by Jill Haven
If I could mess things up any more. That seemed an impossible feat when I considered exactly what I’d done.
After I knocked, the door stayed closed a long time. I didn’t blame him. I’d abandoned him exactly like everyone else in his life had, exactly as I’d promised I wouldn’t. My eyes stung with tears I couldn’t let fall—not when they were tears of stupid grief and self-pity.
I knocked again, tapping the door with my foot. Eventually, August answered, but his empty gaze only met mine briefly before he focused it over my shoulder as if he couldn’t even bear to look at me.
“Hello, August.” Oh, God, it was like talking to a stranger. I sounded formal and strange, and he didn’t even have a flicker of recognition for me. “Can I come in?” I’d never wanted to feel unsure about his response to that question, and for a moment, I craved nothing more than to rewind time and not make the most stupid fucking mistake of my life.
I tried again, desperate for a reaction from him. Anything so I knew there was still hope, that I hadn’t lost him. I could deal with his anger. I could deal with crying. I couldn’t make anything from nothing. “I’m here to apologize. I know things now. I spoke to the team and… Well, Jared’s gone. I doubt his reference would even get him a job at the local greasy spoon.”
But he still didn’t react. I could have been looking at a mannequin or a statue.
As desperation wound through me, clinging to my bones and weighing me down, I pushed on. “Please hear me, August. I was wrong last night…so wrong.” I want to reach out to him somehow, but I’m afraid it will be as cold as the look in his eyes, and the realization that I’m afraid of his rejection like I just rejected him pushes bile up my throat. I gesture toward him with the coffee cups. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, and you deserved the chance to defend yourself on so many levels. I should have respected you and treated you better.”
Not even mild interest flickered through his eyes as they remained fixed beyond me.
“Please, August.” My voice nearly cracked, but I recovered myself with a gulp and continued. “Please let me fix this. I want to fix us, but if you don’t, please say you’ll come back to work. I was wrong…so very wrong. I can’t say it enough.”
I waited for his scent to hit me, desperate to breathe him in, but it whispered through the air between us, a trace and gone, as if everything that made August who he was had broken. I’d broken him.
Then his gaze flicked to mine and my heartbeat sped up, pumping a new rush of hope to fill me.
“Don’t worry about me. I thought about what you said and took your advice about better choices.” His hoarse voice grated like car tires on gravel, and I closed my eyes against the sound.
He’d either been screaming or crying, and I didn’t want to imagine either one.
“My advice?” Dread replaced the hope, ballooning until I didn’t think I’d be able to breathe around it.
“I found out I had until the end of the month to accept the scholarship placement in Paris, so I signed the paperwork this morning.” His robotic, scratchy voice scraped against my heart, shaving pieces off, pieces I might never get back, and it was all my own fucking fault.
I deserved him to shred my heart. “No, August…what do you mean? What have you done?” The words escaped on a whisper.
“I’m leaving. I’m leaving everyone who has ever left me. And I don’t want to see you ever again.” For that moment, his eyes burned brightly, before returning to being blank and expressionless.
He stepped away and slammed the door, leaving me staring at the peeling green paint, my heart in pieces, too many pieces to ever fix, and they all belonged to August, anyway.
I rested my head against the green door, seeking a connection to him. I loved him. I’d never told him, but I loved him, and I’d broken him, and I couldn’t fix it.
Have fun, take care, and put your heart into it. I was a fucking fool.
19
August
August 3rd
Okay, okay. I sucked a deep breath in and blew it out. It didn’t work. A minor meltdown was rapidly progressing to a major one as I sat firmly on the top of my overstuffed suitcase. Shit. I glanced around the room, seeing all the jobs still not done and admitted defeat. After dialing his number, I held my cell phone to my ear and held my breath.
“I knew you’d cave!” he crowed.
“Um…hello to you, too?”
“August, August, August.” I pictured him shaking his head. “When will you learn how much you need me?”
