Slip Up (Taking Chances Book 3)

by TC Matson

  “My parents are going to disown me. First, I run off and marry a stranger, and now there’s a possibility I’m carrying his child.” I sigh, leaning against the bathroom counter staring at the boxes. “I don’t know Declan’s birthday, middle name, mother’s name.” I drop my face into my hands. “I don’t even know if he wants kids.”

  “What a hell of a twenty-first birthday,” Kirsten says, rubbing my shoulder. “Look. Take the tests. We could be freaking out over nothing.”

  Two minutes doesn’t feel long unless you’re waiting to find out if your life will forever be changed. The one hundred and twenty seconds of fearing the unknown and remapping your life turns into a slow eternity.

  “Go look,” Kirsten breaks into my thoughts.

  I’m in no rush but desperate to know as I step back into the bathroom with Kirsten’s support behind me. With shaking fingers, I grab the test closest to me and peek at the test window. My lungs seize, the air tearing out of them. My pulse grows loud in my ears as my blood runs cold.

  Oh, shit.

  Blindly, I stumble back into my bedroom, stopping just inside the door. “I’m pregnant.” I choke, the words not sounding like they came from me.

  Numbly, I drop to the floor, staring at the spot on the baseboard where I scratched off paint with my dresser when I first moved in.

  Kirsten’s beside me, rubbing my arms and squeezing my shoulders when my phone rings. She grabs it from the bedside table and flashes an apologetic smile.

  “Maybe now’s a good time to tell him?”

  Shit…

  “Hey,” Declan’s smooth and deep voice gives me a smile but then a shiver of panic chases down my spine knowing what I know. “I have bad news. I won’t make it back this week. I’ve got a busy schedule with meetings and things.”

  “Oh.” Am I disappointed? “Okay. That’s fine.”

  “It was just sprung on me or I’d be there.”

  “It’s okay. Really. It’s your job.”

  “Yeah. But you’re my wife.”

  I can hear the grin in his voice, the pleased tone lacing it. Something pulls in my chest, shooting a tingle all the way to my heart, and it makes me grin a little goofy. Kirsten clutches her heart, mouthing “aww” as she swoons.

  He’s definitely laying it on thick.

  “Listen. I have to go. Can I call you tonight? Say eight-ish your time?”

  “Yeah. That’s fine.”

  “Have a good day. I’ll talk to you later.”

  The moment we hang up, Kirsten slaps my arm. “Girl!” she squeals. “I am officially jealous as hell. That was the sweetest thing ever.”

  A blush crawls over my cheeks. “Right?”

  “If you don’t give him a solid chance, I will. Our friendship be damned. I need a man like that.”

  “Hate to burst your bubble, but I am taking a leap of faith, doing something entirely out of my comfort zone, and giving him—us—a chance. I like him.”

  She claps her hands. “If you two work out, you need a wedding redo and dammit, invite me to this one. Better yet, I’m planning it.”

  I titter.

  “I’ll also plan your baby shower.”

  My smile slips away.

  “Will you be telling him tonight?” she pries.

  “No. I will at some point, just give me time to wrap my own mind around this.”

  “Fine. But don’t wait too long.”

  I peer to her. “Yes, mother.”

  We watch a few episodes of Hell’s Kitchen—her favorite—before she heads home, leaving me to my own thoughts. I’m pregnant by a man I married, who I know nothing about. Absolutely nothing. And those thoughts are scary. We’re trying to see what’s there, form a relationship, possibly grow feelings, and I’m carrying around a ginormous secret I’m sure will have him running. If this doesn’t scream trapped, I don’t know what does.

  I’m getting out of the shower when my phone rings, indicating an incoming video call from Declan. Shrugging into my shirt, I run my fingers through my wet hair before answering.

  His pale brown eyes sparkle as he grins. “Catch you at a bad time?”

  A smile slips onto my lips. “No.” I head into the living room holding my phone out to stay in frame.

  “How do you feel about second place?”

  I raise a brow, dropping on the couch and tucking my feet under me. “It’s the first loser.”

