A caffeine buzz sets in about half an hour later, giving me all the motivation I need to get through my scene. The next time I look up, two hours have passed, and my hands are on the verge of cramping from writing nonstop. Satisfied with how much I got accomplished in a short amount of time, I save my document and reward myself with a snack and some TV time.
Sam doesn’t have much junk food, something I’m going to have to remedy fast, so I settle on microwave popcorn and take it to the couch. While it’s popping, I take my computer and empty mug to the living room, setting it up on the coffee table that I push closer to the large windows for a perfect Instagram photo-op.
I spend too much time trying to come up with a clever caption, delete it because it’s stupid, and just use the “am writing” hashtag followed by the series tagline Fight like a girl. Then it’s TV time, and I go right to Netflix. I want to watch something, of course, but I’m also curious to see Sam’s taste in TV and movies. You can tell a lot about a person by their recently binged shows.
He watches a lot of true crime documentaries, along with stuff about World War II. He likes The Office and Parks and Recreation, as well as some other comedy show I’ve never seen. I go through the list of suggested shows, and am happy to see Nightfall is on there. He told me he hasn’t seen it or read the books, but at least he likes something similar enough to get the show picked up in the algorithms, right?
I settle on reruns of Charmed, telling myself I’m going to get up and go for a walk around the city after one episode. Hah. Three episodes—and another bag of popcorn—later, I finally force myself to be productive again. I respond to comments on the photo I posted on Instagram, heart happy to see so many people excited about the next book. Most of the comments are nice, with only a few “you should write faster” or “I’ve been waiting for a YEAR for this and now I’ve lost interest” comments sprinkled in there.
My headache is coming back, and I really want to nap but can’t since I wasted so much time watching TV. I get a few hundred words written when my phone rings.
“Hey, babe,” I say, smile on my face.
“Hey. How are you?” Sam’s voice rumbles right through me.
“Good. Are you just now getting a break?”
“Yeah, it’s been busy all day. Several gunshot victims came in right after we got a couple who was in a bad accident.”
“Ugh, sounds awful.” I close my computer and go from the island to the couch, pulling the blanket up over myself.
“It’s all in a day’s work. What have you been up to?”
“Writing. And, oh, I talked to my dad. He and Wendy aren’t home, so we can stay at the house.”
“I do like the thought of being alone with you, though the thought of fucking you senseless in my childhood bedroom kind of turns me on.”
“Freak,” I laugh.
“I thought about fucking you so many times in that bed.”
“While you jerked off, right?”
“Maybe once or twice.”
“Once or twice a night,” I snort, and he laughs.
“You have no idea how much I wanted you then. It was hard being around you.”
“I’m sure it was hard. Sorry. I’m mature, I know.”
“It’s all part of your appeal,” he says.
“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I think I can handle it.”
“Good. What do you want for dinner tonight? I’ll make something so it’s ready when you come home. That way we can eat and leave and get to Silver Ridge before it’s too late.”
“Whatever you make will be fine. Did you have anything in mind?”
“Enchiladas sound good.”
“They do. I’m gonna eat and lie down in my car for a few minutes. I love you, Chloe.”
“I love you too.”
9
Sam
The weekend.
I want it to get here just as much as I don’t. Because after this weekend, I have to confront the thing I really don’t fucking want to. It’s killing me not saying anything to Chloe, and I feel even more like a selfish asshole for wanting to take two more days for myself…and for Chloe. No matter how much I love Chloe, how much I want her and only her, I know this is going to change the course of our relationship.
I can’t travel back and forth from Chicago to LA when I’m home with a newborn, let alone go overseas to visit her on set. Nothing was done intentionally, of course, but I feel like I’ve let Chloe down. Again. I’ve loved and longed for her for so long, I thought I’d possibly put her on a pedestal. It’s time I face the cold hard truth that maybe I’m just not good enough for her. Because no matter what I do, how hard I try, she’s going to get hurt.
