by W. Winters
My thoughts eventually give way to a whispered mantra. “The baby’s okay. The baby’s okay.” It’s the only thing I can repeat that calms me down. The adrenaline, the chills, the fear—it all means nothing because my baby is okay.
My gaze rises to the mirror, where dark circles under my eyes greet me.
I can’t stand to look at them or the redness gathering in the whites of my eyes. I can’t get back into bed either. Not with the nightmare still fresh over the sheets.
One look at the rumpled covers and I have to turn away before her voice hisses in my ear again.
I tell myself I’m just getting tea and then I’ll climb back in bed, but that doesn’t explain why I grab a thick sweatshirt and throw it on over my pajamas. I know my boots are at the door.
I was always a bad liar, even to myself.
I told Seth I’d be here when he got back, but I can’t stay. I need to get out of here. I still have time to catch Bethany before she leaves at five, the start of the morning shift. Work will be slow and I have to tell her.
I’ll bring her a cup of coffee so she can power through this next hour—that last hour is a bitch, after all. It’s always the most boring, just doing rounds on patients as they sleep.
The rain from earlier has stopped, but I still manage to walk right into a deep puddle the second I make it down the porch steps.
“Fuck,” I mutter as the freezing cold water splashes up the right leg of my pants and I curse my way to my car in the cold night. My breath fogs in front of my face and all the while my keys jingle happily beside me.
The radio’s on when I get in my car and I’m quick to turn it down. The car starts with a rumble and I sit back in my seat, digging my phone out from my purse.
I’m smart enough to at least let Seth know where I’m going. He doesn’t get a say in whether or not I go though, given his ass isn’t even here.
I whisper the text as I write it out in my phone, “Getting Cami coffee and going to the center. I’ll be back before six to go back to sleep.” I nearly send him the message when I realize my mistake.
Cami.
I wrote Cami.
Fuck, that pain is sudden and fresh. It’s a familiar pain of loss I haven’t felt in a long time. Fuck. My head slams back against the headrest.
I could tell myself I’m just tired, but that’s not all this is. I miss her. I miss her so damn much with everything happening. Cami would know what to do and how to tell Seth the truth. Damn it hurts and forces more tears to well up in my eyes. I wish Cami were here. “No more fucking crying,” I mutter to myself.
A sharp pain that feels like a knife twisting in my chest makes me struggle to take in a steady breath. My eyes close tight and my neck arches back so my face is toward the hood of the car. I cover my face with my left hand and drop my phone into my lap. “No more crying,” I whisper into my clasped hands. “My baby is okay and I can’t cry because it’ll upset the baby,” I say. Making the bold statement helps me. It truly calms me through and through.
With a shuddering breath, I admit I’m all sorts of fucked up this witching hour, but I change Cami to Bethany and hit send, gathering my composure and continuing with this plan I’ve barely put together in my head.
I pull out of the drive before Seth can text back and tell the men at the gate where I’m going.
There are two men on security duty in the brick shack at the end of the drive. At least that’s what I call it; although I’m sure it’s armored and reinforced to high heaven, I still call it the security shack in my head every time I look at it. With a single look at each other, they decide which one will follow me and tell me to wait until he’s behind me.
Security detail is still a thing, I guess. This time it’s a man named Garett with dirty blond hair that looks charming like it is even though it’s all messed up. He also looks far too awake for 3:00 a.m., but I don’t question it. I only nod and sit there in silence, waiting for him to get the car. I don’t care if Seth wants them to follow me for the rest of my life, to be honest. They can follow me through the coffee shop drive-through that’s open twenty-four hours all they want.
Which Garett does.
Follow me wherever. Just don’t tell me where to go.
The entire ride is silent. My stomach bothers me and it grumbles. Right before the turn to the center, I swear I feel a bump or a kick, but I can’t tell for sure. I hold my breath as I turn in and all the while that I’m idling, my keys still in the ignition, my car still running and the smell of a large mocha coffee and a large hot chocolate still permeating the small space, I wait for another kick.
