouth took over. This wasn’t the first time I’d said this very line, too. Sadly.
The little Chinese woman appeared appalled before she quickly recovered, smiling nervously. “Oh, no, no, Miss Quinn. I assure you.” Her cheeks regained their color. “It’s better than that. You’re pregnant.”
“Pregnant?” I blurted it out as if I hadn’t heard the word. Was this a joke? My pipes hadn’t been oiled in months. “Are you sure it’s my pee you tested? ’Cause it’s impossible it’s mine. There’s got to be some mix-up or something.” I’d had my period some weeks ago. Dr. Tan mu
st be mistaken.
Her smile widened. “No mistake. I make sure to triple check everything before informing my patients. You’re thirteen weeks pregnant. I’m sure you already know, but it’s important that you see an obstetrician so you can get the proper care you need.”
Thirteen weeks. Pregnant. Obstetrician. Proper care…
Her words rung hollowly in my ears. I stared at her, agape. She had to be joking … but as she continued spouting off, it gradually sunk in. Slowly at first. Then it came crashing down all at once.
How? I wanted to ask aloud.
How is this happening to me? The first one … God … I never gave myself the chance to mourn its loss.
Hadn’t I been through enough? I was already dealing with so much. Add this on top of everything, and what will be left of me?
Am I being penalized for trying to forget I had a miscarriage in the first place? So, this was how it felt when it came to a full circle, sealing my fate forever more.
I had to have pissed off someone up there for them to really smack with this. Boy, wasn’t I a popular one?
When it rained, it flooded. Mine just came with a pretty little hurricane on top.
Chapter 23
Cara
Embracing my reality took seven days. Seven time-consuming days of denial and disbelief. When Anton and Addison inquired about my state, I pinned it down to adrenal fatigue. How could I fathom spilling the truth when I hardly believed it myself?
Each day that passed after seeing Dr. Tan, I prayed she’d ring and announce it was all a huge misunderstanding. But the call never came.
At the week’s end, I knew it was time to face the tune and acknowledge this unexpected surprise. And as much as I detested it, it was high time I went to the doctor’s.
Ever since learning about my budding pregnancy, I’d thought of nothing but this tiny unknown creature growing within me. This was my baby. River and I had made it. An expectant mother should feel over raw with emotions, bouncing with pure joy, with elation.
The only prevailing reaction was utter disconnection, eliciting detachment and absolutely devoid of any interest whatsoever. I found it vexing, generating any sort of positivity when a gaping vacuum—a vapid space of nothingness, continuously reminding me of what I was and what I had become—thrived within my heart.
It was as though I was living someone else’s life, like an out of body experience. I saw and felt everything, yet nothing stuck.
It was as if I’d mentally blocked it. Compartmentalizing the bad, good, and the ugly with the worst being secured in a tiny box, locked in an empty closet.
If I could muster the courage to deal with the baby, only then could I take the box off the shelf.
The mental and emotional fog didn’t lift until I left the doctor’s office. It began when I heard the baby’s heart beating. It was deafeningly loud, swooshing and thudding, and very much alive. But what truly lingered were the doctor’s reassuring words.
If you’re having second thoughts about being a mother, rest assured there are options for you. There’s always adoption or ending the pregnancy. Whatever you decide on doing, I want you to understand you’re in a safe place. No one will discriminate with your decision. This is your life. Your choice.
I was an actor. Acting was what I did for a living, for heaven’s sake, and for the life of me, I couldn’t even gather enough drive to act enthused. I felt vulnerable in that desolate room, alone more than ever, with a massive decision hanging over my head.
How should I choose which fate to bestow on my unborn child? Was I ready to become a mother, to care and provide for this child’s needs? Particularly it’s physical and emotional needs? I scarcely had the chance to take care of myself, so how could I fathom bringing an innocent child into this chaos I called life? Should I be selfish and put myself first, or should I take a gamble and leave it to fate to figure it all out for me? The last time I had chosen this path, however, had ended in catastrophic proportions.
The daunting question filled me with dread. Understandably so. This wasn’t a light matter. No matter which path I took, something would be altered forever. It was a life-changing choice. The hardest one to make thus far. And with each passing day and with no decision on the horizon, I knew I needed a huge favor from Anton.
After a lengthy stopover in Dubai, a helicopter ride, and twenty-seven hours later, I finally arrived in Mudhdhoo Island, one of the long list of atoll islands, right in time for breakfast.
I was in the only place that stuck in mind. The very destination I’d always wanted to visit, the breathtaking island of Maldives.
A superb, picturesque location to ponder one’s life.
