by Erica Breyer
Keeping busy was essential. Any moment of downtime gave her a chance to think back to things she didn’t want to dwell on. Although, late at night, after she’d dragged herself from reports and scheduling, she’d find herself replaying events in her mind. Moments with Tyson. The way he looked at her…touched her.
“You’re going to burn out, my dear,” said Leo that morning when he arrived to find her in her office looking ashen. “My Amanda used to keep me in check when I was busy on deadlines, God rest her. I suspect you have nobody to make sure you get enough sleep. Have you been up the whole night on that…that InstaGran thingy again? Or Twittering…or, what have you?”
Leo may have been a communications professional, but he hadn’t warmed to the digital sphere. He was still convinced that managing social media meant hosting a cocktail party for the press. He’d been delighted when Cassie arrived and took over some of the projects he found tedious. Cassie glanced up from her laptop and gave him a wan smile. The long hours had started to take a toll, but she only had herself to blame.
“Not the whole night, Leo,” she reassured him. ‘Okay, most of it,’ she had to admit to herself. She battled to sleep these days. “But the numbers are up across all platforms on the new product line – our new hashtags are trending so well.” Leo pulled a face and glanced at his watch.
“It’s 9 am, and I’m willing to bet you haven’t had a bite to eat yet. You’re wasting away, dear,” he said, frowning. Cassie shook her head and tried another smile. The thought of eating wasn’t trending right now. Wrong hashtag. He was right; she’d lost weight since her arrival…although she wasn’t as happy with the results as she’d expected. Her hard-won muscle tone was dropping away, and her cheeks were hollow. The only consolation was that her boobs hadn’t disappeared along with the pounds. If anything, her bras felt a bit more snug. Leo was looking at her a little strangely now, and she tried to brighten her smile.
“That’s it,” he announced. “I’m getting you a decent breakfast.” He strode into her office and reached for her coat and purse. Cassie opened her mouth. “Uh-uh-uh!” he stopped her objection. “No arguments, young lady, you’re coming with me right now.” She sighed and pushed back her chair.
By the time she was sitting across from Leo in the quaint café on the ground floor of their office building, Cassie’s stomach was churning. A waitress had slid a fragrant plate beneath her nose, and she was staring down at a mound of food. Fried eggs, bacon, sausages, and beans were accompanied by buttered toast. A jumbo cappuccino was joining the party.
“Full English Breakfast, my dear,” Leo announced. “Just what the doctor ordered. Now tuck in,” he instructed, smiling up at the waitress as she set his own plate before him. He inhaled deeply and gave a contented sigh. “Ahhh…kippers…” He slid a knife into the fish in front of him before glancing up at Cassie. “My Amanda used to make the best kippers, you know.” Leo popped a forkful into his mouth and then chewed before adding, “But I’ve been very satisfied with the dish they do here.”
The scent of salty fish had wafted towards Cassie before the plate had even arrived, and she felt an unpleasant sensation curling at the back of her mouth. She swallowed hard. Leo gave a pointed look at her plate, and she picked up her fork, spearing a pork sausage and taking a bite. Leo was cutting another piece of kipper as she chewed.
“Quite a process, you know…preparing kippers,” Leo went on, raising a laden fork. “Quality of the fish is essential, of course. Then one must halve it, gut it…” Cassie gulped; the sausage went down like a mouthful of gravel. She tried a piece of egg, chewing and swallowing when Leo aimed another pointed look her way then continued, “Then it’s salted and smoked over wood chips. It’s what gives it that distinctive aroma.” He smiled and waved yet another piece of kipper on the end of his fork, sighing yet again as it released a fresh wave of fragrance. “It’s really quite—”
“Oh, God…!” Cassie felt her stomach lurch. The egg had just met the sausage on its way back up. Leo’s face froze.
“Are you okay, my dear?” he asked in alarm. Cassie clapped a hand over her mouth, looking around frantically. He got the point immediately. “Over there, Cassie…first door to your left.” He indicated in the direction of the ladies’ rooms. She leaped to her feet and bolted like she’d been set on fire.
✽✽✽
The offices of Dr. James Whittaker were tastefully appointed and comfortable, much like the man who ran his practice from them. After Cassie had returned from emptying her stomach during breakfast, Leo had refused to let her go back to the office. He’d called his own doctor immediately and arranged an appointment within the hour. Much like her colleague, Dr. Whittaker was an older man with a fatherly air, which she imagined set his patients at ease. It did nothing to set her at ease right now, as he waited for her answer to the last of his series of questions.
“Your menstrual cycle, my dear, can you recall the last day of your last cycle?” he repeated, looking up at her from the pad where he was jotting notes. She stared at him, speechless for a moment.