But the kick, if it was that, doesn’t happen again. I swear I felt it though. A little hope stirs in my chest.
I rack my brain trying to remember when kicks start as I put the car into park, absently noting that there are three other cars parked here. Two of them I recognize as Aiden’s and Bethany’s. Kicks start up earlier for some women, like within two months. Others around four or five months, I think. So that doesn’t do me a damn bit of good.
I fight the urge to rub soothing circles on my tummy as I make my way into the Rockford Center. Mostly because each hand is grasping a foam cup of hot liquid.
Gesturing to the handsome babysitter, also known as my security detail, I motion that I’m going in as he parks his car and I hit the handicap door button on the exterior of the building for the front entrance to open for me.
My memory is shit this early in the morning but I still wish I’d paid more attention to the maternity chapters of all the textbooks I’ve had to read and all the classes I’ve had to take. One thing though that always stood out is that every woman is different, so therefore every pregnancy is different. Which doesn’t offer me any comfort as I take the elevator up. Not a damn bit.
Nerves build in my belly as the elevator rises one floor at a time.
Ding.
The elevator arriving is the only noise on the entire floor. It can be unsettling this late at night, with the hallways empty and the lights on overnight mode, so they’re off until motion is detected. It’s creepy as fuck, to be honest.
Luckily, the main light is always on since someone is always here.
The view of Aiden leaning out from his office is a welcome sight, even if the look on his face isn’t.
With his brow furrowed he asserts, “You aren’t on the schedule for today.” Well, that’s a nice hello.
“I know,” I answer him, shrugging off my coat at the reception desk and laying it on a cleared-off spot free of fall décor and paperwork. The cold still clings to me, so I pick the hot cup back up the second I can. “I just brought Bethany coffee.”
“She should be done with her rounds in a few minutes.” His answer is simple, welcoming even, but his face is still pinched with concern.
“Are you all right?” he finally questions and I give him an honest answer, saying, “I couldn’t sleep and something’s been bugging me that I thought Bethany could help me with.”
I half expect him to tell me that now is not the time, don’t bring personal life into work, blah, blah, blah, but he only nods once and tells me, still leaning just outside his office door, “If you ever need anything, I’m here.” It’s sincere and his tired eyes reflect nothing but genuine warmth.
“Thanks.” The word leaves me a little too quietly and I have to clear my throat before I can say it louder.
With a pat on his door, he vanishes back into his office, the door being left open just an inch. Nosy fucker… The snide thought does nothing but lessen the tension in my shoulders and put a smirk on my lips. I do like that nosy fucker, even if he’s been weird lately. I’ve been weird too, after all.
The moment I pull up an extra chair beside the one behind the reception desk, Bethany’s there.
“What the hell are you doing here?” It’s nearly an accusation, probably the exact words Aiden wanted to say. With her wide eyes riddled with concern, she smiles back when I smile up at her, holding out the hot
cup of coffee.
“Brought you coffee and a dilemma that won’t let me sleep.” Inwardly I grimace, remembering the real reason I woke up. I imagine Jean will haunt me for the rest of my life and I sure as hell will never breathe a word of what happened to anyone. No Jean. No nightmare. But this early morning, before the sun has a chance to slip out, I’m telling Bethany everything else.
All the tension leaves her squared shoulders and she eagerly accepts. The clipboard she held in her hand claps down on the desk as she sinks into the chair beside me and takes the coffee with a grateful simper.
With her pink scrubs bunched up her arms, she blows across the top of the coffee and takes a sip. With the steam pouring out of the small opening at the top, it must still be too hot because her sip is short and Bethany’s a girl who gulps down a drink, rather than savoring it.
I fidget in my seat, twisting the chair back and forth and waiting for the right words to come, but they don’t.
