Forever With You

  With my heart in my throat, I eyeballed the test as my hands clenched and unclenched at my sides until the pregnancy showed me the results once more.

  The first thing I noticed was two numbers with a dash between them: 2-­3.

  And above that one word.

  Pregnant.

  Chapter 12

  Just to start Monday off with a bang, I took the third pregnancy test that morning, and it, too, came back positive. Pregnant. Three tests with the same result, but there was still a tiny part of me that wanted to believe that I had done something wrong, that without a doctor confirming I was pregnant, there was a chance I wasn’t. But I wasn’t dumb nor was I seriously that naive. I knew that when I went to my doctor’s appointment next week, what the three tests had already told me and what I’d been experiencing the last week or so would confirm what I already knew.

  And according to the really fancy test, I was two to three weeks past my last ovulation. Meaning I was roughly four to five weeks pregnant. The timing was spot on.

  I was actually pregnant.

  There was a bun in my oven.

  I was knocked up.

  Monday and Tuesday at work passed by with me in a numb daze. I don’t even know how I did my job or how I got through Rick’s endless insinuations and leering looks without losing my flipping mind.

  My nerves were stretched taut and I felt sick to my stomach when I packed up Tuesday evening. The moment I turned off my computer, my thoughts immediately started swirling around what I was going to do. Should I get in contact with Nick? I hadn’t heard from him since last Wednesday. Should I tell anyone what was happening? Did I need to?

  Was I going to go through with this—­with this pregnancy? And if so, how would I tell my new boss that in roughly eight months I would be needing maternity leave? Better yet, how could I even raise a child on an income that I lived off comfortably, though that wouldn’t work if I included the cost of caring for a child.

  Unaware of even walking to the elevator in the hall, after pushing the button I realized that I wasn’t alone. I glanced to my left. Rick, one half of the Steroid Twins, was standing there. I could barely swallow my sigh of frustration as I eyed him. A black skullcap was pulled down over his ears, and his cheeks were ruddier than normal. As always, his gaze wasn’t on my face. It was on my chest, which was absurd, because between my peacoat and my scarf, there was no way in hell that he could see anything.

  God, I had bad timing in all things.

  “You heading out?” he asked.

  Considering it was the end of the day and everyone was leaving, I wasn’t quite sure how the answer to that question wasn’t obvious. “I’m leaving for the night.”

  “Uh-­huh,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to my pelvic area. My lips curled in distaste. “A ­couple of us are getting drinks. Want to join us?”

  I plastered a tight smile on my lips. “Thank you, but I’m pretty tired.”

  “You’re definitely pretty.” He leered, and I looked away, barely resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “And you’re always tired. You sure somethin’ isn’t wrong with you?”

  My brows knitted. Oh, how accurate he was, and he had no idea. “I’m fine.”

  “Then why don’t you come out with us?” he pressed, and my hand tightened on the strap of my purse. “What? Are you too good to go out and have a little fun? Maybe too uptight?”

  I exhaled loudly, my patience wearing thin as I turned a cool gaze on him. “Yes. I’m that uptight.”

  Thankfully, the elevator doors opened and I stepped in before he could respond, reaching for the button to close the door. Of course, I realized my mistake immediately. Rick followed, catching the door, and I mentally strung together an atrocity of fuck bombs.

  He was actually smiling. “You have an attitude.”

  I shot him a bland look, not even dignifying that with a response. Engaging with pervy Rick was the last thing I needed to deal with right now. Thank God there weren’t many floors to go down, and before this confrontation could go any further, the elevator jerked to the stop. The doors opened.

  Rick had planted himself in the opening, smiling and not moving.

  What a bastard.

  Hands clenching into fists, I turned to the side to avoid touching him as I moved past, but at the last possible moment he stepped to the side. His front brushed against my stomach and hip. What I felt, what was so disgustingly obvious, sent a shiver of revulsion through me.

  Rick smirked.

