by Vivien Vale
I’m still not completely sold.
“Seems like you were making fun of me just a minute ago.”
“I…I don’t…please…first I ran in here, and now it sounds like he has…I’m afraid to…he could come in here at any moment!”
Yeah, I’m starting to believe it. She’s not that good of a fucking actress, and the terror and unsettling weirdness sound much too real.
And I just realize that I’m standing in almost the same fucking spot that I was on when the phone first rang.
Unconsciously, I think I could already tell some shit was going down before I answered the phone. And consciously, I’m really fucking starting to believe it now.
If things were just a little bit different, I wouldn’t necessarily give a shit how real this is.
I mean, I’m not saying I would leave her in danger—whatever fucking danger this is—but I probably wouldn’t be thinking about how I’m going to get myself to wherever the fuck she is as fast as fucking possible.
Because this is not just Chantal my ex-girlfriend.
This is Chantal, the mother of my brother’s child.
And, if this somehow isn’t for real, it would be pretty fucking strange.
Honesty, in my experience, can be an issue with Chantal.
But on the other hand, calling me years after our relationship ended to do some weird-ass prank shit or whatever this could be is also not an issue with Chantal as far as I know.
“Carter, Carter...” Chantal’s talking slightly louder now and growing breathless with fear.
And I just realize that I’m starting to fucking run with my coat clasped in my hand.
And I don’t even know what fucking direction I’m supposed to be going…
Towards my fucking car would be a start.
“Where are you?” I ask. “And what exactly is going on?”
“Carter...” The sound of a swallowed sob jars the shit out of me. “I…you know I don’t use anymore. It was…just a moment of weakness.”
“What have you done?” The world abruptly starts dimming around me. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend the implications of what Chantal just said.
“I didn’t. I…” Chantal lowers her voice dramatically. “I just came here to…I don’t know. But then I couldn’t do it. I told them I didn’t want any. I didn’t want to buy.”
Fuck, I’m believing it now. It’s all becoming clear.
“Let me guess: they didn’t care for your change of heart.”
Chantal’s sobs, especially as she tries to stifle them, radiate with the sound of pure terror through my phone.
My body feels almost weightless as I tear like an actual fucking bat out of hell to my car.
These motherfuckers don’t realize who’s fucking family they’re fucking with now.
“Carter, I’m in the bathroom…p-please.”
“Where are you?” My voice is coming out raspy and low. I’d never even fucking heard it that way—I’m almost scared for these fucking pricks now.
“I s-said I’m in the b…”
“Where are you?”
“Colton T-Towers Penthou…”
Now that I have the information I need, I hang up the phone and nearly fly the last few feet to my car.
This isn’t about Chantal my ex-girlfriend or trying to revisit the past in any way.
There’s no way I would go down that path again, because it would lead to the same painful place every time.
This is about Chantal, the mother of my brother’s child.
I throw my driver’s side door open with enough force to nearly tear it off its fucking hinges. It stays on, though, even after I dive in and slam it shut twice as hard.
Tearing through the streets of Midtown at near-supersonic speed, there’s one phone call I need to make on my way to going fucking ballistic.
After dialing June’s number on my dashboard display, I hook a hard, tire-squealing left turn towards where these sorry fucking bastards are about to have the worst day of their fucking lives.
The car stereo system, automatically synced to my phone, carries an angelic ding through the speakers.
“Okay, Carter. What is it?”
“June, your voice is the best goddamn thing to ever come through my car’s speakers.”
“So now you’re driving here?”
“Soon, June. I’m picking you up after the ultrasound—right now I have to make a quick stop.”
“Yeah, whatever you…you, asshole.”
The line goes dead.
Did June really just say that?
That couldn’t have been her. I’ll have to ask when I see her in a bit.
But like I said to June, I just have a quick stop to make first.
Chapter 30
June
I’ve changed into what I’ve come to think of as mommy clothes: a comfortable pair of yoga pants, an oversized sweater, and a pair of trendy boots that are forgiving about the way my feet swell now.
The good thing about my job with Carter’s company is that it bankrolls designer maternity wear.
Maybe the only good thing, considering the day I’ve had.
“June Johnson, here to see Dr. Lucas.” I try to force a smile at the receptionist, but she doesn’t even attempt to force one back.
City slickers.
“You’re not on the schedule,” the receptionist says instead. Now the forced smile comes—Botox-tight and completely unnerving. “If you don’t have an appointment, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.”
Honestly? I preferred her grimacing.
“Ugh,” I sigh, realizing my mistake. “Is it under Abraham? June Abraham or maybe Carter Abraham?”
He booked the appointment for me, after all. Insisted that there was nowhere else in the city worth going. It would only make sense that he’d put it under his own name.
Typical male.
At the sound of that name, the receptionist’s eerie smile fades again. It’s replaced with a look of awe.
“You’re here for an…ultrasound.” She raises her colored-in eyebrows in surprise as she checks her screen. “Wow. I didn’t think Carter Abraham was the type.”
