by Kate Stewart
“We have dinner plans at eight,” I reminded him as he pulled away from kissing me goodbye.
“Nag, nag. Jeesh,” Cameron said with the wave of his hand. “I’ll be back in time.”
“Did you just say ‘nag, nag’ to me?” I shrieked.
Bree let out a belly laugh as she hugged me, and I glared at Cameron over her shoulder.
“I’ll be here beautiful. It’s not like I want to miss a date with that rounding ass of yours. From behind baby, it’s perfection.”
He kissed his fingers and let them go as if he were giving the best of Italian food compliments before he hauled ass out the door.
I stood stunned mouth gaping, but Bree read him easily. “Oh, he’s so trying to push your buttons. Did you guys have hot angry preggo sex recently?”
“Did he just call me a fat ass?!”
“Noooo, he said your ass was getting bigger. A sure-fire way to land himself in a good fight.”
“He better—”
“Forgot my keys,” he called from the hallway, his eyes full of mischief as he gave me a once over, licked his lips and walked back out the door. I narrowed my eyes. “It would seem so.”
“Yep,” she said with a knowing smile. “Yeah, he’s feeling the pregger sex, and the angry pregger sex. You will have no issue being worked over by that man. That’s a good sign.”
I was already in front of a mirror doing my best to look at my ass.
“God, what a punk. I’m going to kick his butt for saying that!” I winced. “I meant that figuratively.”
“I know that, babe,” she said looking on at me. “And so would he if he heard you.”
“I still get worried I go too far sometimes,” I said carefully. “I swear every time I hit him in jest, I realize what I did, and I end up crying in a closet. He busted me the other day and we had an argument about it.”
“Because those aren’t your mistakes to pay for,” Bree pointed out.
“That’s what he said.”
“You’re just being yourself. Cameron’s man enough to realize that. It’s not your fault. Don’t beat yourself up for shit like that.”
“I’m trying not to,” I said with a sigh. “He went to therapy when his marriage fell apart, but I feel like I’m out of my element.”
“Because he got the help he needed and if he says he’s okay you have to trust that. There’s nothing you can do but listen, and only if he wants to talk.”
“He doesn’t. I don’t think he ever will. I told him I told you about Kat before he had a chance to stop me. It took him almost a day to talk to me after that. I don’t think it will ever be something he’ll be open about. He says he did his time in therapy and he’s not going back. Not when it’s about Kat. All I can do is read up and it’s horrifying.”
Bree nodded. “I stitched up a seventy-four-year-old man the other night whose wife hit him with a lamp. He begged me not to turn her in because she’d taken his social security check before he was admitted.”
“Jesus,” I whispered. “Did you report it?”
“The doctor did. It was the second time he’s seen him. But I would have. This stuff happens every day.”
“How do you do that? How do you handle that, Bree?”
“Because that man needed someone to be there to stitch him up and to listen to him. It’s not about me, it’s about them.”
“You’re my hero,” I said with a wobbling chin. “But you may have to talk me out of eye for an eye. I can’t forget that she hurt him. He had bruises while we were dating because he was attempting to reason with her. At first, he told me they were from roughhousing with Max on the basketball court, but confessed later it was because he was trying to finalize the divorce without getting anyone else involved. He was protecting her, and she just kept hitting him!”
“He should have reported it,” Bree said softly. “And he knows that, Abbie. He just didn’t want it known. Some people are just too proud. It’s his way. He worked through it the only way he felt he could while trying to keep his dignity.”
“I know, but look at the cost,” I said glancing out the window inwardly cringing about the signs I missed. “It makes me hate her in a violent way. My sweet man. How could she hit him?! How could she touch him like that?! I can’t believe I had the nerve to be sorry for my part in all of it when she didn’t even fucking deserve him! I swear to God I want to go all Scarface on her ass.”
Bree’s eyes widened. “Wow, mamma bear, not that you don’t have a right to be pissed, but your hormones are raging already. You wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
I showed her my teeth and winced. “Oh no!” I hung my head. “You think that’s why he ran away to play basketball?”
“You are a hot mess. Okay, yeah, we need to work some of this energy off and that big fat ass of yours.”
“You are going to hell,” I said as she tossed my Nikes at me.
“Female, mid-thirties, first baby, yeah your body isn’t going to bounce back.”
I crossed my arms indignant. “I got pregnant. I earned nine months of being fed chocolates while he rubs oil on my belly.”
“You got laid and made another human you are going to have to push out of that virginal vag and chase around for the next four years.”
I cringed.
“It’s not so romantic now, is it? We need to get those hormones under control right now, so we don’t scare the groom away a month before the wedding. And we need to get you in shape to be a late-blooming mommy.”
“Fine, that’s all I need is another coach in the family. I hate you already.”
I strapped on my shoes and looked outside to see Cameron approaching Mrs. Zingaro, who was in one of her trances while watering her freshly planted flowers with the hose Cameron had just installed. I almost tapped on the window to warn him and thought better of it.
Three, two, one.
Cameron was soaked seconds later and caught me laughing in the window above. He narrowed his eyes at me while Jenny apologized.