“Uhh…” Cassie’s mind raced furiously. “It would have been…” Weeks ago…more. ‘Shit,’ she thought, scrabbling through her mental filing cabinet. She’d been in London for nearly a month. There’d been no visits from Aunt Flo in that time. It hadn’t troubled her too much – her cycles hadn’t been regular since her health issues years before. Stress often imbalanced them further. She rubbed the bridge of her nose.
Just before London, then.
It must have been.
Her mind raced back. Dr. Whittaker was still waiting. ‘Too much pressure, dammit, I’ve been busy. Let me think.’ She wanted to be annoyed, but she was beginning to feel a swirl of panic. The week before London there had been such a flurry of activity while she prepared for the trip. But no…not then. ‘Oh, gosh, really?’
The week before? Nat had dragged her to the beach, determined to cheer her up. She’d hated it. But no, she’d remember if she’d been on her period then. How was she supposed to recall all of this now? So much had happened!
‘Shit,’ she thought again. The week before, the beach had been a blur of meetings and extra work that she’d taken on to block out thoughts of Tyson.
Tyson…
Cassie felt her heart clench. The week before that had been when… When she and Tyson—
“Shit,” she said aloud now, then cupped her hands over her face. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
“Ms. Cataldi?” Dr. Whittaker’s discrete voice broke into her thoughts. “Ms. Cataldi, is everything alright?” She dropped her hands and looked up at him, eyes huge. Tears were welling.
“It’s not possible,” she whispered. “It’s just not possible. I shouldn’t…I can’t…I just can’t…” The doctor had risen to his feet and was standing beside her, a hand on her shoulder.
“Let me be the judge of that, shall we, my dear?” he said. His voice was gentle.
✽✽✽
“Are you kidding me, darling?” Nat’s voice on the other side of the phone was almost a shriek.
“No.” Cassie was still trying to get over the shock herself.
“How far along,” Nat pressed for details.
“Around two months, I guess,” she replied, her voice tiny. She couldn’t believe it. Dr. Whittaker had scheduled an appointment with a gynecologist in the same suite of offices. She didn’t think to decline – she didn’t have a doctor of her own and imagined it might take days to get an appointment herself. Days of waiting. She would have gone mad.
If she worked it back, she would have been two weeks into her cycle by the time she’d spent the night with Tyson. Her solitary ovary must have practically been clapping hands with excitement and popping out eggs in anticipation. There may have been a welcome mat out.
“So much for the faulty incubator,” she said wryly. Nat gave a chuckle.
“I’m glad you’re taking it so well, darling,” her friend said. “How do you feel about it?”
> “I’m…” Cassie paused. She was still processing. Part of her had resigned itself to never seeing this day. But the image on the pregnancy scan had settled any doubts. There it was. The comma-shaped blob that marked the end of her periods for the next eight months. Maybe less. She stared down at the slip of paper…the fuzzy series of images that proved that life grew within her now. “I’m…I’m thrilled?” her voice was husky.
She’d begged the doctor to pick up a heartbeat, convincing herself she needed more proof. The strange whooshing sound had been her own thumping rhythm, the woman had assured her. She couldn’t pick up a beat just yet. But how much more proof did she need? The little shape on the screen had squirmed in its warm, cushioned world. The warm, cushioned world that was…her. Cassie put her hand over her belly, stroking lightly.
“I’m thrilled,” she said again, this time with more conviction.
“Have you spoken to…him?” Nat was a gem. She knew how to couch every question gently.
Cassie shook her head, then answered out loud. “No,” she murmured huskily.
“When do you plan to do that?” Nat asked, still cautious.
“I haven’t thought about it, Nat,” Cassie responded. It was true. All of this was more than she knew how to deal with. Her life-plan looked nothing like this madness that had become her world.
It had been hard enough, as a woman in her early twenties, to be told she might never have kids. Now, with thirty on the horizon, to discover that she was not just pregnant, but seriously single…
That had never been part of any kind of plan.
What was she thinking? She’d never had a plan at any point. She’d just been living from day to day. Job, bills, friends, work…maybe love somewhere in between.
A baby.
A baby with no father.
This was huge. Although this baby had a father. She hadn’t been impregnated by aliens. Cassie knew exactly who the father was.
But could she let him know?
How could she not?
Nat had let the silence stretch out, obviously aware that her friend was tussling with inner demons. “Are you going to tell him, Cass?” Nat murmured. Cassie wanted to groan. Why had life become so complicated? Just a few short months ago, the biggest dilemma she’d had to face was how to meet her next deadline.
Now, this…
Her life was never going to be the same again.
“I can’t tell him, Nat,” she whispered. She curled a hand protectively over her abdomen, fingers spreading out. ‘Just you and me, babe,’ she thought.
