by Moss, Brooke
Chapter Twenty
“Mommy, I have to peeeeeeeee!”
Candace rolled her eyes at me and we followed her daughter, Ellie, through the thick crowd. Laughing, I pressed a hand to my back. “Slow down,” I huffed. “Do all four year olds have to go to the bathroom this often?”
In the hour I’d been sitting with Candace, Brian, and their kids at the My Little Pony LIVE! concert, we’d made three trips to the restroom, and it was only intermission. Given the saccharine sweet music played at ear-damaging decibels, and an entire convention center filled with preschool-aged children and their tired parents, my head hurt as much as my puffy feet did. I was starting to question whether my own child would ever need to see a concert and was leaning heavily towards no.
“Unfortunately, yes.” Candace stepped around a little boy who was splayed on the floor, crying. His mother looked like she wanted to cry, too. “You should have seen the kids when we went to see Disney on Ice last year. Ellie had a total meltdown and threw up on the guy in front of us.”
Snorting, I stumbled when the little boy started to flail. “Whoops, sorry.” I told his mother, before scrambling to catch up with my cousin at the restroom line. “Slow down. Wait for me.”
She glanced over her shoulder at me. “You’re moving pretty slow these days, Lex.”
“Thanks for pointing it out.” I scanned the line. It was at least ten people long, and that didn’t include the people waiting inside the bathrooms. “Nice. I’ll deliver this kid before I get to a toilet.” A skinny woman behind us grimaced, and I caught a glimpse of it in the corner of my eye. “Sorry. Just kidding.”
I’d only come here to get out of my apartment. Every time I was alone, memories of seeing my mother’s ‘dance of passion’ a few days earlier came rushing back to me. And when I started to get depressed about the absence of my mother in my life, it reminded me of the fact that I’d not seen or spoken to Fletcher in more weeks than I cared to mention.
That’s usually when the tears started, and the boxes of individually wrapped snack brownies came out. Even my maternity clothes were starting to feel too small.
“So.” Candace looked at me for a few seconds. “My mom called me the other day.”
“Oh, yeah? How’s Aunt Dory doing?” I chewed my thumbnail and danced in place a little. The baby was pressing against my bladder, and I was about two minutes from bursting.
“She said that you and your mom had another argument,” she said.
I avoided my cousin’s eyes. The last thing I wanted to do was tell that I walked in on my mother screwing Pastor Irm. If I told, my Aunt Dory—and the rest of my family—would know within the hour. “Yeah, we did.”
“Did she try to fix you up again?”
“No.”
“Well, what was it about?” Candace was fishing for more information, but I wasn’t giving in.
First off, talking about it would just make those horrifying moments come alive inside of my head again. There wasn’t enough therapy in the world to get over seeing Pastor Irm’s bare butt in my mother’s dim bedroom. And second, no matter how much my mother did to hurt me, I still felt protective of her. Aunt Dory would have a heyday with this information, and it would kill my mother to find out that everyone knew she wasn’t the chaste widow anymore.
I forced a smile. “Just typical stuff. You know my mom.”
“Yeah.” The line between her eyebrows told me she was concerned. “Hey, have you heard from Marisol lately?”
Heaviness formed in my chest. Marisol had been quiet at work lately, and most of our conversations had consisted of work details only. What event we had coming up, who was in charge of making the quiche, and which one of us was going to make a run to the restaurant supply store. There had been times when I’d wanted to ask her if she needed to talk. But I’d swallowed back every question. I didn’t want to hear about Fletcher. I didn’t want to know if they’d slept together, or if they were having problems. It was all too much to handle. Too much to hear.
“Um, no.” I moved forward with the line. “She’s been pretty quiet, and keeping herself busy lately.”
Candace frowned. “I wonder if she and Fletcher are doing all right?”
“I hope so.”
And it was true. I was practically ready to pop out a baby, and I looked more like Opie than a lingerie model on a good day. Marisol was the right choice for Fletcher.