I gave him my biggest smile before I disappeared and turned to Bree.
“Let me guess. Mrs. Zingaro?”
“Yep,” I said as we walked out into the last of the spring sun.
The grass was a crisp green and the temperature was perfect. My mind flashed with the memory of the leaf I saw fall at Cameron’s back after our first cup of coffee. So much changed after that day.
My whole body flooded with emotion as Bree stood at my front door waiting for me to turn the lock. I looked in the direction Cameron fled from the crazy women his life.
“I love him so much,” I said with a shaky voice.
“Oh . . . my . . . fuck,” Bree exclaimed giving me a thorough once over.
I nodded my eyes widening. “Is this normal?”
“I would say that with you, it will be. Let’s get this going, shall we?”
“Okay, I would do anything for Cameron,” I professed.
She laughed and pulled me in for a hug as I did my best to suck it up. “I know girl, and he will for you too. That’s what it’s all about.”
I married Cameron on a warm Summer night surrounded by candlelight in a little ceremony in Wicker Park. Most of our wedding day I’d suffered from morning sickness and by the time I got to his side, I was ghastly white. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he told me I looked more beautiful than ever.
I’m sure my fairy godmother blinded him when I looked my worst. Which meant as I aged I would begin to look like a centerfold. That was good news.
What sucked is that I was sick for half of our honeymoon cruise and only managed to see the sparkling blue water of the toilet. I had two good days out at sea before we called it quits and flew home from Mexico only to end up on my couch watching Netflix and eating take out.
But my husband, my husband, my husband didn’t seem to mind in the least. He assured me we’d do it again someday as long as we didn’t have another ‘oops’ baby on the way. He teased me mercilessly as my pregnancy progressed and
despite my fear, he never had an issue handling my hormones.
Once again, my mother was right, because after my lull, my life picked up again and was not slowing down anytime in the immediate future.
So, I got joy out of the little things. And although I took fewer jobs to spend the first few months of my marriage as a wife, life was life, so I prioritized.
Almost seven months to the day I found out I was pregnant I made a much-needed date with my husband.
Cameron’s Mac: Hi. Sorry I’m late. I had to pick up some supplies for my wife.
Abbie’s Mac: You’re married?
Cameron cringed and shot daggers from where he sat.
Abbie’s Mac: Too soon?
He glared at me while I burst out laughing.
Abbie’s Mac: Come on! It was a little bit funny!
Dead green eyes stared back at me before he typed.
Cameron’s Mac: Not even a little.
Abbie’s Mac: Okay let’s see the supplies.
He pulled out two boxes of Milk Duds, my only pregnancy craving.
Abbie’s Mac: Thank you. What else do you have over there?
He pulled out some Ziti noodles and shrugged.
Cameron’s Mac: I called Mrs. Zingaro while I was at the store to see if she needed anything.
My sweet man.
Abbie’s Mac: You’re so wonderful to her and I love you more for it. Anything else?
He pulled out a onesie that read Future King of Woo.
Abbie’s Mac: Did you have that made?
He gave me a slow pride filled nod.
Abbie’s Mac: God I love you. I’m such a shit. Okay, let’s start over.
Cameron’s Mac: Fine. Hi.
Abbie’s Mac: You can’t type Fine. Hi. Try again.
Cameron’s body sagged. “Really?”
Abbie’s Mac: Hey pal, we’re only a few months into this marriage thing. You better give me more effort than that. And you better not ever be mean to me when I’m sick. I heard that’s a thing with married people. And I demand that you have sex with me tonight. I was doing this to open you up to the possibility and try to mix things up, but now I’m just going to put it out there. I’m a wife now, I can demand sex when I want it, right? We need to have sex. I need this baby out of me right now!
Cameron’s full-blown laughter could have been heard for miles. I glared at him in the space between us. My macaroni table at my hip because I was too big to fit in the tight space despite my vigorous workouts. Our son already weighed eight pounds.
“God you’re beautiful,” he said across our tables. I lifted my hot cocoa in my cup of choice that read MILF.
Cameron laughed as I puffed out air and blew the bangs I cut in a hormone rage out of my eyes. I looked at the darkening sky outside as I tried to swallow my emotion.
With every day that passed, I was fighting the Olympics of tamping down my random rotation of emotions. I had hurdled the first few months of my pregnancy hormones, but the last few had proved just as hard on me.
“I don’t want to cry, so don’t be nice. Piss me off or something.”
My chin wobbled, and Cameron caught it. The way he caught everything, because he was good at it.
“Baby, don’t you get it yet?” He stared at me across the space. “I don’t care what you say, as long as you’re talking to me. I’d give in to any demand you made, as long as it was of me. All you have to do is reach for me and I’ll give you what you need. I don’t need to be courted by my wife, who I’m obsessed with by the way. I’ll follow your lead, always.”
And here come the waterworks.
I took in his five o’clock shadow and his longer hair—a new part of his appearance I’d grown to love. He’d made it a point to have his own slob days of the week and I loved every second of them.
