The concept of pregnancy was more than a silly fear. It was the scariest, terrifying, most horrifying nightmare imaginable.
And my brain couldn’t cope.
So instead of thinking rationally and discussing calmly, I went into freak-out mode.
I shoved the rag back into my bikini. I yanked up my shorts. I pretended this was normal.
My body had finally used up whatever vitamins it had left and ceased to have a period. I wasn’t pregnant (don’t be so stupidly absurd), I was merely malnourished and island wrecked.
Yes, that was it.
I was stranded and stressed and my body had finally gone into survival mode.
I’m not pregnant.
Never.
Not at all.
.............................
By the end of May, I knew.
I think I’d known all along.
I just couldn’t admit it.
The moment I’d agreed to a physical relationship with Galloway, I’d invited this to happen.
I’d done this.
I’d condemned myself to die.
Me.
Not him.
No one else.
Me!
Tears ran down my cheeks as I swiped at the strands of hair sticking to my sweaty forehead. The wet splash of morning sickness decorated the bush where I’d hidden to purge my breakfast.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
You might not be pregnant. It might be food poisoning.
My mind ran crazy, hurling excuse after excuse for my nausea and foreign feeling body.
Despite nine months on the island, we’d only suffered tummy upsets once or twice. (I’d had a few more because of my sampling trials). But we’d all been incredibly careful about what we ate and drank, doing our best to preserve our health as much as possible.
I wanted so much to believe it was a gastric issue.
But my heart knew.
My instincts knew.
My femininity knew.
Galloway had pulled out every time, but it hadn’t stopped the small amount of semen in his pre-ejaculate from somehow defeating my stupid eggs.
I was now knocked up and island bound.
All alone with no medical help or anyone to turn to.
I had to face facts.
I had to cry my tears and be strong.
I’d done this.
We’d done this.
And now, we had to live with our creation.
It was official.
I was pregnant.
.............................
JUNE
A few weeks passed.
And for all my bravery of telling Galloway what’d happened, I...I couldn’t.
When I’d returned to camp (after throwing up again) with balled fists and fretting in my soul, I’d found Galloway carving a new spear and Conner plaiting Pippa’s hair.
The scene had been the perfect family, and my eyes prickled with tears at the thought of leaving them.
Of dying in child-birth.
Of delivering a malnourished baby who wouldn’t survive like these wonderful people had.
My throat closed up, and I hid my secret.
I pretended it wasn’t real.
For weeks, I wore my baggy t-shirt rather than my bikini, claiming sunburn (just in case I started to show). After all, my skinny frame wouldn’t be able to hide the growing bump for long.
As the days passed, I smiled and laughed and accepted Galloway between my legs all while harbouring my nasty little secret.
When we met for our midnight rendezvouses, I wanted to tell him he could come in me. That there was no point pulling out.
But I couldn’t.
Every time I sucked up the courage to tell him, it trickled away at the final second.
He wasn’t stupid.
He knew something was wrong with me. He watched me closely, he questioned me quietly, but he didn’t push me to tell him.
I supposed he thought I’d admit it in my own time. Or who knew...perhaps, he’d already guessed?
Either way, I couldn’t speak the words.
I couldn’t get my mouth to form the condemning sentence...
I...am...pregnant.
No.
I can’t.
So I remained stupid and silent.
And did something I wasn’t proud of.
One night, I stalked through the plants and bushes that once upon a time, I’d avoided because of failed scratch tests or belly ache. I stood in the dark and wondered, just wondered, if I ate a few poisonous leaves...would it stop this disaster from happening?
Could I bring on a miscarriage through natural means?
Or would I kill myself before the baby had a chance to?
In a bottomless moment of weakness, I plucked a leaf from one particular bush that’d given me wicked cramping and held the foliage to my mouth.
So close.
It could all be over.
I touched my bottom lip with the bitter flavour but at the last second, threw it away.
I didn’t want to die.
So why would I be so stupidly reckless when I had a chance (a very small chance) of surviving this birth? Besides, how could I possibly think of killing something created from love?
I wasn’t that person. I would never be that person. Even if it meant sacrificing myself.
Striding from the forest, I never considered forcibly removing my mistake again. In fact, I made a pact to stop thinking about it so I wouldn’t drive myself insane.
All month, I managed to avoid the topic, and some hours, I even forgot. That was until I brushed my breast and flinched because it was so sore. Or I touched my stomach and the strange tightness in my belly felt alien.
It seemed like only yesterday that Galloway had thrust inside me in the tide. And yet a month had passed and already nature prepared my body for its disastrous conclusion.
I only had a few months left to live. I had no illusions that I would survive such an ordeal (skinny and stranded) and deliver a healthy infant.
But my body didn’t share my acid-like hopelessness. My hips gradually ached, my skin became overly sensitive, and my taste buds changed their craving.
I’d never read up on pregnancy and what to expect, and there was no way of doing it now. The only thing I could do was what I’d always done: turn to my music.
I scribbled and composed my way out of terror.
But then something even worse happened.
Worse than crashing.
Worse than becoming pregnant.
