I didn't expect to be this upset when I saw Gavin again. Of course, I also didn't expect it would be seconds after finally getting proof of the murder I witnessed last year in the form of a dead man stashed in a secret freezer. Life is just full of surprises all over the place.
For months now, I've been trying to get in touch with him, trying to have a conversation with him so we can figure out how we're going to move forward. Now he's here, and all concept of how to react has fluttered out of my head. I don't know if I should run and jump into his arms, or if I should kick him. Probably not kick him, but at least be angry at him for a while longer.
He's staring back at me with his own expression of confusion. But for all kinds of different reasons. His eyes keep flickering over me, and I wonder if he's noticed the changes in my body. Of course, he has. That's something men notice, even if they say they don't, and even if it genuinely doesn't bother them.
For the most part, a woman can chop off her hair, get various things pierced, wear completely different makeup, and a man won't notice anything. But when that same woman offers up a little extra to fill his hands with, he is all over it. But Gavin, like most, doesn't come out and say it. He just keeps looking.
Well, strap in, honey, because we're getting there.
"Convenient?" he finally answers. "I went to your office, went on your website, found the listings you have, got their addresses, and went to find you. I don't exactly call that convenient. In fact, it's bordering on ridiculous. Especially when it comes down to it and you aren't even happy to see me," he says.
"Happy to see you? Why should I be happy to see you when you never called me back? I've needed to talk to you for weeks, and you just decided not to get back in touch with me," I snap.
"You keep saying that. I never heard from you," he responds.
"How can you possibly say that? I called over and over."
"Did you leave a voicemail?"
Shit. This conversation just turned right the hell around on me.
"No," I admit.
"Then how was I supposed to know that you were calling me?" he asks.
This is probably the moment when most people would say 'caller ID', but considering I specifically requested my number come up as 'Private', that wouldn't be the most effective argument for me. Instead, I go for indignance. It's not the most elegant choice, but I'm quickly slipping, and this conversation is going to get a whole lot more awkward soon, so the more face I can maintain, the better off I'll be in a few seconds.
"I figured you would at least answer your phone at some point. You are so obsessed with your work; it didn't occur to me you would just skip answering that many calls. Since you know the only number you gave me is to your office."
"Like you gave me?" he asks.
Shit, again.
"Why didn't you bother to answer?"
"I've been traveling almost solidly since spring. There's a considerable amount going on with my company right now, and I wanted to personally handle as much of it as possible. When I was in the office, my assistant filtered my calls. If she didn't recognize the number, it didn't get answered. No voicemail, no call-back. It seems only logical if something is important, the caller will leave a message."
"That may seem logical, but it's not always the truth," I say.
"What do you mean by that?" he asks.
"I'm pregnant, Gavin."
He blinks twice. "Let's go inside."
In retrospect, I probably could have gone for a gentler approach to revealing the news. Like a stroll down memory lane with some photo albums of me when I was a baby ending with the ultrasound printout. Or a pink cake pop. A bootie if I knew how to knit. But at least it's out there now.
Unlike Gavin, who isn't out anywhere, now that he's walked right up to my porch, taken the keys from my hand, and let himself into the house. I follow him inside and shut the door behind us.
"Look, before you say anything…" I start.
"You're pregnant?" he asks. "Is it mine?"
"I said before you say anything, but that's fine. We can just jump right to the denial and slut-shaming portion of the conversation," I say.
Gavin shakes his head, taking a few steps toward me. "No. No, that's not what I mean. I'm just trying to let it all sink in."
"I understand. It didn't really sink in for me all the way until my ultrasound," I tell him.
His eyes widen. "You had one? Can I see it?"
I'm not sure why this surprises me. It shouldn't. But I still stare back at him for several seconds, trying to process it. He tilts his head toward me expectantly after a few seconds, snapping me back into action.
"Oh. Yeah. Let me get it," I say.
I go to my bedroom and change into stretchy pants and a tight tank top. It shows Cupcake in her full glory, but we're at home. She's allowed to hang out when it's just the two of us. Pretty soon, I won't be able to keep her hidden. I'm starting to think I haven't been as effective at it as I might think. There have been some looks and decidedly more whispers when I walk out of the coffee shop with my decaf caramel iced coffee perhaps a bit more frequently than I should.
Honestly, I don't know if I care anymore. What other people think of me has never ranked high on my list of things I spend too much time worrying about. And I refuse to be ashamed of my baby. Not running around telling people started as a way to not have to answer questions before I was ready. Now it's become almost selfish. She's something I get to keep to myself and not have to share with anyone I don't want to. That's probably a tendency I'll not want to instill in her a couple years from now, but I don't have to tell her. Mama privilege.
That and if there's anyone who deserves to know, it's Gavin. There shouldn't be an entire town that's aware of his daughter coming before he is.
Clutching the pictures from the ultrasound, I head back into the living room and find Gavin... gone. That doesn't bode well for this whole co-parenting situation. It takes a few seconds before I hear something in the kitchen and realize he didn't just dip out the first second he was alone. He comes back into the living room, carrying a huge glass of milk and a plate with what looks like an entire box of Oreos on it.
