by Hazel Grace
Add on that I kept my pregnancy a secret from the potential father, and you have me.
A wreck.
A bitch.
An asshole.
A loser.
I have zero clue if Bishop will sign divorce papers, and even then, it might not matter. If this child isn’t Alexander's, I’m still gonna be stuck with my soon-to-be ex-husband one way or another.
If he wants a chance with our child.
He may just tell me to go fly a kite and pray I get electrocuted.
“Are you okay?” I shake my head which promptly gets Alexander to move, holding out his arms for me to walk into.
I wasn’t talking about me. I mean, I’m not okay, but he shouldn’t be asking me if I am.
He’s too much, I can’t take all his kindness and empathy that clearly he’s full of.
When he hugs me, his body still wet and drenching my shirt, I don’t take any comfort in it.
This is all fucked up.
I messed this up and I deserve to raise my child alone with no support from anyone.
And my child also doesn’t merit someone like me who shouldn’t be a mother.
It’s not as if I had a great role model with mine. The boys can’t stand how I come down hard on them when I believe they’re about to make a stupid decision.
I’m not built for this.
I’m not made for Bishop.
Alexander deserves better—period.
And I’m a wrecking ball for throwing everyone in a mixer and messing with their lives.
“I...” Alexander remains so still that it ramps my anxiety up a notch. I’m about to rip his feelings through his chest like Bishop did to me and stomp all over them. “I don’t...know...whose child this is.”
“You’re...still sleeping with your husband?” The flash of disappointment and shock on his face immediately makes me embarrassed and resentful.
“Soon-to-be ex...husband.” I ball my hands into fists to keep my strength within my body. “It’s not like when we’re together that we...him and I are...it was me fucking up. I thought...my heart has a problem with holding on to hope.”
“Okay.” And that’s all he says, still standing in front of me and surely getting lost in his own thoughts. I’m in uncharted territory, but I feel like I’ve been through it and in it for years.
“We should talk about this,” I finally force from my throat. “Go ahead and get dressed.”
“I’m good right here,” he retorts, then gestures for my bed. “Why don’t you take a seat so I can pace the room like a nut job.”
“I think I need to pace too.”
He nods and waits for me to speak. Thing is, I don’t know how to start or what to say.
The room fills with deafening silence. I can hear the fridge in my kitchen hum, someone slamming their car door outside, and my pulsing heartbeat in my ears.
“I sent my husband divorce papers today,” I force from my throat. “Regardless of the child being his, the marriage is over.”
“You did?” Alexander shows shock amongst his features above all things he may be feeling. “Shit, Emmy...that’s a big deal.”
“Don’t get too excited, he might not sign them right away.”
“It’s still a step,” he counters. “One for you mainly. It demonstrates that you’re ready to move on with another chapter of your life.”
I shrug. “Sure.”
“Well…however you want to do this is up to you. Are you...going to keep it?”
Tears burn the back of my eyes, but I shove forward with honesty. “I’ve thought about it. I just don’t think I can live with myself if I don’t keep it.”
Alexander begins to walk my floor, back and forth, for a solid minute before speaking again. “I think that’s a good idea.”
“Listen, we...I messed up. This isn’t something you signed up for. And I think we should—”
“What did I sign up for?” He rubs the dark stubble of his chin. “Shit happens. I mean, it’s not ideal, but life throws you curveballs. I just never thought I’d be a dad, to be honest. I never put too much time behind it.”
“This is, by no means to pressure you into anything.”
“I know. But I’ll stay with you as long as you need me.”
I frown and shake my head. “Why are you like this? Why are you so good to me? I’m selfish and cruel to do something like this to you.”
He shrugs. “Did you sleep with him before or after you called me your boyfriend?”
“Before.”
“Okay then. Technically, it’s...fine.”
“Fine?” My eyes narrow on him. “Why are you making this easy on me?”
“Oh, I’m pissed, but I’m not about to bitch at you for fucking someone when we weren’t officially dating.”
“No. I can’t go with you to your sister’s wedding.”
“Why because you’re pregnant?”
“No, because I’m a fucking slut.” He stops pacing the floor and starts for me, but I hold up a hand to keep him away from me.
Something isn’t right here.
I’m not used to being treated like I can do no wrong. I want conviction and for him to scream at me because it’s warranted.
“Emmy, stop,” he quips. “It sounds like you’ve beaten yourself up enough over this.”
“Not enough.”
“If you want to be spanked, I can arrange that, but I won’t stand here for this. I’m not perfect either. I’m a rich asshole who makes other assholes rich. I find loopholes, I work the stock market and get paid for doing it. Sometimes not by the rulebook in the past. I’ve stepped on other people’s toes to get where I am. I played dirty. I’m thirty-eight and still feel no remorse for it. At least you do.”
“So you were a shady douchebag?” He bows his head. “And I’m a dick-loving whore.”
He rolls his eyes. “You good with retiring that role you so graciously gave yourself?”
“Not yet.”
“Emmy, stop.”
