by James, Marie
“That day? Yes. I let Gabby think she won. I let her new husband keep the smug smile on his face as he walked out, hand gripping the curve of Gabby’s ass tight, the same ass I used to obsess over every night before her parents ripped my life apart. The crazy thing is, all I felt was anger. I wasn’t bitter he got the girl. I was upset she’d so easily tossed me away. My only concern was the brown-haired, green-eyed girl who was just strapped into a car seat in the back of a nanny’s minivan.
“I sought out that nanny, having a buddy run the license plate. I explained that I needed a relationship with my child, and she agreed. It started with pictures at first. The letters, written in the heavy hand of a child, came next. On her fourteenth birthday, Gabby got her a cell phone for her birthday. She’d written and given me her number. We texted at first. Her stepdad isn’t as bad as I made him out to be. She’s happy, but I’m one thing he would never budge on. She learned early on that my name, the subject of her actual paternity isn’t on the table in any shape or form.”
“You’ve only seen her in person once?”
“We video chat, and we’ve met a few times. She’s on a protective leash and isn’t allowed much leeway, but we find time to see each other.”
“That sucks,” I say honestly.
“She wants to move in with me when she graduates, and God, do I want that. The ability to actually get to know my daughter has been all I can think about since she mentioned it about a year ago. It’s why I served seventeen years rather than staying in for twenty. It’s why I was so fucking excited about the job offer in Farmington. She’s currently living in Flagstaff but wants to attend college in Albuquerque. It seemed like the best fit.”
“Sounds like you have it all figured out.” I don’t even know how I should feel right now. His separation from his daughter is shitty, but at the same time, I wonder if all of his energy is going to be used to the point he wouldn’t have any for the baby I’m carrying. It’s selfish and greedy, but I can’t lie and pretend it’s not part of the deciding factor in the direction my own life is going.
“I did. It’s all fucked now.”
I tense, anger so close to boiling over my vision starts to blur.
“Shadow and Kid instructed me that I’m to head back to Farmington and pack my shit. Cerberus can’t trust a man who can’t be honest with their President.”
“My dad is an asshole.”
“He’s really not, Gigi. He’s trustworthy, protective, and he’s doing what he thinks is best to protect his daughter. I promised him I’d never touch you again, and here I lay with my cock between my stomach and your back, my fingers drifting over this perfect little cunt.” He drives his words home by slicking his thumb over my clit. “He can’t trust me because I can’t trust myself when it comes to you.”
“What will you d-do?” I stammer, moaning my displeasure when he stops.
“Pack my shit. I have other job offers. They aren’t Cerberus, more private security, boring shit. Mainly in the LA and San Fran area. It’s almost twice as far away from Izzy and even further when she goes to college. But,” he says as he turns me in his arms until my sore breasts are pushing against the t-shirt he never bothered to take off. “My next step depends on yours.”
Chapter 21
Hound
I shake my head when she buries her pretty face into my t-shirt.
“That came out like pressure, and I promise you I’m not pressuring you. I won’t lie to you either.” I tilt her chin until her tear-stained eyes are looking directly into mine. “I can’t make a move until you make yours.”
I release her chin, my hand falling naturally to the place her body holds my precious child, the tiny bundle of cells I may never get to meet.
My heart constricts at the thought.
“You’d want to raise this baby?” I hate the uncertainty in her voice.
“I told you it’s your choice.” I’ve said it more than once, and it gets harder each and every damn time.
“And I’m asking about your stance.”
“You know where I stand. I told you yesterday in the truck.”
“Dammit,” she says as she pushes away from my chest until she’s sitting crossed-legged on the bed. “You told me I have options, but I need to know that if I keep this baby, you’ll want to be involved. I don’t want to force you into anything.”
“Force me?” I can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness. “Are you sitting there and telling me that I’m the deciding factor.”
My lip curls in rage at her stoic posture and the way she refuses to answer my question.
“It’s your fucking choice!” I yell and climb off of the bed.
“I can’t do this alone,” she screams, just as angry as I am.
I tilt my head and swallow the words I want to say, the ones that won’t be received well and speak slowly. “You. Don’t. Have. To.”
“You’ll help raise this baby?” She’s asked that now several times, each one like a jackhammer to my heart.
“I want to raise this baby.” Tears streak her face. “More than anything, I want the chance to be a dad. From start to finish. From day one until the day I die, I want it.”
She nods but doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t calm my fears or attempt to appease me with even a small smile.
“I’m tired.”
Two simple words.
Seven letters that do nothing to hint at where her mind is at.
I want to rush to the bed, shake her, and force her to make the right decision. I want to beg her to keep our baby. I want to redden her ass for even contemplating an alternative to bringing that precious child into the world. I want to tease her, suck her clit, and keep her orgasm just out of reach until she agrees that there is but one choice in the matter.
I do none of those things.
I watch the sway of her naked ass and the swish of her gorgeous brown hair as she lies down on the bed, back pointed in my direction. I run my hands harshly over my head as she tugs up the sheets and covers the silkiness of her back, hiding herself from me.