I laughed. “You’re absolutely right. How soon can you be here?”
While I waited for Griff to arrive, I half-heartedly threw bits and pieces from the floor into boxes—books followed magazines, followed random ornaments and trinkets I’d pulled off shelves earlier, followed trash and paper plates. I just wanted the floor clear, so it looked as though I’d achieved something.
I checked my watch like it would give me a countdown to my flight time, but it only told me how long it had been since I called Griff, underscoring my impatience.
Wandering around the partially packed room, I picked up my throw and shook it out to refold. Ewin’s scent swirled around me, filling me with unwelcome memories and a wave of sadness, and I pressed it to my nose to remember what we’d had.
The knock at the door saved me from myself, and I dumped the throw in a box. I’d send Griff down to the trash with it later.
“Hey, dude,” Griff said as I opened the door. “You making good progress in there?”
I rolled my eyes. “Spectacular, considering I leave in a few days and nothing’s done.”
“You get that guy who was interested in subletting the apartment?” Griff slid past me in the narrow hall and headed for the living room. He whistled when he got there. “Shit, August. Do you even have a system?”
“Sure. It’s called ‘put stuff in boxes.’”
“Oh, man.” He slapped his forehead and laughed. “Well, I can help you pack but I can’t guarantee you’ll find anything you own ever again.”
“I’m cool with looking through boxes forever if I don’t have to be here, believe me.”
Griff tensed, pausing in his work, but didn’t turn to face me.
“But back to the guy for the sublet…” Not an awkward segue back to an earlier subject at all. “Yeah, it’s all done. He was desperate for a place…” I was desperate to get out… “It’s a match made in heaven.”
“Good.” But Griff coughed out his words and sniffed afterwards.
“It’s all good, man. I’ll be coming back.” I just wasn’t sure exactly when.
“I know, and you shouldn’t miss an opportunity like this.” He still didn’t look at me. Instead, he sat back, and glanced around the room. “You know what we need?”
“No, what?”
“Brody. He’ll have this place packed in record time. Then all that will be left will be heading out for dinner.”
“I have stuff that I can cook.” I waved a dismissive hand in his direction.
“Know where you’ve put the pots and pans?” Griff laughed.
I took in the stacks of boxes and pressed my teeth into my lower lip. “Want me to start looking now?”
But Griff had already put his phone to his ear to sweet talk Brody into joining us.
Ryker sat us in the most private area of his bar and brought the drinks over on him. He clanked the frosted glass tankards onto the table.
“Gonna miss ya, August.” That and the hair ruffle he delivered the line with was probably the closest he’d come to expressing affection for me.
I smiled. “Thanks, Ry.”
He screwed up his mouth. “And sorry about…you know.”
I nodded, my mouth a tight flat line, willing the tears that always came not to come this time. “I know.”
We all knew, and suddenly Brody and Griff were talking.
“Thanks for the beer, dude…”
“Hey, how about a burger and fries for a
change…”
But once the flurry of activity to change the subject finished, Brody raised his glass. “Congratulations to you, August, dude. A scholarship is a big deal.”
“And so is Paris, ooh-la-la!” Griff waggled his eyebrows. “Think of all those hot French guys you’re going to meet.”
I grinned along with him, but my heart wasn’t in it. “So… We all know about me and my little vacation. What’s going on with you guys?” I didn’t want to leave feeling like I didn’t know their lives, and it had been a while since we had a decent catchup. Plus, I wanted to steer the conversation away from…from stuff.
“Don’t even get me started.” Brody rolled his eyes, blew out a heavy sigh, and thunked his beer glass back onto the table.
Griff laughed. “Korbin still?”
“Yeah,” Brody ground out. “Korbin, the asshole. That guy just won’t leave me alone. He’d been riding my ass since we were children—always picking on me, taking my lunch money…”
I laughed. “Holding a grudge much, there, Bro?”