Here’s where I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from lashing back with an impolite retort.
Internally though, I’m thinking, what the hell does she mean by that? I take offense at her comment, but then realize it’s aimed more at Carter than at myself.
Instead, I plant another fake smile on my lips that makes my cheeks hurt and tell her that, yes, I am indeed here for an ultrasound.
Everyone around here knows Carter’s name, and he’s somewhat of a legend, to be honest.
I’m not surprised by the way the nurse’s expression changes from smug to profoundly impressed.
She glances around and beyond me towards the waiting room filled with other fat, uncomfortable moms-to-be.
“Will Mr. Abraham be joining you today?” Now, her eyes fixate back to me for a response to her question.
“No.” I shake my head regretfully, wondering why I’m allowing this stranger to shame me. “He’s unable to make it.”
Okay, so maybe the extra explanation isn’t actually necessary, but at any rate, I can spot that judgmental flicker in her eyes from a mile away.
She gives me a look of pity, like I’m a poor single mother who’s been knocked up and going through the trials of life all alone with no support.
“Let me just check the computer to get you booked in the schedule, then, dear.” The woman moves her gaze back to her screen and narrows her eyes in on the contents, which I can’t see.
“Okay,” I whisper meekly and shift my weight uncomfortably.
I’m feeling quite indignant, but I can’t very well have it out with this sardonic lady, and running out of here would be childish and not in the best interest of my growing baby, either.
I’m sure a shouting brawl would capture unwanted attention, not to mention cast a limelight on Carter that I’m willing to b
et he wouldn’t appreciate.
The nurse glances back up at me with a sour smile. “If you will just take a seat in one of the waiting room chairs over there, you will be called back momentarily.”
She gestures to the open area behind me, and I nod in response to her instructions. “Thanks,” I tell her and spin around.
I park my ever-growing rear end in one of the seats and pick up a magazine called ‘Parents.’ It has a picture of a bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked infant on the cover who’s smiling with a pair of pearly white teeth at the bottom of their mouth.
“Lose the baby weight with these five tricks!” One of the enticing story teasers says in huge black letters, sprawled out alluringly on the cover.
Now, these are tips I’ll need to take into account for the future, but for now, I need to focus my attention on getting this baby out of my body as safely as possible.
“June Johnson?”
Instinctively, I glance up at the sound of my name being called out. “That’s me.” I wave my hand timidly.
“Come this way, dear,” another nurse in scrubs is holding a clipboard and beckoning me to follow her.
Every step I take slices me with stings of nervous trepidation, but I try to counteract the jitters by swallowing massive breaths that help me calm down and not surrender to the anxious torture reeling in my brain.
The nurse has auburn-colored hair and seems a little friendlier than the one who checked me in at the receptionist’s desk.
“Please step on the scale,” she instructs and points to the corner.
“Okay,” I gulp hard and lick my lips, anticipating how much I’ve gained so far.
“You look good,” she smiles. “You’re gaining weight at a very healthy pace.”
“Phew,” I chuckle and pretend to wipe sweat off my brow in relief at her testament.
She takes my blood pressure and makes me pee into a cup, and then finally I’m able to go to the examination room, where I put on a gown and wait for the doctor to arrive.
I stare blankly at the stark white wall in front of me, then glance around nervously at all the tools and gadgets around the room.
The stirrups on the examination table are mocking me, and I’m not used to feeling this kind of intense pressure about any situation.
A few minutes later, all I can hear is the swooshing sound of my heartbeat as it pounds like a high school marching band’s drum line through my ears.
I hear a knock on the door, a rapping sound that makes every muscle in my body freeze in response.
A few seconds later, a man with salt and pepper hair swings the door open with a smile.
“Hello,” he says and introduces himself by giving me a handshake.
Horror fills me with dread at the realization that my doctor will be a man. “Will you please place your feet in the stirrups?”
He asks the question as if it’s no big deal, but to me, I’m swallowing fear by the gallon.
“Sure,” I say meekly and do as he asks, placing two pink-socked feet in each holster at the end of the examination bed.
I take a deep breath and wait to see what happens next. Then, as if the universe is throwing me a lifeline, there’s another knock at the door.
To me, this saving grace represents a wonderful interruption that might buy me some time to gather and compose my fraying nerves.
Hopefully, I can bind them back together before the examination starts, even though I’m still excited to see the baby on the ultrasound screen.
“Forgive me, doctor,” another nurse enters the room and states apologetically. “The father is here for the ultrasound.”
The father?
Carter!
I glance towards the door with hope, and then I’m encompassed by a feeling of peace as I notice Carter’s friendly and familiar face.
He walks through the door with cool and charismatic confidence. Thank God he’s here.
I didn’t want to have to go through this alone, and now I don’t have to carry that burden on my shoulders any longer now that my angel in human form has come to save me.
“Hi,” I give him a feeble attempt at a smile and try to focus on not hurtling myself across the room.
