In Name Only (A Pine Falls Novel Book 2)

by Jennifer Peel

  Brock chuckled and removed a Post-it note from my cheek and held it in front of me. “Is this a new way of trying to absorb your to-do list?”

  I dreamily smiled, still half-asleep. “If only that would work. What time is it?”

  “Eleven.” He smoothed my hair.

  “You’re home late.”

  “There was an emergency appendectomy that had a few complications.”

  “I hope the patient is okay.”

  “She should make a full recovery.”

  “Good. How was . . . the rest of your day?” I hesitated to ask.

  “It was fine. I was fine,” he said, half-exasperated.

  I carefully sat up. My back was killing me, but I didn’t draw any attention to it. “I should probably get to bed.”

  “Can we talk for a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  Brock moved some of the papers I had fallen asleep on out of the way and sat next to me.

  I nervously ran a hand through my sleep-tangled hair.

  Brock placed his strong, scarred hand on my thigh and gently began rubbing my leg.

  I had to take slow breaths so I wouldn’t hyperventilate. The mix of ecstasy and torture was almost unbearable. “What did you want to talk about?” My voice was ridiculously pitchy, like a twitterpated teen.

  He scooted closer, heat rolling off him like the wind in the Sahara Desert. That had nothing, though, on the sexy smile he flashed me before leaning in and nuzzling my neck.

  I stiffened. “Wh . . . what are you doing?” I managed to stutter out.

  “Do you really need an explanation?” he asked, his voice low, before he softly and repeatedly began to kiss my neck.

  With each kiss, my body relaxed more and more. “Um . . .” My mind went totally blank. All I could comprehend was Brock’s touch. Though something in my brain was batting around trying to remind me that this wasn’t real. Except it felt incredibly real.

  Brock’s lips made their way up to my ear, where he drove me wild, nibbling on my lobe while his warm breath brushed against my skin.

  My head said to leave, my body begged me to stay, while my heart implored me to hope. “I thought you wanted to talk.” That was my head coming out of my mouth, though my breathless voice was obviously representing my body.

  “I decided I wanted to kiss my wife instead,” he groaned.

  His wife. With each loud beat of my heart, it began to swell with hope.

  Brock took my face in his hands and took a moment to appreciate me. “You are so beautiful.”

  His tenderness had my eyes misting.

  His lips inched closer to mine.

  “I haven’t brushed my teeth,” I blurted out of fear.

  “I couldn’t care less.” His mouth crashed into mine.

  Fear went out the window with the touch of his tongue and the parting of my lips. His hands went up through my hair, tangling themselves in my dark waves. My legs found their way across his lap. Brock’s hands cascaded down my back, and he drew me closer while exploring my mouth, groaning in pleasure. For a few minutes, all that existed was us, tasting and touching each other. I couldn’t get enough of him. However, Brock must have had his fill. His lips left mine abruptly, leaving them swollen and lonely. His forehead rested against mine while he took in deep breaths.

  “Dani,” he whispered before kissing my nose.

  “Are you regretting that you kissed me?” I had to ask.

  “Not at all. I was thinking we should do that more often.”

  I relaxed and snuggled against him.

  He wrapped me in his arms and held me.

  I soaked in his sandalwood scent mixed in with the smell of hospital antimicrobial soap. It wasn’t a bad combination. And it was him.

  “I have Friday off, and I was hoping to steal you away for the day,” he rushed to say, like a nervous schoolboy.

  My fingers made circles on his hard chest. “Is that so?”

  “I know you’re busy, but Jonah told me about a place in Pine Falls that does hayrides and secluded picnics for two.” That sounded like something Jonah would do for Ariana. “I want to take you there.”

  My heart leaped before I remembered what John had said and that I had an appointment with my obstetrician that morning. Bringing it up now was sure to kill the mood. But maybe . . . maybe I could dare to hope. I skimmed my lips with my fingers. His touch still lingered there. “I’d love to go, but . . .” My words got stuck in my throat.

  “But what?”