The weekend.
It’s all we have, and I’m going to make sure we fucking enjoy it, ignoring the nagging guilt that’s going to weigh me down and distract me the whole time. Sighing, I close the locker, grab my stuff, and head out to the parking garage. Traffic is slow and it takes twice as long as usual to get home. I text Chloe instead of calling her, hardly able to stand talking and acting like everything is okay when it’s far from it. The truth bubbles inside of me, wanting to come out and ease my own guilt, but the repercussions of telling her now, of spoiling our time together, make me pause. I stew over it the whole drive home, and am spacing out, lost in thought as I walk through the lobby of my apartment.
“Sam!” someone calls, and I come to a sudden halt. I know that voice—fuck—and turn to see Stacey.
“What the hell—” Blinking, I cut myself off. “What are you doing here? Is everything all right?” My heart skips a beat and I fight the urge to turn and make sure Chloe isn’t coming off the elevator.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I wanted to talk to you.”
“So you came here?” I don’t mean to be blunt, but the fuck?
“I was in the neighborhood.” She smiles and looks around the upscale lobby. “I missed the way this place smells. Weird, isn’t it? How I crave smells more than I crave food?” She laughs. “I’m gonna have to ask what kind of air freshener they use so I can get it at home.”
I swallow hard, desperate to get away and upstairs, locking the door and warning Chloe about solicitors that somehow got past security, so there’s no need to answer the door or even look through the peephole to see who it is. I let out a slow breath and look at Stacey. I don’t dislike her. We had fun together, and I found comfort in our familiar routine. Yet this…this is wrong. So fucking wrong.
“What did you want to talk about?” I ask, eyes going to Stacey’s midsection. She’s wearing a tight-fitting gray t-shirt, tucked into high-waist jeans. She was always a fashionable and rather flashy dresser, which attracted the shallow part of me when we first started dating.
I know some women start showing very early in pregnancy and others don’t until they’re nearly halfway through. Stacey doesn’t have the slightest bump yet.
“It’s a little awkward,” she starts, wrinkling her nose. “But, um, you said you wanted to be involved.”
“I do.” If the kid is mine, that is. “How can I help?”
“I want to start buying stuff for the baby.”
“Oh, uh, right.” A lot of people wait until after the twelfth week to start shopping, and Stacey is several weeks past that. It is time to start prepping…and the thought makes me want to hyperventilate.
The first family get-together after Rory told us she was pregnant will filled with excitement and with our mother planning a laundry list of things to do. Items to buy. People to invite to the baby shower. Names to use. Names not to use. It was fun, everyone was happy, and the baby was loved by his whole family right away.
I don’t want to take those things away from Stacey. She should be excited. She should decorate a nursery and spend hours looking at lists of baby names. She should have a baby shower and know she doesn’t have to go through it alone.
And this baby should be loved right away as well.
But no m
atter how hard I try, I can’t get excited. It makes me feel guilty, and I wish so much Chloe was the one having my baby instead of Stacey.
“What do you want to get?”
“Like everything,” she laughs. “Though I want to wait to find out if it’s a boy or girl before I buy some stuff, like the bedding and clothes of course.”
“You should be able to find out soon,” I tell her, trying to get just a spark of excitement to ignite inside of me. “You’re far enough along.”
“Yeah, maybe.” She waves her hand in the air. “You can just give me cash and I’ll go shopping.”
“Oh,” I say, not expecting that. “I, uh, can go with you.”
“I figured you’d be busy. And I need maternity clothes. You always hated when I went clothes shopping.”
“Oh,” I repeat, not knowing what else to say. I want to be involved and I thought Stacey wanted me to be involved too. I pinch the bridge of my nose and then rub my forehead. “I’ll go with you.”
“The cash would be easier,” she laughs and playfully nudges me. Her touch feels wrong.