Something still feels a bit off for me. I can’t really explain what it is, but the spectrum of colors is shifting from the array of a rainbow to…well…black and white.
I can hardly think straight through my anxiety, but something about the way Carter greets me, and his movements seem awkward and out of place.
He isn’t behaving like his usual cheerful self, and I’m ambivalent on what to make of the situation.
It’s not like I have any extra time to dissect any of my thoughts or emotions, though, because the doctor slips on his blue latex gloves with a smacking sound that is brazen with finality.
“Now that everyone is here, it’s time to begin,” he gives us a warm smile that should have reassured me, but as I glance over at Carter, something just doesn’t feel right.
His behavior isn’t sitting well with me. The doctor flicks off the lights, and I glance over at Carter.
“Is everything alright with you?” I whisper and give him an unconvinced glance that is dripping with uncertainty.
He looks over at me and squeezes my hand. “Everything is fine.”
I take a deep breath and lean back against the pillows while the doctor pulls out his magical little ultrasound wand.
The screen lights up and exposes my belly, and the beautiful baby doing flips inside of my body.
“Oh, wow,” I say and giggle, pointing to the screen. “Is that the baby?”
“It sure is,” the doctor says proudly.
Carter and I exchange a look of relief as we watch the movements on screen.
“We’re going to listen to the heartbeat now,” the doctor informs us.
“Okay,” I say as a fresh wave of nervousness washes over me. I hope that everything sounds good.
A few seconds later, the glorious sound of horse galloping fills my ears and ignites my own heart with joy.
That beautiful sound is coming from my baby’s heart, beating strongly with an elegance that brings me to a basket of tears.
“Everything sounds great. It’s a nice, solid, and healthy heartbeat,” the doctor confirms.
I grin at him through blurry eyes. “Thank you.”
I glance over at Carter. He seems excited.
By the time we walk out, his demeanor changes again. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. It’s almost as if he’s disconnected from the moment.
“Aren’t you happy?” I question him.
He doesn’t look at me and flicks the unlock button on his key. “Of course I’m happy.”
“Okay,” I say and glance down at the pavement below my feet.
Something is still off about him, and I can’t shake the feeling. He moves around to the passenger door and opens it to help my rotund body climb inside.
Before I start moving towards comfort of the seat, Carter picks up my chin and turns it to face him, drawing me in for a kiss.
At first, I was unfazed.
Then I notice it.
The color of Carter’s eyes is not his usual deep ocean blue.
These eyes are the wrong color.
This isn’t Carter leaning in to kiss me intimately. This is Lawrence.
Chapter 31
Carter
A fucking volcano eruption would have been less spectacular than my entry into Chantal’s drug dealer’s penthouse.
To say my insides are boiling is an understatement. A fucking inferno is raging through me. It grows so fast I can barely stop myself from smashing everything in sight.
Some lean, tall dude with too many pimples and bloodshot eyes tries to stop me.
“Hey, man,” he starts then stops.
Without a word, question or explanation, my fist collides with his face. I get him fair between the eyes, and he crumples in front of me.
Like a rag doll, I toss him aside
.
I don’t feel sorry for him. What could I say? He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Feeling the adrenaline pump through me even faster, my eyes search the room. Where is the fucker? And what are all these dudes doing here?
Another one steps in my way, and instead of punching him, I shove him to my left.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him lose his fucking balance and grab onto something. That something was a vase on a display stand. Both go tumbling down.
I stand there briefly, taking in huge gulps of air as I reel with anger. Both send volts of electricity through me and make me cloudy with disillusionment at the same time.
The guy I shoved into the vase is currently in a heap on the floor, crumpled like a piece of paper.
He stares up at me with an expression of horror, as if afraid to move a single muscle on the chance that I’d clock him so forcefully in the face it will send him into oblivion.
In all fairness, he’s probably right.
If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay right where he fucking is, like the deadbeat shithole pile of garbage he is, right there on the floor.
Through some unstoppable force, I’m turning into the Hulk, a loose cannon with burly muscles that’s ready to tear anyone I see limb from limb, especially if they dare get in the way of my path of destruction.
The guy on the floor, who I assume is the drug dealer, continues to stay right where he is, staring up at me with stone black eyes that look as if they’ve seen death a few times over.
“I don’t mean any harm, dude,” he says meekly, and grimaces while placing his hands protectively over his head.
So, he’s not going to try to stop me. Well, that’s savvy of him.
I barrel down a narrow, poorly lit hallway and stop in front of a closed door. I don’t know what it is about this particular location of the house, but I hesitate, coming to a hasty stop right in front of it.
Pins and needles of alarm spread across my skin like wildfire, and I prickle my ears to hear anything that might give off a clue to Chantal’s location.
I know she’s in this room. My gut can feel it, and my pulse pounds in my ears like angry river rapids.
At first, I try the door. I know my efforts will be in vain, but instinct tells me to attempt it anyway.