  That was it.

  I stopped with my back to the wind whirling past the cement pillars and parked cars. “Don’t ever touch me again. If you do, I will be in Mr. Browser’s office faster than you can blink an eye.”

  His smirk faded. “I didn’t touch you.”

  “Bullshit,” I snapped, my jaw clenching. “You know what you just did.”

  Rick huffed out of the elevator, and I held my ground as he got into my space, his face flushed so red I wondered if he was going to have a stroke. “Are you threatenin’ me?”

  “No.” I held his stare even as a tendril of unease formed in the pit of my stomach. “I’m making you a promise.”

  He drew back, his eyes beady in the low light. I held his gaze for a moment longer and then I whirled around. My heart pounded as I walked to my car and the back of my neck tingled. Was he going to follow me? No. I reached my car without further annoyances, and I hoped and prayed that he would heed my promise and back the hell off.

  I’d dealt with guys like him before. Frat boys who didn’t understand personal boundaries. Guys at the gym who thought everyone who looked their way was into them. Normally they backed off the moment they realized you weren’t going to be intimidated. Hopefully, Rick fell into that group.

  As I pulled out of the parking garage, I heard a text go off. Since my phone was in my purse, I left it there. The streets were congested, and I needed to pay attention so I didn’t ram someone’s car.

  The drive home was as annoying, but expected. The sky was a deep blue, the sun almost gone, by the time I walked through my door. Shrugging off my coat, I laid it over the back of the kitchen chair and placed my purse on the table. I started for the fridge, but remembered I’d received a text. Going back to my purse, I pulled my phone out and tapped the button.

  My heart lurched in my chest. The text was from Nick.

  You up for game night?

  My brain sort of emptied for a ­couple of moments. I stared at the text until the screen faded to black. Reece was having what I guessed was a bimonthly Wednesday game night, and Nick was inviting me again, but I . . .

  I wasn’t in the mood to go up there and pretend that everything was okay, because it wasn’t. Placing my free hand against my lower stomach, I jerked it away. What was I doing?

  I couldn’t see Nick right now without blurting out what was going on, and I wasn’t ready for that conversation. Right or wrong, it was the truth. I hadn’t fully wrapped my head around the fact I was pregnant, I couldn’t even begin to talk to someone else about it, especially him, because I knew that was going to be a difficult conversation.

  If it was a conversation that was going to even take place.

  I didn’t respond to Nick’s text.

  And he didn’t text back.

  I made it through the rest of the week without having a mental breakdown when I realized a pair of pants that had been loose before now felt a little bit snug, which could’ve been simple paranoia. The upside was Rick. He seemed to have gotten the message and hadn’t come near me since the elevator gross-­out.

  I still really hadn’t come to terms with what was going on inside me.

  Friday night I texted and told Roxy I wouldn’t be able to do breakfast on Sunday because I wouldn’t be in town, which was true. Early Saturday morning I left my apartment and drove the three hours to my mom’s house.
She was expecting me, but she didn’t know why I was coming down.

  I needed . . . I needed my mama, and this conversation I had to have with her couldn’t be done over the phone. There was no way.

  My mom lived in the same house I grew up in, and I knew she would never leave the two-­story colonial-­style home on Red Hill in Martinsburg. There were too many memories.

  It was close to eleven when I pulled into the driveway. The asphalt was cracked, like it had been for the last three years. Mom kept saying she was going to get it repaved, but I didn’t see it happening in the near future.

  Swallowing hard, I sat in the car, letting the engine idle as my gaze roamed over the front of the house. An autumn wreath hung from the front door. When I was younger, this close to Halloween, she used to put those ghost and witch stickers in the front windows.

  But I wasn’t a little girl anymore.

  Obviously.

  I turned off the ignition and grabbed my purse and the overnight bag I’d packed. I planned on staying the night. Climbing out into the bright sun, I walked up the pathway obscured by thick holly bushes.