My pen ran out.
The ink ran dry.
I had no way to soothe my jagged soul and make sense of this abhorrent tribulation.
My pen was dead.
I had no more.
And that was it for my notebook.
Chapter Forty-Eight
...............................................
G A L L O W A Y
......
JULY
“YOU MUST THINK I’m stupid, Stel.”
She looked up from weaving yet another flax blanket (damn woman was obsessed with them) and hid behind a curtain of hair. “I don’t know what you mean.”
I growled beneath my breath. “Seriously, Estelle? You’re honestly going to play that card with me? After the past few weeks of moping around and refusing to tell me what the hell is eating you? I’m done. I want to know. Right now.”
“G...don’t.” Her eyes flickered to Pippa and Conner, who sat on the log tenderising the octopus I’d caught this morning. We’d learned (as we caught more) that the best way to eat the suckered creature was to smash the tentacles until they were tender; otherwise, it was just too damn chewy.
I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do this.
I’d been patient.
I’d slept beside her at night. I’d tried to comfort her. I’d waited with all the bloody love I could for her to tell me.
But she never did.
And it grew harder a
nd harder every day.
She was hurting, goddammit, and she wouldn’t share the reason why.
“I’m through waiting.” Throwing away the axe (where I’d been chopping excess vines from the almost-finished raft), I stood up and towered over her. “You barely look at me anymore. You don’t let me touch you. You never let me watch you undress. What the hell is going on?”
Please, don’t tell me it’s over.
Don’t tear out my heart and tell me you don’t want me anymore.
I’d done my best to psychoanalyze if I’d done something wrong. Had I pissed her off? Did she hate sleeping me with me? Had I taken advantage of having a willing, beautiful woman share my bed?
She often joked that I was insatiable, but in return, she was too.
It wasn’t just me who initiated what happened between us.
Yet I felt like the one being punished.
Running a hand through my long hair, I snapped, “Tell me. Right now. If you’re through with me, just say it!”
Pippa stopped smashing the octopus, her hands falling silent as her face filled with worry. She hated when we raised our voices.
Estelle gasped. “What? How could you think that?”
“Oh, I don’t know? Perhaps it’s because you can’t stand the sight of me anymore. You barely laugh. You’re so bloody closed off I feel as if I’m living in a damn fridge around you!”
I stabbed myself in the chest. “If I’m not worth your affection anymore, Estelle, you damn well better have the balls to say it to my face so I can get on with my useless piece of a life and not constantly wonder what I did wrong.”
Estelle and I didn’t fight often, and if we did, it was defused as fast as it took to move whatever it was that annoyed us or obey the certain chore we’d ignored (normally me on that one), but this time, I couldn’t calm down until Estelle gave me what I wanted.
An answer.
That’s what I bloody want.
“Tell me. Do you hate me? Did I hurt you?” I paced, unable to stand still. “I told you I’d never hurt you, but if somehow I did, I’m so bloody sorry. But you can’t keep punishing me like this. You can’t shove me out of your heart just because you don’t like me anymore.”
I struggled for breath; the island became claustrophobic. I hadn’t admitted my fears, even to myself. I’d pretended she was okay. That we were okay. But as days turned to weeks and she never lost the cool despair in her eyes, how could I not jump to conclusions that our relationship had run its course and she’d moved on?
Of course, she’d bloody move on.
Why wouldn’t she? She was gorgeous. Smart. Pretty. Funny. Insanely talented.
Compared to me?
She was a damn goddess while I was a convicted felon who ought to have spent the rest of his life behind bars (before a bloody miracle freed him).
I’d pursued her knowing full well she was out of my league. But now, having her come to the same conclusion and cutting me off? It was more than I could goddamn stand.
Take the raft and leave.
I couldn’t stay here if she didn’t want me anymore.
I physically couldn’t sleep beside her never being able to touch or kiss or whisper nonsensical stuff in the night.
She was mine.
She was my home.
And for some reason, she’d tossed me out into the scary, terrible dark with no explanation.
Estelle slowly stood up, her eyes narrowed to combat the bright sun behind me. “Can we not do this here?”
“No, we can. Right now.” My nostrils flared. “Just spit it out. Go on, it’s not hard. Tell me the truth.”
“What truth?” Anger tinted her cheeks.
“The truth that you don’t want me anymore.”
She had the gall to roll her eyes. “G, you’re bonkers. Why wouldn’t I want you anymore? I love you.”
“Funny way of bloody showing it.”
“Leave her alone,” Pippa said.
Conner’s head wrenched up, no longer oblivious to the swirling tension cycloning around the camp. “Hey, what’s going on?”
Estelle sucked in a breath, her chest rising beneath her black t-shirt.
When was the last time she wore her bikini? When was the last time she let me spoon her in bed, cup her belly, and pull her onto my cock?
Weeks, that’s how long.
Too goddamn long.
“Galloway seems to think I don’t love him anymore.” Estelle glanced at Conner. “Can someone tell him how ludicrous that is?”
Conner scowled. “Dude, stop being a drama llama.”