“Yeah.” I rarely carry cash on me when I’m going to and from work. If I had a bunch of cash in my wallet, I’d just give it to her to make her leave before she and Chloe somehow bump into each other. “But I meant it when I said I wanted to be involved.”
She smiles. “Well in that case, my car is kind of old.”
I blink. And then blink again. Is she—no, she can’t be. But yet…what? “You bought it two years ago. I went with you.”
“Yeah, but it was used and only seats four.”
I open my mouth only to snap it shut. Even if she had twins, they’d fit in the backseat.
“And I was looking at safety ratings and there are a lot safer cars out there. I assumed you’d want what’s best for you child.”
What the fuck am I supposed to say? Of course I want what’s best for my child. “I do.”
“Your car is nice. BMWs have good safety ratings. I’d love to have an M6 like you,” she giggles and inches closer, reaching out to touch my arm.
“It…it’s a really nice car,” I say slowly, eyes darting behind her to the hallway where the elevators are located. I got annoyed when Rory told me Stacey was nothing more than a gold-digger because I took it personally, like I was stupid for falling for her act. But if she’s seriously asking me to buy her a car that cost over a hundred-thousand dollars…
“But something like an X3 would be fine too. I’ve done my research. They have great safety ratings.”
“They do,” I echo, still in a suspended state of shock. I don’t know how to react to any of this. I don’t wish anything bad on Stacey, but simply want her out of my life so I can build one with Chloe…which is kind of hard to do if Stacey really is carrying my child. I need her to get a paternity test as soon as possible, yet I know Stacey and have a good guess how she’ll react when I tell her we need to have one done.
“I’d love one just like that. For the baby. I’d be a stylish soccer mom.”
“It’ll be a few years before the baby is playing soccer.”
She flattens her hand on my bicep, laughing. “True, and good point. I’ll want something newer by then. And who knows, maybe we’ll have another in that time."
“Stacey.” My brows furrow and I step back. “I told you. I’ll be there for the child, if it’s mine, but me and you…we’re over.”
“If it’s yours?” She purses her lips and puts her hand on her hip. “I told you, the timeline matches up.”
“I believe you, but I know neither of us were exclusive at the time, and I think—”
“I wasn’t sleeping with anyone else in June,” she snaps. “And you called me to come over for a late-night booty call, remember?”
My eyes fall shut and the world spirals around me. Chloe is upstairs in my apartment waiting for me. She’s everything I ever wanted, the only woman I’ve ever truly loved. She’s a quick elevator ride away and yet here I stand, in the lobby of my apartment building, with the stark reminder that no matter what I do, I fuck things up.
“I know.” I let out a breath and look Stacey in the eyes. “It doesn’t hurt to be sure, does it? That way there’s no question.”
She casts her eyes down, lips tightly pressed together, as she quickly shakes her head. “You’re really questioning me?”
“I just want to be sure. There’s a paternity test you can do before the baby is—”
“Aren’t those dangerous?” she rushes out. “They stick a needle in…ughh.” She puts her hand over her stomach and shudders.
“No, this is a different kind of test. I don’t know much about it, but all you need is a blood sample and a saliva sample from me. There’s no risk to the baby at all. I’ll pay for it.”
“Sure, I guess. So we can do it at the end, right?”
“We can do it now. You’re far enough we can do it now. I had a whole three minutes to Google this between surgery today, but all you need is an ultrasound to make sure you’re not carrying twins.” I look past her at the elevator again. “I know some OBs don’t order one until you’re twenty weeks or so, but we can get one done before.”
“Abusing your doctor status?” She giggles again and moves closer.
“No, I’m not going to order one. I meant we could go to one of those places that does ultrasounds for non-medical reasons.”
“Oh, right. My cousin had a few of those 3D ones done. The baby looks freaky.”
“Yeah. Rory had one done,” I mumble, not sure what else to say. “We should, uh, find a time to sit down and talk about everything. We can find a time when we’re both free to schedule an ultrasound. I want to go.”
“We have plenty of time.”