“Fletcher seems distracted.” Candace danced in place holding Ellie’s hands. “He came over for the game the other day and barely knew who was playing. When Brian asked what was wrong, he said he had a lot on his mind. Then he did something sort of weird.”
I pretended to be enthralled with Ellie’s hair bow. I didn’t want to hear about anything that Fletcher did, because I would probably turn it into something to think about and obsess over for days.
“Mommy, pick me up!” Ellie held out her hands. “Mommy! Pick me up!”
Candace swung her daughter onto her hip, and leaned in close to me. “He started asking about you.”
The baby sucker punched me in the bladder and I leaned forward. “Seriously, is this line moving at all? Oh Lord, I have to pee.”
The skinny woman behind us groaned. “We all do, lady.”
“Well, you’re not eight months pregnant, are you?” I snapped.
Candace put her hand on my shoulder. “Did you hear what I said? Fletcher was probing Brian for details about you.”
I waved a hand, and ignored the swirling feeling I felt in my chest. “Whatever. He probably wanted to check up on my pregnancy.”
“I don’t think so.” Candace shook her head. “I think there’s something you’re not telling me.”
“Nope. You know all.” Biting my lip, I silently asked God to empty the bathroom. If we kept talking about Fletcher, I was definitely going to wet my pants.
“Come on, Lex, things between the three of us girls have weird for weeks,” Candace said. “And now Fletcher spends all of his time with Brian asking about you?”
I pressed my lips together and avoided her eyes.
She groaned and went on. “What’s Lexie’s ex husband like? Why did Lexie leave dinner the other night? What was Lexie like in college? What are Lexie’s hobbies?”
“I like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain.” Laughing at my own joke, I moved forward with the line.
“Come on.” She snorted. “You have to admit it, it’s odd. And oh, holy hell. Speak of the devil.”
“What?” I followed her line of sight and my eyes landed smack dab on Fletcher. He was walking hand in hand with a frowning Martha. In an instant, I broke out in a sweat. “Oh, crap, crap, crap!”
Candace stared at me. “What is wrong with you?”
I turned so my back was pointed at Fletcher. “Screw me running.”
“Not now,” she hissed. Then she waved. “Hey, Fletcher. Over here!”
I looked over my shoulder. Martha spotted me and made a beeline towards us. “Lexie!” She cried happily, putting out her arms.
“Hi, Martha.” She fell against me for a hug. This kid fit against me as much like a puzzle piece as her dad did.
Stop thinking like that.
Fletcher stopped walking a foot or two away from us. When he spoke, his eyes stayed locked on mine. “Hi guys. Fancy meeting you here.”
Candace looked between Fletcher and me a few times. “What brings you to the My Little Pony LIVE! concert?”
Martha pulled away from me and wrinkled up her nose. “My dad thinks I’m five years old.”
Fletcher put a hand on the top of his daughter’s head. “I bought the tickets on a coupon website and thought she’d like it.”
“I’m not a baby anymore, Dad.” Martha wriggled out from under his hand.
He offered us a shrug. “She asked for a pony doll a year ago. I didn’t realize the concert would be so passé.”
My heart swelled. Fletcher looked so cute when he was sheepish. Especially when he was she
epish in a vintage plaid shirt and old Levis with holes in the knee. He was the only doctor in town who looked like he moonlighted in an auto garage.
“What were you thinking, Dad?” I teased, letting my guard down.
Fletcher’s eyes lit up, and a spark jolted between us. “I was trying to impress her. Guess it fell flat.”
I opened my mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again, but nothing came out. There was so much I wanted to say to Fletcher. Words upon words stacked up on the tip of my tongue, but they all sat there, unmoving.
I could feel Candace’s gaze on the side of my face. Finally one sentence came out. “You switched me to a different doctor.”
Fletcher nodded, squaring his shoulders. “Thought it was best.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want Javornik. I want you.”
Fletcher gulped, making his adam’s apple bob. “I thought it would help.”
Candace’s head popped up between us. “Why would it help? Why was it best? What’s going on?”
“Mommy, the line is moving.” Ellie pointing a chubby finger.