  His chuckle lights up his face. “I like the way you think.”

  “I’m guessing you came in second today?”

  “Yesterday, yes. You don’t watch. Do you?”

  “You mean watch a bunch of guys take left-handed turns for hours? Sounds like a blast.” Sarcasm drips from me.

  He licks his lips as they quirk up into a grin. “What did you do today?”

  Short of having a heart attack because I’m pregnant with your child? “Nothing. Kirsten came over for a little while. I studied a bit.” I lift a shoulder. “It was a lazy day.”

  “I envy your lazy day.”

  He shifts the phone and I can see what looks like an RV out his window. “Are you on a bus?”

  I could fall in love with his smile. “Yeah. Mine.”

  My eyes bug out. “You own a bus?”

  “An RV, yes. This is my home during race season.” He pushes up from his spot. “Want a tour?”

  “Sure,” I say, excited to get a piece of his world.

  The camera shakes as he gets up and flips the view around. “It’s considered a motorhome or RV, but I call it a bus.”

  He starts at the driver’s seat, aptly named the captain’s chair, although it looks more like a cockpit with a huge screen and so many controls. When he turns around, I can see the entire thing. The kitchen has gray cabinets with gray and white countertops, stainless steel appliances, and a huge galley sink. There’s a small dining table with chairs that pull out across from the island—a freaking island in an RV. There are two large black leather sofas and a huge flat-screen TV across from them where “he could have added a fricking fireplace but chose not to.” The bathroom is just as stunning and roomy as the rest of it. All the colors extend into the master bedroom where he has a king-sized bed and another massive TV. He even has a washer and dryer!

  “It looks like a luxury bachelor pad on wheels,” I say.

  He turns the camera back to him. “This is my home.”

  “You are way out of my price range,” I jest.

  As he drops backward onto his bed, he barks a laugh. “No worries. You’re in mine.”

  “I didn’t know they made those things so beautiful.”

  “I bought it with my second paycheck and since I’m stuck in here a lot, I figured I’d splurge. Maybe I can talk you into coming to see it in person.”

  I bite my lip and lift a shoulder. “Is it only you? Do you share it?”

  His lips tighten as he shakes his head, adjusting his other arm behind his head. “Nah. The driver stays off track. It’s just me.”

  I’m not a big social butterfly, but I sometimes like to interact with people, see people, and do things, or I’ll start to lose my mind. “What do you do in your spare time? Please tell me something because those walls don’t have far to go to close in on you.”

  His smile quirks into a grin. “Once we pull into the track, I stay pretty busy with pre-race chatter, interviews, and everything else. When I’m not in team meetings going over the truck, my PR team keeps me in the public eye. Sponsors and investors are always watching. You never know where they’re looking. Some tracks do garage passes or fan days. I’m required to be there, which isn’t a hardship. I enjoy them. Then in my down time, I’ll hang out with some of the other drivers.”

  “I feel like I’m dating a superstar,” I say, more to myself.

  “I’m popular in the truck series, but wait until I get into stock car too.”

  “You can do both?” I hate not knowing anything about his world.

  “Yep.”

  “That’s exc
iting.” I rest back onto the couch, stretching out my legs and propping my head up on a pillow. “So what’s the best experience you’ve had with a fan?”

  “Easy. The kids,” he’s quick to reply. “They’re always the best. They look up to me, and knowing I can make some sort of impact in their lives… I can’t beat it.”

  Kids… “Sounds like you really like kids. Ever plan on having your own?” I’m trying to sound nonchalant, but the nervousness in my tone threatens to give me away.

  “I’d like to. Two or three sometime down the road. You?”

  Relief causes me to smile. “One day, yeah.” Oh, how that day is coming sooner than later. I’m ready to get off this conversation before I blurt out our reality. I’m not ready for it yet. “What’s the hardest thing you have to deal with?”

  He looks over the camera as he ponders before giving me his piercing brown eyes again. “It’s a tie between being away from my friends and family so much and the physical demand on my body.”