  I sat up and peered into his warm, inviting eyes. I saw my Brock in them. My courage ticked up. I rested my hand on his stubbled cheek, my thumb running over his rough skin. “I talked to your dad today, and he suggested that we start telling people about the baby soon. I have an OB appointment on Friday morning, and I was wondering if you would come with me. We could go on that picnic after my appointment.” I ran my words together, trying to get them all out before I lost my nerve.

  His entire body went rigid, and I felt the heat in his cheeks before I saw the red manifest. “What’s the rush? You’re not even showing yet.”

  My hand dropped, as well as my heart. Hope went flying out the window. “I want to tell my grandparents. I want to plan. I want . . .” His clenched fists and pulsing jaw didn’t go unnoticed. “Well, apparently it doesn’t matter what I want.” I slid my legs off him and stood, shaking. My hands went immediately to my back, which had begun to cramp, but I refused to stretch or rub the pain away. I would not show any sign of weakness in front of him or bring attention to my baby.

  I walked toward the staircase as fast as my aching body would let me, holding back a tidal wave of tears that were waiting to drown me.

  “Dani, I’m trying,” Brock called out in frustration.

  I stopped and grabbed the staircase railing. “What happens when you figure out you can’t accept my baby?” I waited for him to respond.

  The deafening silence was loud and clear.

  The floodgates opened, and I ran up the stairs as fast as I could. Each step produced a sharp pain that started in my back and shot down through my legs. As painful as that was, it had nothing on my shattered heart. Why had I dared to hope? Why had I listened to my manipulative father-in-law? Worse, my heart?

  I ran into my bathroom and slammed the door before rushing over to the shower and turning on the water. I felt more emotionally naked and exposed than I ever had, and I needed the noise to cover up the racking sobs that were on the verge of being unleashed. With my clothes shed, I stepped into the hot water. I sank down onto the tile, pulled my knees up to my chest, and let the emotion pour out of me while the water drenched me. Minute after minute after minute I let the water overtake me, wishing it could wash my pain down the drain. Yet the pain only swelled. I had to face the truth—Brock would never love me or my baby.

  I had to find a way out. For everyone.

  When my sobs turned to shudders, I leaned against the wall, shivering. Not because it was cold but because I was frightened. Scared to leave and scared to think I would have to stay. How does a puppet cut her strings? A better question was how does a puppet stand on her own with nothing to hold her up except sheer determination? Can she hide from the master?

  A pounding on the door made me jump.

  “Dani, are you . . . all right?”

  Was that a real question?

  “Dani,” his voice became more urgent.

  I immersed my head into the shower’s spray and ignored him.

  The pounding on the door got louder and his voice more frantic. “Dani, please answer me.” He banged some more. “Dani! Dani! Dani!” he screamed, panic and terror in his voice. “I’m coming in.”

  No he wasn’t. I pulled my head out of the water. “Leave me alone,” I yelled as loud as I could.

  The pounding and screaming stopped, replaced with only the sound of the water trickling over me.

  “I’m sorry,” his voice cracked, piercing through the soothing sound of the water and my heart.
“I didn’t think it would be this hard.”

  Me either, but I was going to fix it.

  I lay in bed that night, curled up in a ball, so emotionally and physically achy. The pain in my back was almost as acute as the one in my heart. It made it hard to think of an exit strategy. And the nausea was back. I wanted Grandma. But I couldn’t tell her I was pregnant, and if she saw me this sick, I knew she would insist I see a doctor. Maybe I had the flu—yet this felt different. Perhaps it was just my emotional state manifesting in physiological ways. All I knew was that I had to make it all better for the baby.

  I thought about calling Brant to see if he could give me a better idea of what Edward was capable of and what he held over John’s head. Maybe he could help me. Although I knew that was probably dangerous. What if his phone was bugged or someone overheard? That sounded paranoid, yet I wouldn’t put it past Edward. And what did Edward know? It was bad enough that John was scared, that much I knew. And if he was scared, I should be terrified. Scared people were irrational. I knew John would do anything to protect his legacy and his family’s reputation. Where did that leave me?

  Alone.

