She said she needed somewhere to stay because of the renovations at her house, but I know it was because she was afraid to leave me alone.
It took me ten days to tell her what happened. She was so angry her whole face went red, and she started shaking. She crumpled a bunch of papers and shouted about suing the bastard, but that only made me cry.
The rest of the time has been a blur. I’ve gotten up, gone to work, eaten, and slept. Last week, I even started swimming again.
Martin tried calling me a couple times, but I blocked his number and redirected all his emails to my spam folder. I deleted him on social media, but I was still reminded of him everywhere I went. My heart still skips a beat every time a black BMW passes me in the street.
The days are okay. The worst time is nighttime. I try to tire myself out enough that I’m asleep before my head hits the pillow, but it doesn’t always work.
Tonight, I’m staring at the ceiling again as my thoughts swirl around me. It’s almost too easy to give in to the anger, the outrage, the deep, unending sadness.
So, I try to fight it. I close my eyes and take deep breaths. I count my inhales up to five, and then exhale up to five. I do this over and over until my mind clears.
I open my eyes when my phone dings. I turn to my nightstand and check my phone, frowning at the notification. It’s an app I use to track my menstrual cycle.
Your period is 7 days late, it says.
I frown. It’s been giving me these notifications every day. For some reason, tonight’s notification makes me pause. My period hasn’t been late since I was in my teens. I put my hand on my stomach and take a deep breath.
I won’t let my mind go there. I won’t let myself think about what it means for my period to be late.
I’m on the pill! I get up and check my pill package. I’m on the sugar pills, so I should be bleeding by now. My period week is nearly over. I flip the package over and frown.
Then, my eyes widen. Stamped in the bottom corner of the packaging is a faint expiration date… from two years ago. I take three quick, staggered breaths. Maybe it’s some weird European date format that’s all out of order—but the year is still two years ago. Maybe it’s wrong. Maybe…
I pull up the internet on my phone and search for an explanation. With every new search result, my heart sinks further and further down. Pregnant, pregnant, pregnant.
Shaking, panting, with panic rising inside me, I throw my phone aside.
It’s not true.
It can’t be.
It’s impossible.
I squeeze my eyes shut and count my breaths again until my heart slows down. Then, I stare at the expired package of pills again and try not to cry.
The next morning, the first thing I do is go to the bathroom. My eyes prickle when there’s still no sign of Aunt Flo. I sit on the toilet, taking deep breaths and staring at the ceiling.
When I get dressed, I wince as I put my bra on. My breasts feel swollen and sensitive, just like they have been for the past two weeks. How did I not notice that before? I poke them and cup them, frowning. They feel heavier than usual, and my nipples are so sensitive even the soft fabric of my bra feels rough.
I shake my head, ignoring the voice in the back of my head that’s screaming the obvious to me.
I delete the period tracking app and try to ignore it, but anxiety starts mounting inside me. Stella notices something’s wrong, and she pulls me aside at work. I make up some excuse about sleeping poorly. She frowns but says nothing.
It takes me three days to work up the courage to buy a pregnancy test. When I’m in the pharmacy, I feel strangely ashamed. I’m a grown woman, and pregnancy should be a joyous, natural thing. Instead, I’m buying a bunch of stuff I don’t need to cover up the fact that I’m really here to see if there’s a baby growing inside me.
The pregnancy test feels like a ticking time bomb. As soon as I unwrap it and pee on the end of it, it might blow my whole world apart.
The test says to wait until morning, and I toss and turn all night. When I finally wake up, bleary-eyed and tired, I stumble to the bathroom and frown at the box. My heart hammers as I unwrap it and sit down on the toilet, and I bite my lip to keep myself from crying.
I start the timer on my phone and turn the test around. I brush my teeth and start getting ready for work to ignore the explosion that’s about to rock my world to pieces.
When the timer goes off and I turn the test around, I’m not even surprised. It doesn’t feel like an explosion. Two little blue lines stare back at me, clear and strong.
I’m pregnant.
I sit down on the floor and stare at the test. Then, I get up, throw the test in the garbage and keep getting ready for work.
Around lunchtime, Stella comes to my desk and invites me out for some food. I follow her mechanically, putting one step in front of the other. She’s talking about something, but I don’t hear a word. I don’t even know if I’ve gotten any work done.
Finally, when we sit down to eat, she looks at me for the first time.
“Honey, what’s wrong? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
I stare at my sandwich. “I’m pregnant.”
Her jaw drops and her eyes widen. “Are you sure?”
I nod.
“How? I thought you were on the pill.”
“They’re expired.”
“What?” I look up to see her wide-eyed. “What do you mean? How long have you had them?”
I sigh, shaking my head. “I don’t know. I had an old pack from back before Jack and I were trying for a baby, but I thought I was using the new one I just got. Maybe they got mixed up in my medicine cabinet. I don’t know. I don’t know… I just… I don’t know.”
“Okay, honey. That’s okay.” She puts her hand over mine and I take deep, calming breaths. “Are you… How do you feel? Are you… happy?”