An easy hum of satisfaction from Bethany is followed by the easy demand as she says, “Spill it.”
Thump. My heart slams in protest, but I ignore it. It wants to fight everything nowadays.
“I have a heart condition and it’s worse than I ever could have imagined.”
Bethany’s demeanor changes in a blink. Setting her coffee on the desk, she leans forward, the blood draining from her face.
“Okay,” she says, in the tone we use when talking to patients, although fear drowns the neutral word. She looks like she’s about to break down and she expects me to tell her I’m going to die. Which… I would, if I were to be completely honest.
I pick at my nails, feeling this wave of heat roll up my body.
“I’m on the donor list for a transplant because surgery is too risky.”
“Oh my God,” Bethany blurts out and covers her face, her body crumpling in on itself but only for a moment. She’s quick to correct her posture and reach out a hand to me, which I accept. Her hand holding mine, just a little human touch, is everything that I needed.
“I’m not concerned about that as much as something else.”
“What the hell?” Her answer comes out in a single breath. “You need to be,” she adds and she’s harsh with her rebuttal, tears gathering in her eyes and falling just as quickly.
“What can I do?” I say and shake my head gently. “I have medicine, I take it. And now I wait. Why concern myself when there’s something more important?”
Her bottom lip wobbles for a fraction of a second before she rakes her hand through her hair, pulling her hand from mine, and starts listing everything else I can do. “Diet, stress levels, there’s so much you can do.”
“Is there really though? I’m doing the best I can with it, but we both know sometimes it’s not …” I trail off and swallow thickly before continuing. “I promise you, I’m doing everything the doctor told me and praying for a donor match to become available so I can have the surgery.” As Bethany nods in understanding, although I’m not sure she believes me, I watch her swallow and promise myself I won’t tell her the doctor only gave me a year. I’ll lie if she asks. She doesn’t need to know that. I accept whatever comes to me on this front. I’ll do everything I can, but I’ve prepared myself for death before and I can’t run any longer.
“I’m also pregnant,” I blurt out before the sadness overtakes this entire conversation.
“What?” she exclaims and I practically chuckle at the whiplash Bethany just went through.
Her eyes are wide and her expression simply shocked until I tell her what she needs to know.
“I’m pregnant and I’m so happy,” I say although my voice cracks during the last part and I hate it. “Why do I keep crying?” There aren’t tears yet but I swear if they come I’ll be pissed.
“Because you’re pregnant,” Bethany answers as she gets off her chair to hug me. Her embrace is steadying, just like I knew it would be. A safe place full of shared happiness and love.
“All these tears,” I say, wiping at my eyes to keep them from coming and then wiping my hand on my pajama pants. She takes that as her cue to sit back down, although she doesn’t take her eyes off of my stomach.
“It’s because you’re pregnant,” she says again, sniffling and plucking tissues out of the box on the reception desk. She hands one to me and keeps another for herself.
“Oh yeah? Then what’s your excuse?” I jokingly push back.
“Because you’re pregnant,” she says comically, quietly laughing and I join in with her.
After the laughter dies down, the realization slowly hits her. “How is your heart going to hold up with…”
“The doctor wants to do a planned cesarean to avoid the stress of labor.”
It’s a sobering thought once again, but I keep a thin smile plastered where it is. I won’t let this light be dimmed. My baby will be okay. My baby is okay. That’s what matters right now.
“I …” I pause and take a deep breath, hating the next part. “I don’t know how to tell Seth—”
“He’ll be so happy,” she says, cutting me off, so certain that I’ll get to have that part of a happily ever after. She reaches for my hand and I pull away, shocking both her and myself.
“Sorry, it just hurts.” I swallow thickly before continuing. “Because he was happy, when I told him.” Confusion mars her tired eyes until I add, “But I just found out that this baby isn’t his.”
Bethany can’t tear her eyes from mine, not even as she reaches for her coffee as if it will protect her from the uneasiness of this conversation. Tears cloud my vision and prevent me from clearly seeing the shock on her face.