  The door opened before I knocked, and despite the rapid anxiety building in my system, a wide smile broke out across my face. “Mom.”

  She stood in the doorway, holding a white and brown ball of absolute terror who was doing everything in its little dog power to get down. Around her neck was a silver chain that hadn’t been removed in years. My father’s dog tags. “I was wondering if you were going to come in or sit outside all morning.”

  Laughing, I stepped inside and gave her and the dog a one-­arm hug that warmed my chilled skin. “I wasn’t out there that long.”

  She arched a dark brow as she let the dog down. “Uh-­huh.”

  Dropping my bag and purse on the floor, I swooped down and scooped up my mom’s Jack Russell terrier, which she had appropriately named Loki. The little dog squirmed in my arms as it bathed my face in kisses for about three seconds and then whipped itself around in my arms until I placed it back down.

  Loki tore off through the foyer and into the den before dashing back into the room. The dog ran a circle around me and then darted off down the hall, returning with an orange and black striped, stuffed tiger in its jaws. I shook my head.

  “I baked your favorite.” Mom started toward the kitchen.

  I followed her, inhaling the familiar apple and cinnamon scent that was faintly shadowed by something that reminded me of vanilla. “Pound cake?”

  She glanced over her shoulder, winking. “You bet.”

  My stomach grumbled happily.

  Mom always walked fast, like there weren’t enough minutes in a day, and most certainly did not look like she was a few years shy of fifty as she moved through the house. She had me and married young, at age twenty-­four. Thinking that drove home the fact that I was twenty-­three and I—­

  My mouth dried as I shook the thought out of my head. I looked like my mom. Her black hair was cut shorter, though, brushing her shoulders, and there were more fine, delicate lines at the corners of cornflower blue eyes and near her lips. She wasn’t as tall as I was, as my height was something I’d picked up from my father, but my mom was beautiful.

  And I knew she had to have guys lining up to be with her, both those younger and older than her, but she didn’t date, and I knew she never would.

  The kind of love my parents had felt for each other defied reality.

  A pound cake was cooling on a rack near the stove, and I could practically feel my mouth starting to water as Mom picked up a knife. “How was the drive?” she asked, slicing into the cake. “Did you have any trouble?”

  “Not bad.” I sat at the same kitchen table where I’d grown up eating evening meals. “It probably would’ve been under three hours if I hadn’t hit traffic.”

  Mom placed a plate in front of me, along with a fork. A second later a glass of milk appeared, and I was suddenly thrust back into a time when there was so very little to worry about. Tears burned the back of my throat, and I blinked my eyes rapidly as I cut into the cake.

  She sat down beside me, a cup of coffee in her hands. Within a heartbeat, Loki jumped up into her lap. “I was surprised when you said you were coming home. I wasn’t expecting to see you until Thanksgiving.”

  With my mouth full with buttery goodness, I raised a shoulder in a shrug.

  Mom eyed me as she sipped her coffee, careful not to disturb the dog curled in her lap. As I concentrated on finishing off the pound cake, I knew my mom was figuring me out just by watching me. She could read me like I had all my secrets written on my forehead. She knew something was up, and I also knew she wouldn’t beat around the bush, waste time with banal conversation.

  And she didn’t.

  “You look really tired, honey.” She lowered her cup. “You haven’t been sleeping well.”

  Sleeping this past week had been hard. I’d go to bed with my thoughts in so many different places that I’d wake up several times throughout the night, my mind racing as if I hadn’t been asleep at all.

  “Is it work?” she asked.

  I placed the fork on the empty plate. “Work is fine, perfect actually. It’s a good job, and I’m happy with it.”

  “Then what’s going on?” Mom’s lips curved slightly. “I know something is. The moment you called me, I did. You don’t live in a different time zone, but a three hour drive isn’t a walk in the park.”

  Taking a drink of the cold milk, I leaned back in the chair. I lifted my gaze and my eyes met hers. “Do I really look that bad?”