That makes me laugh. I laugh and laugh and laugh, and Stella looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. Finally, I wipe my eyes and shake my head.
“No, Stella. I’m not happy. The man who killed my husband impregnated me right before he told me what he did. I’m alone, I’m depressed, I’m broke, and I have no prospects at happiness or financial stability.”
Stella stares at the table between us. Her body is vibrating and she shakes her head. “Fuck, Nic.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to keep it?”
She looks up at me, her eyebrows drawing together.
I chuckle bitterly, shaking my head. “That’s the thing that’s fucking with my head, Stella. I want it. I want to keep it. I want to have a baby, and I want to love it and be the best mom ever.” I put my hand to my stomach as tears start welling in my eyes. “And the most fucked up part of me wants to have a piece of Martin with me. I know he’s horrible, and awful, but… I don’t even know. I can’t explain it.”
Stella reaches across the table and takes my other hand in hers. “That’s not fucked up, Nic. That’s beautiful.”
“I feel like I should hate this baby, but I don’t. I’m so confused.”
“You shouldn’t hate the baby,” she says, grinning. “The baby did nothing wrong.”
“I just… When Jack died, I thought my chances at a family died with him. And then when Martin and I imploded, I…” I look at her, begging her with my eyes to understand. “But now…”
“You have another chance.”
I nod. “I’m terrified.”
She squeezes my hand. “Are you going to tell him?”
I take a deep breath, staring at my stomach. If I tell him, he’d probably help me out financially. I’d have a bit of support and logistically, it would be easier. He’s the father, and he probably has a right to know. But if I tell him, it means I have to talk to him. It means he’ll be in my life forever, and I don’t know if I can handle that.
Stella squeezes my hand again and I look up at her. I shrug. “I don’t know.”
32
Ma
rtin
“You’re a hard man to get a hold of,” the woman says when I walk into the conference room. She extends her hand to shake mine, but her eyes remain hard.
She’s got deep, red hair and piercing green eyes. Her face is angular and quite beautiful, but it lacks the softness of Nicole’s features. I take a deep breath, mentally smacking myself. I shouldn’t be thinking of Nicole.
“What can I help you with? I don’t think we’ve met, Mrs...?”
“King. Stella King.”
“What can I do for you, Ms. King?”
She takes a seat, straightening her silk blouse. She folds her manicured hands on the table in front of her and looks me up and down.
“I’m here unofficially,” she starts. My eyebrows arch, and she holds my gaze. “My dear friend and coworker is a former, uh, acquaintance of yours.”
“Oh?”
She clears her throat. “Nicole Martinez.”
Years of training allow me to keep my face steady. A lump forms in my throat, and I try to swallow. Stella’s eyes narrow, and she shakes her head.
“I thought you’d be taller.”
“I’m six-three.”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I just expected… I don’t know what I expected.” She waves her hands in my direction. “I expected more.”
“Why exactly are you here?”
“Why exactly aren’t you in jail?”
My pulse quickens and I stand up. My chair rolls back behind me and I clear my throat. “I’ve had enough of this. If you’re just here to waste my time and make idle threats—”
“She’s pregnant.”
I waver. I lean on the table to support myself, because the ground has suddenly turned to jelly. My heart falls out my ass and my vision starts to blur at the edges. I focus on the woman across from me, blinking rapidly as the words sink in.
“She’s p… she’s preg…”
“Pregnant, yes.” Stella arches her eyebrow. She shakes her head, putting her hand to her forehead. “I shouldn’t be here. I’ve overstepped. Fuck,” she breathes. “She’s going to kill me.”
“No, wait,” I say as she stands up. “Wait, I just…”
We stare at each other for a few moments. I’m afraid to move from the table in case I fall over. The ground is heaving underneath me, and my vision isn’t exactly clear. I take a deep breath, focusing on Stella’s green eyes until I regain my balance.
“She told me she was on the pill,” I finally manage to say. “We used a condom all the other times… just… how?”
Stella sighs. She shakes her head and looks at me with something new in her eyes—is it pity?
“I thought you had a right to know, but I don’t know anymore. What you did to her is inexcusable. I shouldn’t have come here. I’ve made a mistake.”
“I’m ashamed of myself,” I blurt out as she reaches the conference room door. She turns her head toward me and stares me down with those green orbs of hers.
Finally she nods. “You should be.”
When the door closes behind her, I collapse onto a chair. I groan as my stomach twists. Leaning my head back on the chair, I close my eyes and try to take deep, calming breaths. My heart isn’t getting the memo, because it’s still bouncing around my ribcage like I just injected adrenaline.
Carmen appears in the doorway. She steps inside and closes the door behind her. Standing in front of me, she stares at me with her arms crossed.
“What was that about?”
“Nothing,” I say. I’m not ready to talk about it.
“You remember the plan, right? I’ve seen that look on your face before. This is about the accident, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“Then it’s about Nicole.”
“Carmen…”
Her eyes narrow. For the past month, she’s been working on burying the hit and run. She’s manufactured an alibi for me, complete with falsified documents and plane tickets. My stomach turns again, and I shake my head.
“I can’t do it, Carmen.”