“Do you know who?” she asks and I shake my head.
“I literally have no idea. I always used protection. I may have been a little … promiscuous… but I wasn’t reckless.” The defensiveness in my tone isn’t needed. Bethany’s never judged me. She never would.
“I know you did. I know.”
“I have my schedule from the past few months in the office and I can look through it to see the dates.” She nods along with my explanation.
“I want to tell him but I have to go to an appointment first to make sure everything is okay. To make sure the baby is healthy and find out exactly how far along I am.”
“You haven’t gone to a doctor?” Her question doesn’t hide her shock and how ludicrous she must think this situation is. “You just went. I went with you! You were right there.” I squirm in my seat. There’s that shame again.
“I didn’t realize I was pregnant. Definitely not this far along—”
“How far?”
“I don’t know… That’s partially why I’m here.” I glance down the hall, past Aiden’s office, where I know there’s an ultrasound machine.
I don’t even have to tell Bethany what I’m thinking before she grabs my hand, her ass already out of the seat as she says, “Let’s go see your baby.”
Seth
“He set the meet, he shouldn’t be late,” Walsh mutters without breaking his steady pace. He hasn’t been still since we got on the train.
Nervousness keeps him pacing in slow but steady circles around a staircase in the center of the nearly empty warehouse. It’s driving me fucking crazy. Maybe this is what Marcus wanted… for me to kill Walsh before he gets here.
Letting out a controlled exhale, I slip my hands in my pockets and glance past the iron rails of the staircase to the large, sleek silver doors of the elevator behind it.
“It’s always a warehouse,” I murmur so low, Walsh doesn’t hear.
He stops in his tracks. “What?” The fact that we’re both in suits doesn’t mean shit right now. Exhaustion is evident on his face and I can feel it weighing down my own expression. I don’t have to see myself in the reflection of the elevator doors to know I look like hell.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I tell him, “Nothing.”
“He’s never made me wait before,” Walsh tells me then takes a few steps, walking closer to
the edge of the room where boxes are stacked. “He’s always waiting. I bet he’s here. Just waiting.”
This place must still be in use, which makes me think there are cameras, although I haven’t seen one yet.
I’ve gone over how to phrase everything we need to discuss so that if there are security cameras here, I won’t be implicated if footage turns up later.
I don’t trust Walsh. I don’t trust Marcus.
At this point, an hour past the time agreed upon for the meet, I don’t trust my gut either. It told me to come, and now it’s screaming for me to leave.
“Seth King.” A deep voice booms from somewhere to my right through the barren warehouse. The familiar chill that comes with it travels up the back of my neck.
Marcus.
Just his name irks me, so the sound of his voice feels like someone digging even deeper into a fresh wound. “Finally we meet,” Marcus states, but the voice comes from the left this time. Nervousness travels down my spine, starting at the base of my neck.
“Is that what this is?” I question, keeping my voice even and letting my gaze roam from the left side of the room to the right, slowly going over every shadow and stack of boxes. There are three levels, with the main floor open all the way up to the third floor with a railing along the hallways that line each floor. The building itself is at least thirty feet high. In this tin can of a warehouse, Marcus could be anywhere. “Usually when I meet someone, I see them,” I add, raising my voice and feeling my spine straighten, my shoulders squaring.
The voice, in response, comes from behind me. “Did you really think I’d allow that?”
Walsh turns to face the sound, irritation clear on his expression, not the fear I imagine Marcus intended. I don’t follow suit. My feet stay planted right where they are and I force myself to remain in control. Despite everything he’s done, Marcus is only a man. “Yes.” My voice is strong and every emotion except for irritation flees. “I did think you’d meet me face-to-face.”
Everything Marcus does is deliberate, and I’m sure not showing his face is part of his plan, but also this theatricality with scattering his voice was done for a reason.