  All night I shifted, trying to get comfortable while I thought of ways to escape, but the pain and nausea muddled my brain. All I could come up with was making the public and Brock think I’d had an affair so that Brock would be humiliated enough to divorce me. I wouldn’t really cheat, just make everyone believe I had. However, I couldn’t stomach the thought of humiliating Brock so publicly or damaging Children to Love in the process. Though if I followed through on that plan, I would leave Colorado forever.

  If only I could disappear.

  The night seemed to drag into an abysmal darkness of thought, punctuated by bouts of pain. I think I drifted off to sleep a few times only to be woken up by my thoughts and the urge to vomit. But I couldn’t bring myself to get up. I wanted to stay in bed forever and hide from the world. Around five in the morning, I realized that wasn’t an option. I also realized I’d never heard a peep out of Brock during the night. I wondered if he hadn’t slept either. Maybe he was coming up with a plan for us to divorce too. I hoped it was better than mine.

  I forced myself to get up, hoping that moving around would help me feel better. It didn’t. I got dressed anyway. I needed to be out of Brock’s house. I needed work. A reminder that I was capable of doing good things. A reason to keep trying despite the pain. Not that I didn’t carry reason enough. I held my stomach. I’m going to make it okay, baby. Somehow.

  I didn’t even bother with makeup; I only threw my hair up in a messy bun. Sadly, I probably could have done with some makeup. My olive skin was pale, and my eyes were puffy from crying all night. I took some Tylenol, hoping it would help my back feel better. The ache was persistent. I almost gagged getting down the pills and water. Maybe I really did have a stomach bug. Regardless, I had to go. I would lock myself in my office away from everyone.

  As I walked down the hall in the semidarkness, I noticed Brock’s light was on in his room. It wasn’t surprising, since he slept with it on every night. I paused for a moment, wondering if I were to just ask him for a divorce, if he would figure out a way. Surely that’s what he wanted too. But I was too tired to feel any more hurt.

  I tiptoed down the stairs to gather my laptop and papers before heading out into the cold, dark morning. When I opened the garage door, I looked out into the sky, barely being tickled by the sun. A line of orange punctuated the horizon, trying its best to overtake the black night sky. Staring at it, I could feel the fight. As powerful as the sun was, she still had to struggle. Yet in the end, she would come out the victor. She would rise high in the sky, dispersing the darkness.

  I vowed that would be me.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The change of scenery did nothing to help me physically feel better. In fact, I felt worse. Not only did my back hurt, but I felt a lot of pressure in my abdomen. Using my desk for support, I pulled myself out of my chair and slowly walked to the employee restroom down the hall. I was glad no one was there yet to witness me as I steadied myself against the wall as I walked.

  When I entered the small no-frills bathroom with two beige stalls, I doubled over, cramping. A horrible thought entered my mind. Maybe I wasn’t sick. No. No. No. I was past the danger period. I was tired, and I must have pulled a muscle in my back is all. I tried to think of any reason for it not to be my worst nightmare. When I made it into the stall and locked the door, I had to take a second to breathe through another cramp.

  I sat on the toilet, hoping to relieve some of the pressure in my abdomen, and grabbed my phone with shaky hands to google my symptoms, praying it would be anything other than a miscarriage. Before I could, I dropped my phone when I noticed some spots of pinkish blood in my panties. No. Please no. I cried.

  Picking up my phone, which sported a newly cracked screen, I dialed my doctor’s after-hours number. Frustratingly, the nurse manning the line couldn’t or wouldn’t tell me anything. The only thing she could offer was to tell me to come in when they opened at eight, in a half hour.

  I left as soon as I could grab my bag and drove to the doctor’s office to wait outside until they opened. While I sat in my car, I read a hundred posts from different women about their pregnancy experiences. Most were not the news I wanted, though a few gave me reason to hope. Sometimes cramping and spotting occurred during pregnancy, I read, especially in the first trimester. I was past that. Still, maybe it was okay. God, please let my baby be okay. Please don’t punish me like this.

  The minutes felt like hours as I waited. At 7:59, I stood at the doctor’s office door waiting for it to be unlocked. I didn’t care who saw me. I was done slinking in the back door. All that mattered was my baby.