Her breathing is still ragged as I tug on my jeans, boots, and t-shirt.
“I’m going to grab something to eat.” She doesn’t move. Doesn’t look over her shoulder. Doesn’t offer one word. “Can I get you anything?”
A simple shake of her head. “I can’t keep anything down.”
I turn and leave the room because the alternative of climbing in behind her, wrapping her in my arms, and soothing her until she falls asleep isn’t an option.
The small store in the hotel has nothing to offer other than shitty Vegas memorabilia and antacids. A quick internet search on my phone is so uninformative, I’m wondering how women have managed to have healthy babies at all. The information provided is always contradicted by another post. Do this. Do that. NEVER do this. It’s overwhelming. The only thing that seems to have the least objections is that ginger ale and crackers seem to be a lifesaver. She had that last night, so I set out to grab myself a burger and supplies to settle her stomach.
While at the burger joint, I go ahead and grab one for her as well, hoping she’ll be up for something more than carbs and soda.
Just like when you’re buying a new car and narrow it down to one or two, and you start to notice that car everywhere, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I notice every child. I focus on their laughter, their crying, the innocent questions they ask their parents while standing in line at the pharmacy.
Back at the hotel, trying to wake Gigi is pointless. She’s out like a light and isn’t interested in ginger ale and crackers, so I sit on the couch and eat, never taking my eyes off of the soft rise and fall of her back. I can’t help but wonder if my child in her stomach is the reason I’m so drawn to her.
I shake my head, clearing it of the ridiculous thought. She was a sleek piece of metal and I a magnet, feverishly attracted to her long before I knew about the baby, long before I put that child inside of her. The memories of seeing her o
n that stage for the first time flood my brain and all of my other senses. The slide of her athletic thighs on the pole. The roll of her abdominals. The perfect sway of her hips.
I run a rough hand over the erection tenting my jeans. It’s pure physical attraction, unadulterated need from knowing just what it feels like to slide inside of her. It’s carnal, instinctual biology to be attracted to, to crave the person who’s continuing your bloodline.
After eating, I lie back on the sofa, arms behind my head, feet propped on the end because it’s way too fucking small for my body. How I fall asleep with the distance between us, I have no clue, but my slumber is short lived.
I snap awake, unsure of what pulled me from a dreamless sleep until I hear a small whimper fill the silence in the room.
The once soft up and down of Gigi’s back as she slept has been replaced with jagged jerks with her sobs.
I don’t consider the ramifications. I don’t worry if she wants me to touch her or not. I climb off the couch, hitting the lights and enveloping the room in darkness before climbing on the bed behind her.
“Shhh,” I purr in her ear. “I’m here.”
My comfort only makes her cry harder, so I don’t say another word. I don’t ask her what’s wrong. I don’t offer advice. I don’t tell her what she should do or remind her of her options. I hold her, as close to my chest as I can manage without suffocating her. I lean my head in and breathe in her scent, nose pressed deep into her hair. At first, she’s a stiff board in my arms, but as the sobbing ebbs away her body relaxes and she settles into my hold. She allows herself the comfort of my embrace until her breathing begins to match mine.
Not a word is spoken. Not a promise is made, but I reassure her with the light sweep of my fingers on her arm. I touch her hip, pushing her legs until she’s curled in a ball, I mirror her position and nestle her even closer.
Just when I think she’s asleep, she speaks with a hint of devastation and sadness in her voice.
“I’d be a horrible mother.”
I squeeze her. I can’t object to her assessment. I don’t know hardly anything about her, and lying isn’t really my thing.
“My mom is the greatest,” she continues. “There’s no way I could ever even come close to being like her. Bake sales, PTO, and fucking classroom chaperoning?”
She gives a humorless chuckle and shakes her head a little.
“That’s not me. I can’t even picture myself doing those things.”
I open my mouth to tell her I’d do all of those things in her place. The idea of taking a handful of rowdy kids to the zoo and experience everyday sights through the brand-new eyes of a child sounds like a great time to me. I close my mouth again, only opening my lips slightly to brush them over the soft skin of her naked shoulder.
She begins crying again, torn with her decision.
“I don’t want to abort this baby.” I smile against her skin, my heart filling with eagerness. “But I can’t see myself as a mother either. I thought it was instinctual. I thought once my suspicions were confirmed with the positive test I would transition from who I am into someone different.”
All she gets is silence from me, and since she hasn’t called me out on it, I imagine it’s just what she needs.
“But I’m not different.” She shakes her head slightly to punctuate her point. “Other than the sickness I don’t even feel different. I still want to run. I want to take off and put it behind me, but no matter where I go this baby will be right there. I can’t run from this.”
She clasps my hand and lowers it to the flatness of her stomach. She doesn’t say another word. She merely takes one last shuddering breath and falls asleep.
My eyes stay on her until the pink hue of the dawn stabs across the room. It’s only then that I take my eyes off of her, that I stop counting her breaths and allow myself to get a little rest. Later today, no matter which way she decides, she’s going to make a life-altering decision. One that’s going to change the course of my previously decided future.