  My face scrunches up and my brows pull together. “You sit in a car and drive in circles. How is that physical?”

  His laugh is hearty. “There’s so much more to it than that. I have to be physically fit and mentally resilient.”

  “Seriously? To race?”

  “Yes, sweetheart. It’s not as easy as it looks. I constantly fight G-force, muscle fatigue, and extreme heat, not to mention it mentally wears me down.”

  “Oh,” I breathe, feeling foolish that I had no idea.

  “You’ll see over time,” he says.

  I frown. “I’m a pretty shitty girlfriend. I don’t know anything about what you do.”

  I swear his chuckle wraps around me. “I’ll teach you anything you want to know.” He shifts, turning onto his side and propping the phone up. “What about you? Have you always lived in Alabama?”

  “Born and raised. Momma and Dad grew up here too. It’s a little town with little town gossip, but we’re all like family.”

  “Do you ever see yourself moving away?”

  “Never thought about it, honestly. This is home and I don’t know anything else. I’ve never been anywhere else other than Vegas, and we see how that went,” I end with a titter.

  “Wait. You mean to tell me Vegas was your first trip?”

  I nod.

  He props up. “We’ll have to rectify that. You should fly out to me and stay awhile. Although I’m mostly surrounded by racetracks, you can see things as we travel to them. Then I could take you sight-seeing after the races.”

  My lips twist to the side. “Maybe.”

  TWELVE

  My eyes are heavy and I’m barely able to listen to what the professor is going over. Declan and I stayed on the phone until close to midnight talking about everything. It felt good and natural, nothing forced. And I won’t lie, having his attention solely focused on me gave my ego a boost. When he got off the phone, I was torn between disappointment and a giddiness as I curled into the bed. He’s quickly become the highlight of my day.

  My phone vibrates in my purse. Elation rushes through my limbs as I hurry to pull it out, knowing it’s from him.

  Sexy Husband: This morning’s view.

  Attached is a picture of the sun rising, the dark skies lighting up with the sun’s bright rays and painting the area with purples and oranges. The light spreads across the racetrack, illuminating the seats and touching campers parked in the middle of the track. It pushes the dark shadows off the grass, waking it up with vibrant green. He was up high when he took this.

  I sneak a picture of my textbook with the professor’s whiteboard in the background and send it to him.

  Me: Your view is much better than mine.

  Sexy Husband: Wish you could have been here to see it.

  Insert a soft swoon.

  Me: Maybe one day.

  Sexy Husband: I hope so. Have a great day, Amelia.

  I heard him say the text, his deep voice in my ear. It’s the same as he did last night right before we hung up. My heart beats a little wildly and I grin like an idiot.

  * * *

  Dad sets Momma’s meatloaf down as she carries out the huge bowl of mashed potatoes. Inwardly, I laugh. Momma still fixes dinner like she has to feed a growing family even when it’s just the two of them.

  “How’d you do on your test?” Dad asks after saying grace.

  “Passed with a ninety-three.”

  Pride beams from Dad’s grin. “That’s my girl.”

  “What are your plans this weekend?” Mom asks. “I was thinking about coming over and sprucing up your flower bed.”

  “Although I love your flowers, I hate the bees it attracts. Makes it hard to enjoy the front porch when I’m scared that some evil demon with wings is going to bomb me.”

  Mom laughs. “You realize they won’t bother you unless you bother them?”

  “You said the same thing about spiders but as I recall, I was taunted by that spider cornering me.”

  Mom’s shoulders shake as she keeps her laughter inside. “Honey, it was shriveled up and dead.”

  “It was a zombie spider, Mom,” I quip. “I can’t believe you’re on its side. I was petrified and it scarred me for life.”

  “Fine. I won’t plant any flowers up front, but how about in the back?”

  “Far corners. Closer to the neighbors. I can handle that.”