I could recall the moment I had seen a picture in one of those travel magazines when I had been sixteen at the dentist’s office. While everyone had spoken about traveling in Europe and all the other fun exotic places to visit, Maldives remained my top contender. But it came at such a hefty price tag; backpacking through here just wasn’t going to cut it.
These days, my circumstances had changed. My work afforded me to indulge in such luxuries. After being holed up in my tiny one-bedroom apartment in Santa Monica for almost three weeks, I knew I had to do something, breathe some much-needed air. Maybe some fresh atoll island air could ease the mounting anxiety I felt each time I heard one of the neighboring doors slam.
It was silly, really. The pregnancy took paranoia to a whole different sphere. River had moved to New York, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling of him randomly popping up on my doorstep. But after a few days of being in a nail-biting state, I knew I’d lose it if I stayed confined another day indoors.
Since I didn’t feel comfortable being in LA, the decision to make this arduous flight wasn’t a hard one to make.
The Dusit Thani Ocean Pavilion was to die for. In my line of work, I’d been to some of the world’s most expensive hotels, but this definitely took the cake. It came with its very own private pool. At the end of the wooden patio was a tiny ladder where one could simply dive in the ocean if the pool didn’t take your fancy.
Serene. Isolated. With the endless stretch of crystal clear water, the smell of clean air, and the steady beat of my heart, my blood pressure had gotten back to normal. Goodbye anxiety attacks. I sure wouldn’t miss you.
A soft smile played about my lips as I raised my face, facing toward the sun, basking in its warmth.
Peace … at last.
Then the doorbell rang, putting an immediate stop to my reverie.
“One second!”
Breakfast, I giddily thought as I strode back indoors, barefoot. I hadn’t changed from my all black ensemble consisting of a loose shirt and leggings—my go-to outfit these days. Ever since I started living like a hermit, I’d overindulged in chocolate cakes and seafood. My belly hadn’t protruded yet, but I sure could feel my stomach area feeling tight, as if I was bloated all day. I supposed I could thank PostMates for delivering me all sorts of pregnancy food. I couldn’t fathom how it wasn’t only a few weeks ago when I could barely chew anything. Then fast-forward it to now, and I could eat a whole hearty meal without having to count calories.
My stomach grumbled in response, ready to take on more food action.
During the flight, I had barely slept a wink. So, after I finished breakfast, I intended to catch up on more sleep.
“Hiii—” my ever-bright smile instantly took a nosedive the moment my eyes found Ari Braun standing on my doorstep instead of room service.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked the second most hated person on my list. He came after Willa. Ari was bad news. Right on cue, the back of my neck began to warm, my blood started to simmer as those dark snake-like eyes regarded me from head to foot.
His brow rose as he solemnly nodded. “Okay. Good. I see no point in wasting time, too. So, how much will it cost for you to”—he flickered his disgusting finger toward my abdomen—“have that eradicated?” He then sniffed, adjusting his stance before he idly regarde
d me.
Based on his expectant look, the bastard was serious, too. He couldn’t know, could he? I had made sure to book my flight using Anton’s credit card. I had ensured that I covered my tracks just in case of instances like this one. River was big money, and I knew his caretakers wouldn’t be too pleased to know about this bewildering surprise. “I don’t understand what you mean, Ari. Do you see me chasing after him in New York? I haven’t spoken or seen him since Palm Springs. Have I said anything to the media that might’ve lowered his appeal to the masses? If you have a bone to pick with me, you could’ve called and saved yourself a trip.”
He scoffed, eyeing me disdainfully. “Don’t do that. It’s fucking annoying. We both know you’re pregnant with River’s kid. I’ve ears on the ground, people on payroll in places you’d never imagine. So, if you’re looking for a quick big payday, today’s your chance to cash in. We both know you’re not ready to be saddled up with a snotty brat. River sure isn’t. He’s busy having fun in New York, buying new crap, decorating his new digs with Petra.” He nonchalantly continued the diatribe, “This bastard child will end your career. You can say goodbye to all the movies. Once you have this kid, no one will touch you. You’ll be unmarketable, and your name will be forgotten as a new hotter actress buries your name. Whichever way you look at it, you’re fucked, Cara.
“River’s career will still go on, climbing chart after chart, the box office—you name it. Hell, maybe he’ll marry Petra and have little babies with her, and this baby will be a blip on the radar, but I can’t afford these lousy blips, Cara. They become a fucking headache later on. It’s why I nip them in the bud. It’s my damn job to make sure River’s life runs as smoothly as the Arabs run their oil empire. Tell me how much … I specifically brought my checkbook for this very occasion, so let’s get down to business and talk numbers. I’m offering seven figures.”
A nuisance. A pest. A tumor to be eliminated before it spread like cancer. I’d known this hairy weasel had a low opinion of me. I just hadn’t realized the extent of it until today.