Chapter 22
Gigi
Oppressive heat surrounds me, blanketing me to the point my stomach rolls, urging me to get out of bed. In the split second I have before my body revolts against the emptiness in my belly, I look back over my shoulder at Jameson. He reaches for me, hand skimming over the warmth my body left behind on the bed. My smile turns into a grimace as I run, as quietly as I can to the bathroom.
Dry heaving is the devil’s work I’m certain by the time I lift my head and rinse my mouth. Rinsing the smell of his skin from mine is the last thing I want to do. His scent, the combined smell of our wild sex last night coats me like a living being. I revel in it, running my nose over the soft skin of my shoulder before giving in and turning the dials of the shower.
The warm blast on my now cool skin sends pinpricks over every inch of my skin. It’s not altogether different from the way my body responded watching Jameson fuck me in front of the mirror. I sigh a breath of remembrance and wash him off of me.
My cries. The pleas. The whispered confessions in the dark last night.
I laid my heart bare to him, and unlike all the others so quick to give me advice, he held me. He didn’t try to bring me to his side. He didn’t give his opinion. He embraced me and let me draw my own conclusions. As much as it pained him, he gave me exactly what I needed.
After the suds from the hotel soap disappear down the drain, I turn the water off and steel my spine. I know exactly what I have to do. I’ve known it all along. It’s just that being an adult, actually making those decisions on my own, the ones others have been so quick to make for me all my life, is much harder than I had ever anticipated they would be.
I dress, right back into the clothes I wore to the clinic what seems like a lifetime ago, and take one last look at Jameson asleep in the bed. His hand is still stretched out, searching for me even in his sleep. The crinkle of his brow is calming as I imagine he’s missing me even in his sleep.
Instead of brushing my lips against his to wake him up like I want to, I jerk the floor to ceiling curtains open, bathing the room in the blinding sunlight.
He jerks in the bed, almost violently, as he’s ripped from his dreams.
“The fuck,” he grumbles, sitting up on the bed and swiping harsh hands over his tired green eyes.
Why I didn’t see it last night, why I didn’t recognize his eyes in Izzy’s pictures on his phone is beyond me. It’s clear as day right now as those amazing green orbs are turned on me in almost angry agitation.
“Get your boots on,” I instruct, hating that he’s fully clothed.
I resist the urge to once again strip naked in front of him and taunt him with my body. There will be plenty of time for that later.
He sighs, leaning his back against the wooden headboard. “What’s the damn rush?”
I smile at him. “What’s the delay?”
He growls. “I got you more crackers and ginger ale last night.”
His large hand motions toward the mini fridge against the wall.
“That’s very sweet of you.”
“I got crackers with peanut butter. That way you’re eating more than just shitty carbs and soda.”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “A little controlling, don’t you think?”
My question is playful, not annoyed like it would normally be.
A passive look fills his eyes as he glances my way. How he can look so apathetic and dominating at the same time I have no idea. The single look makes my skin itch. The same way it did last night when he challenged me not to come on his tongue until he gave me permission to do so.
“You’re growing my baby,” he says, voice flat.
“Our baby,” I correct.
“Until you make your decision, you need to take care of it. The protein in the peanut butter is good for him.”
“Him?” I question. “So sure we’re having a son.”
I don’t miss the hopeful swallow of his throat as mine clogs with some
of the same emotions I was unable to shove down last night.
“You still haven’t made a decision.” I hate the break in his voice, the opinion he was terrified to give power to last night.
“But I have,” I correct. “It’s why you need to get dressed.”
I turn my gaze down to the boots on the floor.
His hands tremble as he shoves back the sheets that cocooned us last night.
“Back to the clinic?” Pain washes over his face even as I can tell he’s doing his best to fight it.
“Nope,” I say, both hating and loving that I’m keeping him on edge with such an important choice.
“To your apartment?”
Just the thought of that shitty place and my deviant roommate makes me shiver.
“There’s nothing there for me. There’s nothing from this life that I want to remember.”
“Where are we heading?”
I turn to the mirror, the one that finds me swiping my fingers through my sleep-messy hair and not splayed open for both of our pleasure like I was last night.
“I’m going home,” I whisper.
“Home?” His voice cracks with hopefulness, a smile spreading his cheeks in the reflection of the glass.
I woke up this morning a new woman if that’s even possible. I woke up with renewed faith in not only life but also my ability to be the best mother I can be. It may not look exactly like my mother’s did, but it’ll be me and Jameson and our child. We’ll make the best of it. I won’t have to do it alone, and that was my one and only true fear because I knew motherhood in the form of single parenting isn’t something I could ever manage.
“Someone has to tell my dad that you knocked me up.”
I turn back to him expecting to see the smile still in place and hope in his eyes. Instead, I find him nearly green, resembling my face every morning before I get sick. I can’t help but laugh as he turns white at the mention of telling my dad, even though he’s the one who pressed the point yesterday.
***
The normally eight-hour trip back to Farmington takes closer to eleven with the multiple stops we’re forced to take because my stomach doesn’t agree with the miniscule rocking of the SUV over the interstate. When I wasn’t dozing, I was getting sick.