  “You don’t look bad, honey, but you look tired.” She paused, her hand absently smoothing over the top of Loki’s head. “And you sounded stressed when you called me.”

  My stomach churned, and I wasn’t sure if it was due to the infamous morning sickness or just nerves, because I came down to see my mom so I could tell her the truth, so I could get grounded and hear her advice. This was probably going to be one of the biggest bombs I would ever drop on her, and I felt sick.

  “Stephanie?”

  Reaching up with a shaky hand, I tucked my hair back behind my ear. “There is a reason why I’m here. Not that I didn’t want to see you.”

  Her smile turned wry. “Uh-­huh.”

  “But I need your . . . advice.” I could feel my lower lip start to tremble. “I need your help.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. “Okay. Now I’m starting to freak out a little.”

  I clamped my hands together in my lap, because I was also starting to freak out a little. Well, I was quaking inside, so I was freaking out a lot. I stared at my bleached white knuckles and forced my hands to relax. “I . . . I’m pregnant.”

  Silence.

  So much so, you could hear a cricket sneeze.

  It stretched so long that I had to look up and see her reaction, and when I did, she was simply staring at me. Her eyes were wide, her lips were parted. Blood had drained from her face, and her hand had stilled along the dog’s back.

  “I’ve messed up,” I whispered, close to tears. “I know I have. I should have . . . well, I was careful. He was careful, but I missed pills and the condom must’ve broken.” My cheeks started to heat, and even though I’d always been open with my mom, this was an awkward conversation. “I took three tests,” I rambled on. “All three of them said I was pregnant, so I know . . . I know I’m pregnant. I’ve been feeling sick and I’ve been tired and I . . . I messed up.”

  “Oh, honey.” Mom snapped out of it. Leaning over, she managed to keep Loki in her lap while she squeezed my arm fondly. “You didn’t mess up. Getting pregnant is not messing up.”

  Sure as hell didn’t feel like the opposite. “He’s not my boyfriend,” I said bluntly, needing her to know the whole picture. “We were together . . . once.”

  Understanding seeped into her features as she got
what I was saying. Pregnant due to a one-­night stand. How . . . how cliché. She blinked once and then twice. “It happens,” she said slowly, as if she was still processing everything. Her hand squeezed my arm again. “More than ­people realize, it happens.”

  Yeah, but I never thought it would happen to me.

  Famous last words.

  “You know that your father and I weren’t married before I got pregnant with you,” she said after a moment. “Things don’t always work out as planned.”

  I wanted to smile, because I knew she was trying to make me feel better about this. “But you two were together and you were in love and—­”

  “And none of that is required to have a baby, hon. It’s nice. It’s what we all hope for—­what I hoped for when it came to you—­but it’s not always what happens.”

  I stared at the scratched surface of the table, my voice barely above a whisper when I spoke. “Are you . . . are you disappointed?”

  “Honey, why would I be disappointed?”

  A strangled laugh rattled out of me as I leaned forward, running my finger along the grooves in the table. “Um, maybe because I’m twenty-­three and I’m pregnant . . . and I’m single.”

  “Could be worse.”

  I arched a brow.

  “You could be sixteen and this could be happening. Or you could be sick instead,” she said, her gaze steady and serious. “You know, Stephanie, things could be worse.”

  I thought of the knock on our door nine years ago. “You’re right.”

  She exhaled slowly and then patted my arm before picking up her coffee. She took a huge gulp, and all I could think was there wasn’t enough caffeine in the world to deal with this. “Do you know what you are going to do?”

  My breath lodged in my throat. “I . . . I don’t know.”

  There was another pause. “You have options.”

  I closed my eyes. The milk had started to curdle in my stomach. “I know.”

  “Do you know how far along you are?” she asked. “It can’t be that long.”

  “Based on the one test and timing, I’m at about five weeks.” I opened my eyes and drew in a shallow breath.