He didn’t even crack a smile, just discarded the paper wrapper off a straw and used it to swirl the foam on his beer. “It’s the kind of thing that just doesn’t feel very funny, I guess.” He shrugged his shoulders and fell silent.
“Did someone miss their nap today?” Griff cooed, but I shot him a warning glance then leaned back as Ryker stood over us, ready to set down plates of burgers and fries.
Once he’d left again, I chewed a fry. “No, I totally get it, Brody. It’s shit if someone you have to spend time with decides to act like a class-A jerk all the time.” I shrugged. “But what can you do?” Then I chuckled without humor. “Definitely don’t get yourself fired because of someone else’s actions, all right? That bites the big one.” As soon as I said the words, I regretted them.
Griff and Brody looked at me, their mouths turned down, their eyes sad.
“Hey, it’s all good, and how about these free burgers? I need to leave town more often!” I took a huge mouthful of my burger, chewed then swallowed, willing it past the lump in my throat.
My alarm blared and I battled the roil of nausea as I reached over to silence it. Ugh. Then my eyes flew open as I remembered I only had twenty-four hours before I needed to head to the airport, and I still had a ton of shit to take care of. I sat up ready to leap out of bed and take on the world, then winced as another wave of sickness clenched around my stomach.
I lay back against my pillows and dragged in a slow, shaky breath as my forehead beaded with sweat. Apparently, the first to-do item on my list had just become ‘doctor visit.’ But until then, a nap sounded like a good idea. I tugged my blankets back around me, curling myself into them like I’d made a cozy nest, and closed my eyes.
When I woke up a couple of hours later, the nausea had receded to a constant low hum rather than spiking every time I moved, and I headed out to local walk-in clinic. I hadn’t had enough to drink the previous night to give myself a hangover, and I’d only just had the flu, but I couldn’t be too careful when I was about to get on an airplane full of people.
I filled in the forms at the clinic then sat to wait my turn in the waiting room. To avoid having to make conversation, I picked up one of the magazines and flicked through it, studying the cooking pages first. There was a recipe for chicken soup, and I thought of Ewin’s mother, sad for all she was going through.
I wiped away an unexpected tear, trying to wipe away the memories at the same time, and flipped the page to whole article on perfecting steak. I swallowed and put the magazine down. The nausea had returned, but I didn’t know if it was from the picture of the perfectly cooked steak or the fresh memories and images of my station in Ewin’s kitchen that tagged along with the photograph.
Either way, I leapt up as soon as the doctor called my name.
“How can I help you today?” He sat in front of his computer and indicated the other chair in the room.
“I think I’m coming down with a cold and wondered if you have anything I can use to alleviate the symptoms? I’m flying to Paris tomorrow, and I really don’t want to be sick on the plane.”
“Hmm…” He nodded his head and tapped a couple of keys. “I see… And symptoms?” His bushy white mustache bobbed up and down as he spoke, and his hair stuck out in all directions as if he’d used Einstein as a direct role model.
I ticked them off on my fingers. “I think I have a fever, or I did this morning, anyway, I’m really tired, and I have nausea.”
“Might not be a cold. Could be an infection. Mind if we run some tests?” He tapped some more keys, and I gazed around the bland creamed-corn-colored room.
“Sure. Then is it just a case of antibiotics?”
“Could be.” He shrugged, irritatingly noncommittal, then held out a specimen cup. “Urine.”
“Oh.” I took the cup. “Oh, okay.” That wasn’t a joy I’d planned for my day. “I can’t usually go on demand,” I joked, “But you’re in luck because I’ve suddenly started needing the bathroom, like, all the time.”
“Uh huh,” the doctor replied and pointed to the door. “The bathroom’s on the left. When you get back, we’ll draw some blood.”
Goody. When I’d used the bathroom, I handed the cup to the doctor and he sent me on my way to the nurse for a blood draw.
Fifteen minutes later, I sat in the doctor’s office. “So, what do you think? Is it likely to get worse?” It couldn’t get worse if I wanted to fly.