  I love my mother’s smile. It always reaches her eyes and it’s always loving. Anytime I’ve had a bad day, it lifts me. She’s old-fashioned, and she believes in cooking every meal and taking care of all the household duties while Dad works. She’s polite even when she shouldn’t be, and in my twenty-one years, I’ve never heard her raise her voice. But when she’s stern, there’s no doubt her warning is a promise.

  “The semester will be over soon. Ashley called me the other day to let me know when she can start,” Dad informs. Ashley helps dad between semesters. She becomes his full-time part-time help and gives me a break from working for several weeks. She’s done it since she was seventeen and in high school. It’s always worked out perfectly.

  “Suzanne said she could use some help if you’re interested,” Mom adds.

  I roll my eyes. “I’d sample every cake, pie, and cookie she makes and put on about three hundred pounds in doing so. Plus, I can’t bake like you two and you know it. That’s setting me up for failure.”

  “We could teach you different ways that’ll stick.”

  “I’d rather paint sidewalks,” I joke.

  “Jerry down at the city—”

  “Nope,” I burst into a laugh, interrupting Dad. “Y’all quit trying to steal my downtime. I use it to refuel my energy and do what I want, which is normally nothing. But that’s beside the point.”

  “Maybe soon you could find someone to love?”

  “You’re such a hopeful romantic, Mother,” I deadpan.

  “I can’t help it. I want my baby girl happy and in love. Sue me, Amelia Dawn.” She rolls her lips between her teeth, her eyes shining with laughter.”

  I cackle.

  “Lord, here we go again,” Dad adds flippantly.

  “What? No. I’m not going to say another word about how at her age we were happily married and building a life together.”

  “Don’t forget to add how fate brought you two together,” I tease, having heard this story a lot. My wonderful mother wishes I would follow in her footsteps and find love early on. Start a family and live happily ever after. I love her dreams for me.

  “Amelia, please don’t poke the bear,” Dad jests.

  Momma cackles. “You two love getting a laugh at my expense. But tonight, I will not let you win. I’ll keep mute on the subject for the remainder of dinner.”

  I arch a brow, testing her. “Was the cake shop always beside the hardware store?”

  “I know what you’re doing,” Mom snickers. “But no. Suzanne’s mother moved it there a month prior to me running into your father. Had she not, I don’t think I would’ve—”
She stops, narrowing her eyes realizing that she fell for it. I bite hard on my cheek to keep from laughing. “Speaking of, I made chocolate chip cookies for dessert tonight.”

  The story goes—Mom was helping out Grandma one evening. Suzanne’s mother needed help with a bake sale for the church and Grandma volunteered them both to help out. As Momma was walking in, Dad was walking into the hardware store with Grandpa. Dad immediately became smitten with Momma and continued to show up at the hardware store for an entire week before he got to the guts to ask Momma on a date. The rest is history.

  * * *

  Declan looks tired tonight, and I’m assuming our late-night talk is the culprit. He’s stretched out in his recliner, a beer in one hand, and me in the other.

  All day I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to tell him about the pregnancy, and I’ve decided I want to get a positive from the doctor first before I do. I don’t want to add stress to his already stressful days only to find out it’s a false positive. They exist. And I’m also doing the same thing. I’m waiting until I get through my finals to go to the doctor. Just a few weeks won’t make a difference. I read that most doctors don’t want you in until you’re eight weeks along, and if I’ve done my calculations right, I have a few weeks to spare. For now, I’ll be mindful of the possible situation.

  “Does your mom cook like that every day?”

  “Seven days a week,” I say. “Don’t get your hopes up that I’ll follow her footsteps. Trying to figure out what I want to eat is a nightly calamity.”

  “Then I’ll do the cooking,” he decides and it makes me burst out in laughter.

  “Men aren’t supposed to be in the kitchen,” I tell him.

  “You weren’t kidding when you said your parents are old-school. It’s rubbed off on you. If you look around, more men are doing a lot on their own. It’s 2019. We’re pretty self-sufficient and modernized.”

  “Growing up, I’ve only seen my dad grill, never cook in the kitchen. It’s weird seeing a man there. That’s all.”