I sigh. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” He erases a few steps between us, his wet hair dripping beads of water onto his shoulders. “We still good?”
I narrow my eyes. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”
“Go ahead.”
I glance up at him, finding him unnervingly placid. “Are we still good?”
“Yeah.” He smiles at me, but it's slightly waning. “We’re still good.”
“I’m…not sure how to do this moving forward. Do we break up if...” He shakes his head. “What if he wants to be involved in the baby’s life?”
He cups my elbows in his palms and gently rubs his thumbs along my skin. “I would hope he wouldn’t want to abandon his opportunity.”
“Do you even want kids? We haven’t known each other but three months, I think.”
“I said I was falling in love with you, didn’t I?”
I feel all the color drain from my face. “You were serious?”
“I said I was weird, not a liar.”
“Guys say weird shit when their cock is in a woman’s mouth.”
His smile grows more prominent. “Kids are great. I like kids. I don’t know how great of a dad I’ll be, though. And I do think I’m getting there with you, Emmy. I know it’s fast but I want to be truthful with you about it. So, if that scares you, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, I’m just surprised is all. I like that you’re honest with me.”
He lifts a brow. “Good surprise?”
“A good surprise is red velvet cake,” I dodge because I’m not entirely sure where I sit feeling-wise with him.
I like him; I just think my brain is too muddled with old flames.
Alexander’s hands go to the knot at his hips, and drops his towel. “How about these kinds of surprises?”
He pivots and walks away, giving me the perfect angle of his firm ass.
“Wow,” I call after him. “That’s what you’re going with, huh?”
He laughs as he exits my room. “I’m gonna go find a red velvet cake and see which one you want to put in your mouth first.”
I smile as he disappears out of my view.
Maybe I will be fine after all—someday.
TWO MONTHS LATER…
I don’t remember much of the last few weeks but the ongoing torment that has settled and rooted itself within me.
I spend my time on three things—Scarlett, Hardy, and Maddy. I volunteer for any job that Ledger needs me to do, but when I’m not filleting into someone and gathering intel, I’m with my family.
Scarlett has had Hardy and I on so many Home Depot errands that the employees know us by name. Madelyn is my little shadow and I accidentally got her to say “shit” last week. Hardy glowered at me for a full two days.
What are uncles for but to teach her the shit she needs to know?
Her father sure as shit won’t show or tell her.
I take my niece on short rides on my motorcycle now that Bubba and all his cronies have been eliminated. She plays with Armageddon and he sleeps with her at night at the bottom of her bed.
Scarlett decided to stay and live with us after not being able to bear leaving us behind. So we went to Chicago to shove all her shit into two U-Haul trucks and drove back home. She works remotely from home with her blogging and Hardy is at a mechanic shop in town.
On the family front, things are good.
On the B723 end, it’s all fucked up.
I haven’t seen or heard from Emmy aside from the divorce papers that she emailed over to me. The boys know that she’s pregnant and they weren’t happy about it even though they’d never say it to her face.
Alexander is an outsider and someone who they’ve barely met. Mills met him on accident while he was hanging out with her. I guess the dude stopped by unannounced.
Marty is having a hell of a time with it. I’m told he’ll change the subject the moment he’s mentioned.
Even Blue won’t acknowledge his ass. Surprising when all she loves to do is provoke Em every chance she gets.
All this coming from Kyson—like I want to know. I could give a shit. Emmy is expecting a child with his alleged ass, it’ll forever be a tie.
I’m hoping—in a completely fucked and shitty way—that he screws up so that Marty will go off and filet him.
It saves me from being bitched at and blamed.
“Sir, the lady on the other side of the bar bought you this.” The young bartender, who has been serving me all night, slides over a shot of gold tequila and doesn’t bother to wait on a response, already on her way to serve another customer.
I’m home for the weekend and wanted to decompress alone. I’ve spilled enough blood to rid my brain of the havoc it’s been going through for at least a day or three, and I’m taking a damn break.
Actually, I take that back.
I broke my so-called time out about an hour or two ago when I checked Emmy’s Instagram page.
Now that I know she has many changes in her life, checking it is a regular occurrence for me. It’s a tortuous addiction that I won’t stop because I have this underlying and exasperating need to make sure she is safe, happy, and taken care of.
Not that it’s my place anymore.
And not that I fucking did a good job with it before anyway.
I’ve learned that she’s still hunting for baby names. That she can’t stand the smell of garlic and craves almond chicken and peanut butter. Also, in her first trimester, all she did was want to take naps and that she had a bag of Blue Ranch Doritos on hand but doesn’t anymore.
I know that her due date for the twins is June 9th and that they are about the size of an ear of corn.
Yeah, twins.
Emmy has more energy now and takes long walks where she snaps pictures of nature and her baby bump. She calls the babies her little squishies, and when she takes a selfie, Emmy always makes sure to include her unborn children in the picture.
“Hi.” Glancing to my right, a pretty blonde with her hair in a messy bun takes it upon herself to take a seat next to me and wears a big smile the size of a Cadillac. Her wide hazel eyes batting like she has something in them. “I hope you like tequila. I took a wild shot in the dark.”