“The time will pass fast,” I say and feel like I’m going to throw up. Fuck. “You should be due the first week of March.”
“Yeah, I think so.” She inches closer, tipping her head. “You’re going to make such a good dad, you know that, right?”
Her words mirror Chloe’s from last night so much it unnerves me. Everything about this feels wrong. I should be having this conversation with Chloe, not Stacey. We kept things causal. I made sure to use protection every single time we hooked up to prevent this from happening, but I know it’s not foolproof.
I never thought my past would come back to haunt me, yet here it is, growing right in front of me.
“I, uh, I…I hope so,” I force out. Stacey’s phone rings and she quickly pushes her hand into her purse to get it. Frowning when she sees who's calling, she lets out a sigh. “It’s a client,” she huffs. “My job doesn’t offer paid maternity leave, you know.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Right?” She shakes her head, short dark hair falling around her face. “I’ll have to figure something out, though. Childcare is expensive and I really want to be home for at least the first month or so.”
“That is ideal for…for the both of you.” The surreal feeling hits me again, taking me back to the only time I discussed—with some seriousness—how I’d like to raise my children. It was a few weeks before Rory had Adam, and she was wrestling with going back to work or not. She loved her job and worked hard to make it through nursing school. But Dean has a good job and was able to provide for the family, meaning she didn’t have to go back to work if she didn’t want to.
I’d never really put much thought into it before then, never really saw how unfair it is to put that pressure on the mother. Go back to work and you’re accused of not being there for your kids. Stay with your children and you don’t want to provide for your family. You lose no matter what you choose.
In the end, Rory went back part-time. She had a hard time at first, but is happy now to have a career and time away from the house and the family. It works for her, makes her feel accomplished, but I know that isn’t for everyone. Archer is my only married friend, and while he’s a surgeon, his wife makes double what he does working mostly from home. They have a full-time
nanny now, but I know not working was never really a plan for Quinn. She loves her job, but not everyone is that lucky.
And for me…well, I’m a doctor. I make more than enough to provide for my family. I don’t have a preference either way to the mother of my children working or staying home full-time with the kids. I just want us all to be happy. If my wife wants to work, then she’ll work. If she wants to stay home, then I’ll do everything I can to make that happen. It wouldn’t matter. We’d be a family, and we’d figure it out together.
But having a child with Stacey…that didn’t work into any of my plans. It hits me right then just how careful and calculated I’ve been in my life. I would have laughed if you told me I was the kind of person who put thought behind every action, but standing here, feeling like I’m hovering above this very thing I call my life, I see it.
I did the things I was good at…the things I knew would be accepted.
I pushed Chloe away because opening up to her posed the biggest risk of my life: getting rejected by the only person in the entire world who meant anything to me.
College. Pre-med. Med school. Residency. And then taking the job here at this hospital. It was all part of a plan I didn’t know I’d carefully made. I controlled what I could so I wouldn’t have to admit it to myself and could keep living in denial that my life wouldn’t be complete without Chloe.
And as soon as I have her, everything turns upside-fucking-down.
My life still won’t be complete without her. She is every goddamn thing to me.
“I’m starving and am having dinner with my sister. I haven’t told anyone yet, don’t worry.” Stacey leans in, lips turned up in a smile.
I just nod, again, at a loss for words but feeling relief. If she tells her family, then there’s more of a risk of word getting out to my family, and that’s not a conversation I’m ready to have. The weekend. Give me the goddamn weekend.
The elevator doors open, and a woman with dark red hair steps out, head turned down as she looks at her phone. It’s not Chloe, but I’m reminded yet again how precarious this all is…and how much is on the line. What if I hadn’t gotten here at this exact moment? What if Stacey had gone up and knocked on my door. Would Chloe have answered? And then what? My throat tightens at the thought of it…of Stacey telling Chloe she’s pregnant.
Desperate Times (Silver Ridge Series Book 2) Page 8