“Go on, Lex, you can go first.” Candace nudged me. “You have to pee really bad.”
“No, just go without me.” I didn’t even look at her. I knew I was being rude, but that stupid tractor beam thing was happening with Fletcher again. I hated it. And loved it. But mostly hated it.
She looked down at Martha and held out her hand. “What about you, Martha? Do you need to go?”
“Yes, please.” She looked up at Fletcher. “Wait here, ‘kay?”
He finally looked away from me. “Got it. Right here. Thanks, Candace.”
My cousin narrowed her eyes at Fletcher. “Uh huh. It seems as though you two need to talk.”
“Right. I suppose so.” His cheeks reddened.
“Oh, good Lord, would you guys make up your mind?” The woman behind us growled. “Some of us really have to go!”
I swung around. “Then get in there, you impatient cow!”
“Whoa.” Fletcher took me by the elbow. “Please excuse us.”
I let him lead me across the palatial building, stopping at a row of windows that overlooked the Spokane River. I pulled my arm away.
“Feeling a little touchy lately?” he asked.
I sighed. “I guess.”
“You know, a lot of women will get a hormone surge in the last trimester, and it can make them—”
“Can you just be Fletcher right now, and not Dr. Know It All?” I snapped.
He stifled a laugh. “Okay.”
I pressed a hand to my forehead. It was really hot in this place. Or maybe I was just a beached whale and I got overheated every time I moved. “I’m sorry. I just haven’t seen you, or spoken to you, in so long. And things are just so weird between us. And between Marisol and me, and aw, hell. I don’t know.”
“I get it.” Fletcher’s mouth tugged downward. “It’s been rough for me, too. I haven’t seen Marisol lately. I’ve just been doing some thinking. Sorting things out.”
I swallowed back the lump in my throat. “I’m trying to give you and Marisol space. But then I run into you two together, and all of my feelings come back. I move backwards about ten spaces.”
“Me, too,” His hand came up to touch me, but dropped. “I thought if I moved your case to Dr. Javornik, it would help. But now I just miss you more.”
“I thought my feelings would dissipate, but they’re just getting worse.” I pushed my hair back from my forehead, and fanned my face. “I hoped it was some sort of hormone surge, and that I wasn’t stupid enough to fall for a guy who isn’t even available. But every time I’m around you… whammo. I can’t look at anyone else or form coherent sentences. I’m losing it.”
This time Fletcher’s hand did capture mine, and his thumb started to stroke a path from one side of my knuckles to the other. “I thought the same thing. I thought if I avoided you, I would get over whatever it is I’m feeling.” He pulled my hand, bringing me an inch or two closer.
I should have pulled my hand back. A responsible woman would have pulled her hand back. But did I? No. No I did not.
“Lexie, what I feel for you is strong.” Fletcher’s eyes bored into mine, and I was pretty sure I was going to burst into flame soon. “It crosses every line that I, as a doctor, have. It’s completely unprofessional and inappropriate. I have no right to want you, not only because I’m dating Marisol, but because I am, or was, your doctor. But when I’m with you, all I want is to be touching you. And when I’m not with you, all I can do is think about where you are, who you’re with, and whether or not you’re happy or sad or smiling or crying. And when I see you with my daughter…”
Fletcher stopped speaking. We were now close enough to each other that I could have stood on my toes and pressed a kiss to his neck. After a beat, he cleared his throat. “Let’s just say, Lex, my feelings for you scare me.”
“I’m scared, too,” I whispered. “I’ve got so much baggage. My mother’s sleeping with her pastor, and I’m pregnant, and—”
“I don’t care about baggage,” he whispered. “None of that matters.”
It didn’t make sense. I was eight months pregnant, red-faced, sweaty, and puffier than someone with a peanut allergy who ate a Snickers bar. My hair was a complete mess, and if you stared at my stomach through my tee shirt for long enough, you would see it shift and move like a scene from the movie Aliens.