I return my focus back to the bar to the dozens of bottles that are neatly stacked side by side.
“I was hoping—“
“Unless you’re going to use your chatty-ass mouth to suck my dick, I’m not your guy.”
I expect her to take off in a huff, but she remains rooted to her stool, still looking at me to probably decide if I’m worth the trouble of continuing a conversation.
I’m not.
“Will you pull my hair when I do it?” Her question has me craning my neck back to her. “If not, that’s a deal-breaker.”
You’re not leaving to do this. You love Emmy.
Fuck that. I’ll do whatever I want to do.
Swiping the shot that she bought me, I swing it back and slam the glass on the bartop to claim to the love-sick part of me that I sure am.
The liquid burns the pit of my stomach as she rises and waits for me to either take her up on the challenge I posed or tell her to fuck off.
For once, the latter doesn’t seem satisfying enough. The only relationship my dick has is with my palm and memories that are beginning to dissolve in my head from the amount of liquor and weed that I’ve been smoking.
I’ve been trying to test the theory if you can, in fact, smoke brain cells away.
Still waiting on the results.
I gesture with my hand for the blonde to lead the way to wherever she wants this to happen.
It’s no skin off my ass if she flakes out and changes her mind. It’s late and I need to be heading home anyway before Scarlett sends a search party for me.
A live rock band has been loudly playing for hours, keeping the patrons and customers occupied all night as we sift through the flock of people dancing and singing along to a rendition of Addicted to Love by Robert Palmer.
The woman in front of me sways along to the symbols from the drums, dodging around couples towards a dark hallway. I’ve had at least four beers and five shots that I remember but it doesn’t stop my instincts from going up.
A lot of dangerous things lie in the dark. Many I’ve met, killed, and even had nightmares about.
And while I can take the blonde easily, I’m not sure if she comes along with friends.
She leads me to the women’s bathroom, allowing me to walk in before locking the door behind her. I’m surprised it’s empty with the number of people outside but everyone seems to be enjoying the music too much.
“I’m Lucy,” the blonde says over the loudness of the song, erasing the space between us. “I’ve—“
“I don’t care,” I snap, leaning against one of the stalls. “The only thing I need your lips to do is suck. If you want a conversation get out.”
“Testy,” she tsks, finding the button to my jeans. She’s short, almost as compact as my Emmy. Her hair is a yellow-blonde but cascades in waves through my fuzzy vision. “Sounds like you really fucking need this.”
“I need a bullet in the head more.” I stare at the faded green paint on the walls and an outdated picture of a girl smelling flowers. I’d rather not look at a woman who has to have hair to remind me of the inevitable. That I gave myself until the end of the month to send Emmy back those divorce papers and that’s tomorrow.
“That’s a little morbid.” She tries to chuckle and blow it off but she falls short, not knowing if I’m serious or just have a dark sense of humor.
I’ll let her guess.
Lucy is quick with my pants, already fisting my semi-hard dick in her palm before going to her haunches and licking the head to get started.
Her lips wrap around my shaft as she begins to gradually bob, taking her time to get me harder. With the amount of liquor I’ve consumed, I have the patience to wait and a blunt to smoke while she does her thing.
Pulling said weed out of my back pocket, I light and take my first inhale, causing Lucy to become distracted.
“You’re going to get us kicked out,” she lightly jeers, stroking me while waiting for me to answer.
I don’t.
Instead, I glance down to find that she looks nothing like the second love of my life.
Good.
This isn’t an all-time low for me.
When I was in Alabama two weeks ago to rid the Earth of some lowlife who began a sex ring for children, I made out with another blonde and accidentally called her baby.
I could blame the mixture of tequila and whiskey but my brain won’t fully shut off that Emmy exists. That months later feels like only days since she told me she was expecting.
This isn’t normal.
Men walk around and fuck to forget but I can’t even bring myself to do that. I’m not interested in seeing another woman naked or working her up so we can both enjoy a quickie. I don’t care about anyone else or have the urge to even try to reciprocate. This—a random chick on her knees while sucking me off—is the furthest I go.
It’s how I’ll spend my life on this path.
It’s ridiculous how I’m permitting time to go by without any recourse of releasing Emmy altogether. That at thirty-two, I can’t connect with many people and I don’t find the need to. I’m happy with how I am—for the most part—but Em is missing.
And she always will be.
I haven’t decided how to forever be able to cope with it because if I keep down this road, I’ll be a born-again virgin at forty.
Lucy apparently grows tired of waiting for me to give a shit about smoking in the girls’ bathroom when she hits a spot in her mouth that gets my balls to tighten.
It fires up my suppressed need to somewhat fuck something new and thus causing me to thrust into Lucy’s throat.
She hums her approval as I take another hit off my blunt and we find a rhythm. Which proves that I can work with people and not require to use many words.
Lucy over here knows what I demand and didn’t need a whole discussion nor any compliments to start it.
It’s possible for someone to fully get me…during a blowjob.