“I’ve put everything on the line for you, Martin,” she says, her voice tense. “Everything. I’ve bent my morals so far I’m surprised they haven’t snapped in half.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I’ve done too much wrong. I can’t keep running. I can’t hide. Not anymore. I can’t put you in this position; I could ruin everything for you.”
She stares at me for a few moments. I watch her swallow and then turn away from me without a word. I pull out my phone and try to call Nicole for the thousandth time. For the thousandth time, it beeps and tells me the phone number is disconnected. I try every social media outlet I can think of, but I can’t find her anywhere. I send her yet another email that I know she probably won’t see.
I need to talk to her.
The need grows and grows inside me until I find myself jogging to my car. By the time I pull up outside Nicole’s building, my pulse is thundering in my ears and my palms are sweaty. I go to the buzzer, mashing it over and over. I imagine the buzzer ringing in an empty apartment, and my shoulders slump.
The door opens behind me and an old woman steps out.
“Do you know Nicole Martinez?” I pounce on her, breathless. “Does she still live here?”
The woman looks at me suspiciously. My eyes dart from her to the door, and I run my fingers through my hair. My tie is undone and I probably look like I’m on the verge of insanity.
“She moved out last week,” the woman finally says through tight lips. She holds her jacket closed at the neck, looking down her nose at me.
“Did she leave a forwarding address?”
She snorts. “Not with me.” She waddles away, and I sink down on the steps.
She’s pregnant with my child, and I can’t even speak to her. The pain that rips through my heart is unbearable. What I’ve wanted most, what I’ve dreamt about for the past five years—it’s painfully out of reach. Every time I think I might be happy, every time I think I might have a wife, a child, a meaning to this miserable existence, it’s snatched away from me. I look up at the sky and start laughing as tears roll down my eyes.
Karma is beautifully vicious, isn’t it?
I’m paying for my crime a thousand times over. When Brianne was taken away from me, I made the biggest mistake of my life, and someone lost their life because of it.
Then, Nicole was dangled in front of me like an irresistible lure, and I fell for her, hard. I fell so hard I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get up again. She was everything that I lost, and more. She was my second chance at love, at a family, at everything that I’d lost. She was more than that. She understood me in ways I thought weren’t possible. She fit into me so perfectly that it felt like we were made from the same mold.
And I lost her, too.
I laugh until my chest hurts, and I lie back on the steps. Puffy white clouds pass across the sky, oblivious to my pain.
I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head.
I don’t want to go to jail. Tears prickle at my eyelids when I think of turning myself in to the police. I’d be disbarred, convicted, charged, and I’d lose everything.
What help would that be?
Nicole would have my child, and I’d be behind bars. Our kid wouldn’t stand a chance.
No, I can’t do that. I might have turned myself in to the police before, but the baby changes everything. I have to make sure that Nicole is taken care of.
There has to be another way. I take a deep breath and try to organize my thoughts.
I committed a crime. I’m guilty. I treated Nicole like shit, and I didn’t come clean to her when I should have. Now, she’s no closer to getting closure and she’s carrying my child.
Pain radiates from my heart and I groan. Money was tight enough for her before, and now there’s a baby in the mix? Paralegal salaries aren’t exactly amazing. How can she think she can do it on her own? Why didn’t she tell me?
But I know why she didn’t tell me. It’s
because she wants nothing to do with me, and I don’t blame her. In a way, I admire her. Even with the shock of a pregnancy, she still won’t sacrifice her morals. I imagine her back straight, her chin high, and that defiant glare in her eyes that I loved from the first day I saw her.
That’s Nicole.
My Nicole.
I stare at my phone, and I know I can’t do anything. She shut me out a month ago.
An idea springs into my mind as I think of Nicole’s life insurance policy. Knowing what I know about insurance companies, they’re still stalling.
She’d sent me the information to pass on to my friend who specializes in insurance law, so I look up the email. My heart thumps when I see her name in my inbox, and I take a deep breath.
This is my chance.
Maybe not for her to take me back, but for me to make things right. This is my chance to atone.
I can’t help Nicole and the baby by being in jail, but I may be able to provide for them in another way. Even if she never speaks to me again, the least I can do is make sure the mother of my child is safe.
33
Nicole
I toss the stack of mail onto the counter, along with my purse, keys, and phone. I’m starving. I don’t know if it’s the pregnancy, or work, or the fact that I went swimming tonight, but I feel like my stomach is a bottomless pit.
I have some leftover spaghetti sauce, so I set a pot of water to boil and grab some hummus and carrots to munch on while I wait. I inhale a few carrots and my stomach groans happily. With some food in my belly, I’m functional again. I turn to the stack of mail and sigh. At least most of it is making it to my new address, so the mail forwarding service is working properly.
Bills, bills, and more bills. That’s all it is. How depressing. Oh, and another delay letter from my insurance company. Great. My life is just so joyous. I moved into this shoebox apartment three weeks ago, when I realized that I could no longer afford my slightly-bigger-shoebox apartment.
Love/Hate: The Complete Enemies to Lovers Series Page 15