But the way he was looking at me filled me right up to the brim with joy. Fletcher was beaming down at me like I was the most gorgeous, traffic-stopping supermodel he’d ever laid eyes on. He looked at me like I’d just told him he’d won a billion dollars. I’d been waiting my whole life to have a man look at me like that. Nate never had. Neither had anyone else, for that matter. Fletcher’s eyes on me felt like the warmest sunshine on the most perfect spring day, and I literally never wanted him to look away.
“What do I do?” His voice was soft, and the crowd around us was thick, but I could still understand him. I would have been able to recognize his voice from ten miles away.
The lump in my throat won over, and my eyes filled up with hot tears. He was dating Marisol. “I don’t know.”
“I can’t pretend I don’t have feelings for you anymore.” He took hold of both of my shoulders. “I don’t want to fight it anymore.”
He’s dating Marisol.
Heat started to creep up the back of my neck. “And yet you’re still dating my friend.” Fletcher’s mouth pulled into a guilty line, and I went on. “If you feel so much for me, and nothing for her, then why are you still stringing Marisol along?”
Fletcher’s head hung, his forehead touching mine. “I don’t know. I thought that…” His voice petered out.
I waited and took a shaky breath. “You thought she was too hot to just give up on.”
“No.” He raised his head and looked me in the eye. “Falling for one of my patients, especially one about to become a single mother, is unethical. You’re emotionally fragile. If I tried to pursue you now, it would be taking advantage of you at your most vulnerable point.”
“Wait.” I pushed Fletcher’s chest and moved him back a few inches. “You’re still dating Marisol because I’m emotionally fragile?”
Fletcher grasped my hands. “No, wait, I—”
“There you are.” Candace called. Her eyes widened at the sight of Fletcher’s fingers enveloping mine. “I, um, are we interrupting something?”
“Yes,” Fletcher said at the same time I said, “No.”
“Daddy, what are you doing?” Martha asked, putting her hands on her hips.
I turned back to Fletcher. I wanted to tell him that I didn’t care what he’d done with Marisol—or anyone else, for that matter. But I wasn’t an idiot. At least not all the time, anyway.
“I’m sorry, Fletcher.” I pulled my hands away, and shoved them into my pockets. “But that’s the biggest pile of bullshit I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”
His mouth
dropped open. I stomped past Candace, pulling on the sleeve of her blouse as I went. I heard Fletcher say my name, but ignored it. I had too.
“Intermission is over.” My voice shook. “Brian’s probably wondering where we are by now.”
“Oh, uh, okay.” She scooped Ellie up, and followed me. Once we were a good fifty yards away, she grabbed my arm. “What the heck was that about?”
I didn’t stop walking until I got to our section. I was afraid if I could still see Fletcher and Martha, I was going to dissolve into a sobbing mess, and Candace was going to have to scrape me off of the floor with a shovel.
“We kissed,” I blurted.
Candace gasped. “Just now?”
“No.” Shaking my head, I covered my eyes. “A long time ago. At the house he’s buying from Corbin. But it started before that.” When I opened my eyes, tears slid down my face. “I’m in love with him, Candace.”
Chapter Twenty-one
“I think Fletcher is going to break up with me.” Marisol’s voice was flat and defeated.
I nearly swallowed my tongue.
It’d been twenty-four hours since I called Fletcher out at the My Little Pony LIVE! concert. And I’d come to my Lamaze class—where my friends were acting as dual coaches—prepared for a punch in the face from Marisol. But instead, she’d walked in with slumped shoulders, and plopped down on the floor with a thump.
“What makes you say that?” Candace asked nervously. Her blonde eyebrows were so high on her forehead they practically blended into her hairline. She knew the whole story now and was begging me to come clean to Marisol. But I refused. It was up to Fletcher to make this right now.
Why? Because I was pregnant and moody and “emotionally fragile,” that’s why. Oh, and also because I was a total chicken.
“He called and asked me to come by his place tonight after,” she gestured to the rest of a class, “this thingy. Whatever it’s called.”
Our teacher, a tall woman with a long silver braid running down her back, walked by and touched Marisol’s shoulder. “This class is called Prepared Labor and Natural Birthing. Welcome, friend.”