"Hungry?" I ask.
"This is for you," he explains, sitting the plate and glass down onto the coffee table.
I eye it. "Why?"
"To keep up your strength," he tells me.
"Well, it's not exactly a protein shake and folic acid supplement, but I'm never going to say no to a cookie." I settle onto the couch and snag one of the cookies, dipping it into the milk and biting off the soggy side.
Gavin sits down and eyes my belly. I run my hand along it.
"I wouldn't have even known," he says.
I laugh. "You just thought I'd overdosed on Angelo's meatballs and pizza? It's alright. Pretty much everyone else does, too."
"You haven't told anyone?" he asks.
"Sylvia knows. My doctor and the girls there know, obviously. Other than that, I haven't officially told anyone," I tell him.
"Why not?" he asks.
I tilt my head at him, narrowing my eyes incredulously. "Because I wanted to tell you first? That's why I've been trying to call you. I didn't want to leave a message because it was too impersonal. Here." I hold the pictures out to him.
Gavin takes them and stares down at the image in silence for several long seconds.
"This was almost four weeks ago?" he asks.
"Yes. I only see the doctor once a month for right now. After my next appointment, it will go to every two weeks. It's hard to believe I'm already more than halfway through."
"Imagine what it's like for me," he says. "I just found out."
He laughs softly, still staring at her image, and I smile. "Cupcake will be here before we know it."
"Cupcake?" he asks, looking up at me.
"Oh. Yeah. That's what I've been calling her. When the doctor took that picture, she said the baby is about the size of a large cupcake, like one of those big gourmet cupcake
s. Anyway, it stuck," I explain.
"It's a girl?"
I nod. "Due in November."
"She's incredible," he murmurs.
Now's the time to jump in and smooth things out a little.
"I don't need or expect anything from you," I tell him. "That's not the point of me trying to find you or calling you so much. You just deserve to know. I wasn't going to be one of those women who just writes 'unknown' on the certificate and moves on with her life. You are the only man I've ever been with... you're pretty known. And you deserve to know you have a child. But I just want to reassure you; I'm not after anything, and I…"
"I'm staying here to be with you through this," he says, cutting me off.
The words knock me off balance at first, and I'm not sure how to respond. Once they sink all the way in, there's no doubt.
"No, you're not."
"Excuse me?"
"You're not just stopping your life to come down here and be with me. I'm doing just fine, and I'll keep doing just fine."
"You are five months pregnant with my child and just discovered a body in the house you're trying to sell after months of getting creepy notes," he points out.
"Well, damn. I hadn't even thought of the notes until now. Thank you for that," I mutter, a chill rolling along my spine.
"Scarlett, I don't want you to be alone through this," he says, moving closer to me on the couch.
"I won't be alone. Sylvia is here and her family."
"That's not what I mean. I should be here with the baby. With you."
"You told me yourself your business is extremely busy right now, and you've been running all over hell and back dealing with things for it. You can't just walk away from all that. I'm not going to let you just stop your life because of this," I tell him.
"Then you're coming home with me," he says matter-of-factly. "There are nine bedrooms in my house other than mine. I'm sure you can find one you like for the baby's nursery."
"You have lost your mind," I say.
"What?"
"I'm not leaving Shadow Creek. I have a life here. It might not be as high powered and impressive as yours, but I have a business. I have a home. Friends. History. I'm not just going to put all that aside and run off to a place I don't know and be surrounded by a bunch of people I don't know. My home is here. My life is here. My doctor is here. I'm not going anywhere."
The response gets me surprisingly worked up. I blink back tears stinging under my eyes. I shove the rest of the cookie in my mouth as Gavin moves closer and wraps his arm around me.
"I don't understand what you want," he says.
"I don't want anything. Telling you was about what you want," I tell him.
"I want to be a part of this. A part of her life. A part of your life."
"Then we'll take it one day at a time," I say.
Gavin pulls me a little closer. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," I say, nodding.
"Are you?" he asks.
I shake my head. "No. I'm tired. I get headaches almost every day now. Finding that body is really freaking me out, and now so is thinking about the notes, which I've gotten more of but didn't think about until you said something. So, thank you for that."
I cover my eyes, then glance at him. "Actually, it's probably better that you mentioned it. That way it didn't pop into my head in the middle of the night and scare the hell out of me. I wouldn't want to spend the night clutching a stiletto and a field hockey stick for protection."
"Do you play field hockey?" Gavin asks.
"No, but it seemed less cliché than a baseball bat and gave off a better vibe. If I suddenly had a baseball bat under my bed, it's like I'm admitting to the Universe I think someone is going to come and get me. If it's just a field hockey stick, maybe it just means I'm interested in exploring another side of my womanhood with a sport heavily focused on strangely shaped sticks and plaid skirts."
"Well, it doesn't matter. You aren't going to have to use either, because I wouldn't let anyone get to you. I'm staying here tonight," he tells me resolutely.
"You don't have to do that," I say.
"Yes, I do. You're scared. And rightly so. I want to be here tonight to protect you and make you feel safe. Besides, I've already missed so much. I think it's about time I make up for some late-night cravings."