  As soon as one of the office staff unlocked the door, I rushed in. I was sure I looked like a madwoman, but the sweet woman didn’t startle at my abrupt entrance. Instead, she gave me a kind smile. “Mrs. Holland, come with me.”

  Right now, I would happily take the preferential treatment my temporary last name offered.

  As soon as I was taken back, I was ushered to an exam room. I guessed Dr. Paulson thought I was still wanting to keep this quiet. I sat on the exam table, my legs bouncing like a ball. A nurse came in after a few minutes to take my vitals and ask me what symptoms I was experiencing. I could barely choke out my response. And I could tell by the grave look in her eye that this wasn’t normal. She handed me a tissue and a gown. I tried to wipe the tears away with the tissue, but it was useless—they kept coming. As I undressed, I stared down at my stomach, begging and pleading with God to make it okay. To save my baby. There were more tinges of blood in my panties. This time redder. Hope continued to fade. By the time Dr. Paulson walked in with her nurse and an ultrasound machine, I was a teary mess.

  Dr. Paulson approached me, her violet eyes trying to calm me, but the only thing that could do that was to see my baby alive. To hear a heartbeat.

  She took my hand and squeezed it. “Let’s take a peek and see what’s going on.”

  I nodded.

  Dr. Paulson helped me lie down and get my feet in the stirrups, somewhat soothing me with her gentle bedside manner.

  I noticed that this time they kept the monitor away from me. I closed my eyes, waiting for the news that would either fill me with sweet relief or bring me crushing agony.

  I felt the transducer as the doctor moved it around more than she had the last time. I knew then she didn’t see what she was looking for. My baby was gone. Tears streamed down my face and landed on the paper covering the exam table. It was so quiet, I could hear them fall.

  “Dani, I’m sorry to tell you,” Dr. Paulson paused, “there’s no heartbeat.”

  I covered my face with my hands and took a deep, shaky breath. “Why? How?” I begged to know.

  Dr. Paulson removed the transducer, handed it to her nurse, and rolled around next to my head.

  I removed my hands and opened my eyes to see her giving m
e a thoughtful expression.

  “Most of the time the fetus stops developing because of a chromosomal defect, but it’s hard to tell. Just know it’s not your fault.”

  It felt like it was. This was my penance. “What happens now?”

  “Since you’re in the first twelve weeks, it’s best to let nature take its course. To allow the pregnancy tissue to pass on its own. But if you would like, we can schedule a D&C to surgically remove the tissue.”

  Surgery seemed so permanent and daunting. But technically I was further along, so what did that mean? Should I go that route? I couldn’t ask that, and I hated it. I hated this all. “How long does it take to pass naturally?”

  “It’s hard to predict—usually a few days to a couple of weeks. Once it starts, you’ll probably have a couple days of heavy bleeding and cramping, then that should taper off. However, if you start to fill more than two pads an hour or pass clots bigger than golf balls, call the office immediately.”

  I nodded, hardly comprehending what she was saying.

  “Do you want me to call your husband?”

  That snapped me out of my head. “No.” Brock wouldn’t care. In fact, this would be welcome news to him. No more baby. No more me. No more husband.

  ~*~

  I went to the only place I could think of—the loft. Thankfully, Kinsley wasn’t there. I needed to be alone and try to process. For weeks, the only thing that had gotten me through it all was knowing that in the end I would have a child of my own. A child I already loved. Now, I had nothing. It was all for nothing. I’d lost my freedom, my two best friends, the love of my life, and now my baby. And after losing so much, I would gain nothing in return.

  I sat down on the old burnt orange couch, staring off into space, feeling numb. For a moment, I felt as if I didn’t exist. Even the painful cramping didn’t register. My only link to reality came from the angry buzzing of my phone. Over and over and over it vibrated. It finally got annoying enough that I reached into my bag to see who it was. Brock’s name was flashing at me on the cracked screen. My thumb hovered over the answer button. I debated about answering and telling Brock his services were no longer needed. He could have his name back. But I was so tired. And I couldn’t stand the thought of him being relieved while I was heartbroken.