I wiped a tear of fear away showing him the truth. “Promise? Because I’m kind of sad we didn’t get more time alone and I know I said I was okay with being second, but maybe I’m a little jealous. I don’t want us to change.”
“Come on. I want to show you something.” Cameron stood and walked over to me, pulled my hand and gathered our things before we made our way outside. The instant we set foot on the cement, snow began to drift down around us.
“I wish I could take credit for this,” he whispered pulling me into his arms and pressing his lips to mine. His kiss became urgent, more frantic, reminding me of the first one we shared the previous winter, except this kiss wasn’t mixed with fear and what if’s. It was filled with certainty and a new kind of longing. It wasn’t rehearsed, but it was comforting. When he pulled away I saw the life we lived unfold as snowflakes dotted his lashes.
“A year ago, I kissed you for the first time in this same spot.”
Just as I thought it, he verbalized it.
“And it felt different then. It was new. Things change. But we’ve changed too, Abbie Bledsoe, and we can’t stop it. And with you, I don’t want to stop it. I want to go through all those changes. I’m not afraid of them,” he assured as he rubbed my face with his palms.
“Let’s go home, okay? I have a feeling my wife needs a little attention.”
“Okay.”
We walked home hand in hand as the snow drifted silently to the sidewalk. Cameron held me tightly to his side as I tried to make a quick excuse for my crazy.
“I blame the latest outburst on the penis growing inside me. Do you have any idea how weird that is?”
“I didn’t even think about it that way, but now it’s weird,” he said with a chuckle. I nudged him as I wrapped as much of my arm around him as I could. “I was thinking about a name today.”
“Oh, no,” he looked at me full of objection and shaking his head. “I don’t want to fight, okay? I think it’s cool you want to name our kid something unique, but I will not be naming our baby a direction or something that’s found in the produce aisle. Seriously, this new celebrity stalking is getting out of control. I never thought I’d see the day I wished to watch another serial killer documentary, but I do.”
“Hey,” I defended. “The only reason I started watching those celebrity miracle workers was to see how quick I could bounce back from pear-shaped to something a little more banana like. And then, I don’t know . . . it was like a vortex and I got sucked in. I’ll snap out of it eventually. I’m over the serial killer phase. Besides, I was thinking of a word that describes his father, not a direction or a fruit.”
Cameron turned to me in the snow drift and looked down with curious eyes.
“Noble.”
His brows drew together. “That’s the word you would use to describe me?”
I reached up and wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him to me while I ran my fingers through the thick hair at the base of it.
“Absolutely.”
Stunned, I could see the emotion building in his eyes as he leaned in and took my lips in the gentlest kiss we’d ever shared. He pulled away, his eyes searching mine as he stroked my face.
Noble it is.
“Abbie, you make me feel so high,” he said as he wrapped me in his hold and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Come on, I need to go stretch for the sex you demanded.”
I playfully slapped his chest. It took me a few minutes of walking to realize I’d done it and neither of us was affected by it. I felt another lump form in my throat as I looked over to Cameron and squeezed his arm.
“Don’t be a smartass but what word would you use to describe me?”
“I’ve got several,” he said with a wink.
After a few seconds, I paused our walk. “Well, aren’t you going to tell me?” I asked.
He gripped my freezing hands warming them up in his with his scorn.
“You forgot your gloves.”
“Cameron,” I said in warning. “You can’t think of one word to describe me?”
“I have too many. Goddess, light, hope, heart, mother, wife, healer, menace, beautiful, life, sex, empath, sunshine . . . and rain.”
“Yep.”
“But you hate the rain.”
“Not anymore,” he said as he twisted my wedding ring from inside my palm to right it on my finger before he kissed it.
“Anything else?”
“Real.”
The End
Listen to The Real Playlist on Spotify
According to the NCADV-National Coalition Against Domestic Violence
On average, nearly 20 people per minute are physically abused by an intimate partner in the United States. During one year, this equates to more than 10 million women and men.
1 in 3 women and 1 in 4 men have been victims of [some form of] physical violence by an intimate partner within their lifetime.
1 in 4 women and 1 in 7 men have been victims of severe physical violence by an intimate partner in their lifetime.
1 in 7 women and 1 in 18 men have been stalked by an intimate partner during their lifetime to the point in which they felt very fearful or believed that they or someone close to them would be harmed or killed.
Read more about it here: ncadv.org/statistics
If you need help please call the National Domestic Violence Hotline
1-800-799-7233
Thank you to every reader who has given any of my books a chance. Because of you, all my dreams have come true. I’m forever grateful and I hold you in my heart.
I’ve got so much love for this community. I want to thank every blogger who spent their precious time reading and promoting my words. Thank you will never be enough for all you do. You’re appreciated more than I could ever express.
There are two women who have worked with me since day one. This book would not be what it is without them.
A huge thank you to my sister, Angela Scott, who helped me from the starting line with the development of the story and who became so passionate about the project she texted me daily to point out some needed details. Your enthusiasm for this one made the process so much better. It was such a blast working with you! Thank you for those details, and for listening to me as I hashed this story out. I love you.