I laugh and nod. "Thank you. It will make me feel better to have you here.”
"Good. Now, what can I get for you and Cupcake?"
Chapter Thirty-Four
Gavin
I've never been afraid of the dark. Even when my age was still in the single digits, I asked the nanny to turn off the nightlight before closing the door at night. The extra pool of light wasn't comforting. It was annoying and kept me awake. More often than not, I got out of bed and unplugged it, only to have the nanny come back to check on me and turn it back on. I don't know what they thought happened to the light in the time they were away from my room, but it went on that way until they finally decided I was old enough to not have to have one. Or they were just tired of struggling with it.
Tonight, I understand. My child is still almost five months away from even being born, and I don't want to turn off the lights anywhere in the house, much less the room where she's sleeping. Or, more accurately, where her mother is sleeping. Scarlett won't have any of the idea of leaving the lights on. I guess it doesn't really matter, considering there's no way I'm sleeping tonight. My mind is going a million miles an hour, and absolutely nothing will quiet the thoughts rumbling around in there.
I lie down beside Scarlett as she falls asleep. She nestles backward, and I curl my body around her. My hand starts on her hip and moves down to rest on the side of her belly. I still can't believe she's pregnant. I can obviously see how her body has changed, and I held the images of the baby in my hand. Even in the indistinct black and gray, I counted fingers and traced the slope of a tiny nose and sweet, pursed lips.
It's just still so mind blowing, so unexpected. What's even harder to believe is that she's existed for so long, and I didn't know. Ever since walking away from Shadow Creek in February, this little one has been growing. I've just gone about my life, completely absorbed in my work like always, having no idea about the incredible thing happening right here.
But now I know. Just that fast, a baby not even ready to come into the world yet has taken over my mind. Her and Scarlett. I will do anything to protect them. I'm going to make sure they have everything they need and that nothing happens to them. Right now, I don't know what that means or what our future will look like, but it doesn't matter. We'll figure it out. As stunned and taken off guard as I am finding out I'll soon be a father, I'm strangely calm about it.
A tiny popping sensation hits my palm. I lightly press against it and feel it again, harder this time. I smile and rub Scarlett's belly.
"I feel you, Cupcake. I'm here. I'll protect you. Both of you," I whisper.
Scarlett makes a soft humming sound and rolls partially onto her back to look at me. "Hmmmmm?"
"Shhhh. Go back to sleep. Everything's fine," I tell her.
She rolls back over and down deeper into her pillows. Slipping carefully out of the bed, I walk out into the rest of the house. Lights burn in nearly every room. I can't stop thinking about the body Scarlett found. She didn't tell me many details, and I don't want to push her about it. It was obviously traumatizing, especially because of the memories from last Halloween.
That night looms large in my head. I didn't believe her. It's not that I thought she was lying purposely or making something up as a sick joke. She obviously felt the fear and shock. I just didn't believe she saw what she thought she saw.
Now I have to come to terms with the idea that I really did come at just the right moment. I didn't see or hear anyone around us as we made our way back to the corn maze at night. But that doesn't mean they weren't there. If I hadn't heard her and run toward her screams…
I don't want to continue that thought. Shaking it awa
y, I pace through the house again. Reaching the living room, I noticed the small stack on the corner of the mantle. Just like in February, the notes Scarlett received sit there. Only now there are more of them. Two notes I haven't seen sit with the ones she showed me and the box of chocolates from Valentine's Day. They still don't make sense. It's been nine months since Halloween. Why keep sending the notes? If they were meant to toy with her, did they really have anything to do with the body at all?
Scarlett has been asleep for hours by the time I allow myself to drift off on the couch. My eyes only stay closed for a short time before popping back open to resume my watch. The sun is just coming up when I fall asleep again, but this stretch is even shorter than the first. Giving up on any more sleep, I take a shower and go into the kitchen to make breakfast. The list of foods I'm able to prepare is short, but one thing I am adept at is scrambled eggs. A couple of dollops of cream cheese richen it up, and I pile them onto the plate with slices of an avocado I find on the counter. I'm contemplating testing my skills at frying some bacon when Scarlett's footsteps come running down the hallway toward me.
She appears in the doorway of the kitchen, gripping her phone against her ear. Her eyes are wide as she hops slightly on one foot and uses the other hand to pull on a shoe.
"I'm on my way," she says.
Hanging up the phone, she eyes the breakfast I made.
"On your way where? What's going on?" I ask.
"I need to get to the police station," she tells me.
"You need to eat breakfast."
"You made me eggs?" she asks.
"Yes. With avocado. You said you've been getting headaches. Avocados can help with that."
"I didn't know that. Sylvia brought it over because she bought too many for her taco night earlier this week," she tells me.
"Remind me to thank her for taking care of you," I say.
Scarlett goes to the pantry and pulls out a bag of soft tortillas. Tossing two of them into the microwave, she warms them for a few seconds, then dishes half the scrambled eggs into each and tops them with the sliced avocado. She folds each of the tortillas into a burrito, wraps a paper towel around them, and hands me one.
Baby and the Billionaire Page 19