(I should never have told him what Estelle called me that first day).
“She’s fine. Course she still loves you, man.” His eyes narrowed on Estelle. Recently, his hormones had revved his testosterone to a level I didn’t like. He watched my woman with a lust that shouldn’t exist. I didn’t want to have to kick his ass, but I would if he ever put the moves on her. She was his mother figure, not a damn wanking object.
Oh, shit.
What if Estelle shacked up with Conner? What if years passed by and Conner grew into a good-looking man and she dumped me for younger goods?
“Ah!” I clutched my head, wanting to rip into my brain and tear out such heinous thoughts.
Estelle’s hands landed on my wrists, pulling my arms down. Concern and affection swam in her gaze. “G, I don’t know what’s brought this on, but I’m sorry if I caused it by being so quiet.” Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed me.
I didn’t yield.
I didn’t give into the kiss.
For all I knew, it was a break-up kiss.
My back bunched and muscles quivered with the need to punch something or run.
Pippa drifted forward, standing warily a few feet away. “Please...don’t fight. I love both of you. Please.” Her eyes welled with tears.
Poor kid was overly sensitive to losing those she cared for.
I sighed heavily. “It’s okay, Pippi. We’re not fighting.”
Estelle dropped her gaze, fighting the oppressive weight she’d been battling for weeks. It killed me that she didn’t let me fight on her behalf. Couldn’t she see I would slaughter anything that hurt her...multiple times over...and chase it into the underworld to make sure it was dead so it could never hurt her again?
My heart clambered like a rabies-infected animal. I cupped her cheek, sucking in a relieved breath as she pressed her face into my palm. “Please...Estelle, I’m begging you. Tell me what’s wrong. I’m going out of my mind with worry.”
A small smile lit her lips. “Well, you can stop thinking I don’t love you anymore. In fact, I love you even more than I did.”
I didn’t know how that was possible, but I’d take it.
I’d take whatever she gave me. I’d survive on mere scraps of tenderness if that were all she could offer.
“Okay...” I brushed my thumb on her lower lip, very aware of how soft and warm her mouth was. “Tell me then...what is it?”
Her shoulders tightened, the lines that etched her forehead returned, and she couldn’t keep eye contact. “It’s—I mean—I’ve wanted to tell you...but...I can’t.”
Tell me what?
My heart folded to my feet. “You’re...you’re not sick, are you?”
I couldn’t handle the thought of her leaving me, but I would go catatonic at the thought of her dying.
She could never die.
I forbid it.
Dragging her to the almost-ready-to-sail raft, I grabbed her by the hips and plonked her on the wooden (hopefully floatable) platform. “We’ll leave. Right now. We’ll get you medicine. Whatever you need to get better.”
Panic slicked my hands with sweat as I barked orders. “Conner, get rid of that octopus; we don’t need it. Grab the salted fish and smoked lizard. We’re leaving. Right now. Estelle needs help.”
Estelle’s lyrical laugh was the only thing that reached me through my stampeding frenzy. Her fingers slipped through my hair
, pulling my face to hers.
Our lips connected.
Our tastes mingled.
My chaotic world found its centre once again.
Breathing against my lips, she murmured, “G...I love you. And I’m sorry for not telling you. It was wrong of me. But seeing you fear that I don’t want you anymore or panic that I’m dying...I can’t keep this secret.” Her lips twitched into a sad smile. “Besides, it’s not like I’ll be able to keep it a secret much longer.”
Pippa drifted closer; Puffin had magically appeared in her hands. “So...you’re not sick, Stelly?”
Estelle shook her head. “No, I’m not sick, Pip.” Something clouded her eyes. “However, I will need help from all of you in the coming months.” She sniffed back her own fear. “I can’t do this on my own.”
“Do what?” I murmured. “Tell me. I’ll do anything for you, Estelle. You know that.”
She smiled. “I do know that. Thank you, G. Just knowing you’ll be beside me is enough.”
“Enough for what?”
“To face that I might not make it but I have a much better chance with my family helping me.”
Might. Not. Make. It?
“What the hell, Estelle?”
Her index hushed my mouth, keeping me silent.
Her eyes blazed with green and brown confession. “I’m pregnant, Galloway. And I’m absolutely petrified.”
.............................
AUGUST
I spent the following month alternating between uncontrollable rage and inconceivable despair.
Once Estelle told me, it was as if a ten-tonne weight slid off her shoulders and landed squarely onto mine.
She slept better, ate better, and she no longer hid her growing belly behind Conner’s black t-shirt.
Her bikini revealed the little bump that, in ordinary circumstances would be hardly noticeable, but thanks to prominent ribs and hipbones, her belly was the only thing distended, increasing by the day.
I hated that bump.
I detested that bump.
But I loved it, too.
When we lay down to sleep, I traced the tightness of her skin, I massaged her lower back and made gentle love to the woman I’d given my absolute soul to.
Estelle was the reason I was still alive. And I’d condemned her to a potential death.
I hated myself.
No, I bloody loathed myself.
When she whispered that I could come inside her, that she was already past the need for safe sex, I lost it.