“It could get worse, I guess.” He tipped his head on one side as if considering something. “And it’s going to last for a while, too.”
“Really? Only I’m supposed to go to Paris on a scholarship tomorrow…” I caught a glimpse of the doctor’s face and my speech got quieter until I was only mouthing the words. “What’s wrong? Is it serious?”
He tipped his head on one side again. “Depends on how you feel about pregnancy, I guess.”
“I…I’m sorry. What did you just say?” Damn, I’d zoned out for a minute there and could have sworn the doctor mentioned pregnancy.
He checked his computer monitor, his old office chair creaking as he leaned forward. “I said you’re pregnant, Mr. Lennox. I have the pregnancy test I performed on your urine right here.” He flashed a white rectangular strip under my nose. “Congratulations.”
I took the doctor’s hand when he offered it and allowed him to pump it up and down, hoping he believed the tears in my eyes were joyful.
I couldn’t be pregnant. I was on suppressors so I couldn’t be… But then Dawson happened and my missed dose, and maybe I’d gotten my math wrong on the days I needed for coverage again.
But how reckless. What had I done? What had I done…? With no thought for my future, no thought for… I stopped, not needing to list individual reasons. Just no thought. That was enough reason to beat myself up.
I stopped by the receptionist to pay my copay, grabbed my results printout, then headed home, numb and empty because I was growing an unplanned baby, and we had no one to look after us.
I lay awake in my nest of blankets, my wet cheeks raw and stinging with every new wash of tears. I couldn’t go to Paris. I needed to give up my scholarship. I had nothing left. I’d exhausted all of my opportunities.
The scholarship placement was a two-year intensive course, and there was no way I could commit to that schedule with a baby due in the next seven to eight months. A baby. A fresh wave of sobs shook me. I’d made such a mess.
Worse, I couldn’t escape Cedar Falls now. I couldn’t escape Ewin or Dawson.
I opened my swollen eyes and glanced at the boxes stacked in the corner and a fresh torrent of dread thundered through me. I wasn’t merely jobless, I was homeless. I’d just subletted my apartment to a guy who hadn’t mentioned wanting a pregnant omega in residence when he let himself in to live there.
I wrapped my arms around my still-flat belly and cried. I cried for all the things I’d never have, and all my baby would never have. I cried fo
r Ewin, and I cried because of him. Part of me blamed him, although all of me loved the part of himself he’d left behind, inside me, regardless of what that meant for my future.
As I tumbled further into my thoughts, exploring my present and my future and trying to find a path to where I could live happily and safely with my baby, I cried fresh bouts of tears until my eyes drifted closed, and I didn’t have to think about it anymore.
When morning arrived, I woke still curled up in my blankets, my arms around myself as if protecting the only thing of value I had left. When I moved, nausea rolled through me, and I waited it out, not daring to sit up until it subsided a little.
I had some crackers in a box somewhere, probably in the kitchen, so I lowered my feet to the floor and took halting steps across the hardwood floor. Every noise echoed without the usual sort of furnishings in my space, and when someone knocked on the door, the noise bounced through me like bullet fire.
I trudged to the door, sliding my feet across the floor because it would take too much effort to lift them, and I didn’t check who’d knocked before I cracked the door open and peered around the edge of it.
“Oh, shit. Not you.” I tried to swing the door closed again, but Ewin moved faster than me, bracing his arm against the frame.
“August?”
I’d pressed my forehead to the back of the door so I couldn’t see him anymore, and the cool surface seemed to help the nausea, but I heard the question in his voice.
“Yes?”
“Let me in,” he pleaded. “Something’s wrong. You look awful, you’re not at the airport.” He nudged the door and I offered little resistance. “Why aren’t you at the airport?” he asked as he stepped inside.
I moved away and slumped onto the couch, letting my head flop onto the cushions. “Because I’m here.”