“Cass,” Nat started. “You can’t—”
“Nat!” Cassie interrupted. “He can’t know…not just yet, okay?” She knew it was madness, but she couldn’t deal with this right now. “Give me some time to get my head around it. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to speak to him. Please…” she left the word hanging. Nat was silent for a moment and Cassie knew she was battling.
“Okay, my friend,” Nat breathed out.
✽✽✽
“C’mon, Coach, you gotta come with,” Clint was determined. “My bro’s got into the finals of the tournament, and I promised I’d be there. I might have promised I’d take you too.” The kid had good intentions, but a day at the beach was the last thing on his mind. Watching surfing had never really grabbed him. Besides, there was the fight tonight, and he needed to get his head right.
“Fuck it, Crank,” Tyson grumbled. He wasn’t in the mood.
“I think you should do it,” Max’s voice joined in unexpectedly. He was never one to encourage socializing before a fight. Tyson looked over at him. “You need some air, brother. This place is gonna make ya mad. The rest of the crew will be there, and it’ll be good for everyone if you show your face.” He was right. He’d barely left the place in weeks.
“Fine,” Tyson sighed, “I’ll catch a ride with you, Crank. Give me five to get cleaned up.”
Clint kept up a patter of conversation for the entire ride, which was great because Tyson didn’t have much to say. By the time they were parked, he’d barely registered the trip. Except the parking bay looked familiar, and his stomach clenched as he recognized it as the length of sand he’d come to with Cassie all those weeks ago.
Cassie.
He screwed his eyes shut. It was too much to hope that she might be around, but he found himself scouring the beach just in case. He knew it was a stretch. She’d told him her group of friends generally met on Sundays. Clint was leading him down the promenade in the opposite direction, and he tried to shove those thoughts to the back of his mind.
A growing circle of youngsters had gathered in front of a beachfront bar from which loud music was blaring. Surfboards had been propped in the sand at irregular points, and people were milling in an assortment of beachwear. Someone shoved a beer toward him, but he brushed it off.
“Fight tonight,” he said curtly, knowing he wouldn’t get another offer. Good. Suddenly he was holding a water. Better.
The festive air should have been contagious, but it wasn’t. Tyson couldn’t shift his dark mood and prowled through the throng in a way that had people stepping out of his path quickly.
“Ty, this is Bella,” Clint was saying, his arm behind the shoulder of a perky young redhead who was staring up at him with an expression Tyson recognized. ‘Ah, hell.’ Clint was nudging her towards him like some sort of virgin sacrifice. Although she was clearly no virgin.
“Hi, Ty!” she said, simpering and stepping closer. Too close.
“Yeah. Good to meet you,” he said brusquely, looking over her head around the crowd. It had been a bad idea to come in with Clint. He picked out a few of the others who could get him out of here. The redhead was grinning and snapping gum in a way that he found irrationally annoying. He bit down the emotion when Clint caught his eye. The kid was winking at him and tipping his head in the direction of the girl, who’d turned to collect her drink.
“Do yourself a favor and get to know Bella a little,” he said as quietly as he could below the clamor of music and laughter around them. “She’s a real ‘goer’, if you get my drift.” Tyson set his jaw. He didn’t want to get to know any ‘goers’. He wanted to be the goer…to get out of here. He gave a terse nod and turned to find a spot where he wasn’t being jostled by a dozen strangers. The girl skipped along at his side, fluttering her hands and reaching for his arm every now and then. He couldn’t hear what she was saying over the noise, but he was sure he wasn’t missing anything.
“So what do you think?” she asked brightly, apparently waiting for some sort of response from him.
“Yeah…I dunno, Barb,” he said vaguely.
“It’s Bella,” she said, snapping gum again. She didn’t seem perturbed.
He saw a clearing in the sand and made a beeline, brushing Bella off his arm for the fifth time in five minutes. It was all he could do to stop himself from taking great gasping breaths of air when he escaped.
The woman was still babbling. What the hell was she on about? Who the fuck cared. He was so close to the outskirts of the group that the clear space looked like a small piece of heaven. “And then I laughed and said—” she was saying, draping an arm over his shoulder.
Bam!
Something hit him in the jaw, and his teeth rattled. He took a flying step back, and then instinct kicked in. Tyson’s fists snapped up in front of his face, and he spun in the direction of the attack. A shape flew past him as he ducked away from a second blow. He was on his toes, feet astride. A figure dived for his legs, and he planted himself. Barb…Bambi…Bella…whatever…made a dash for cover.
The man who’d locked his arms around his thighs had rage but no skill. There was no way Tyson was engaging on that level. And now, recognition was sinking in. Tyson grabbed the man’s wrists and yanked him away, staring down in confusion.
“Andy! What the fuck, man?” he snapped out. The smaller man had gathered himself and was preparing to attack again.
“Motherfucker!” he ye
lled, swinging at Tyson. A circle had formed around them, and Tyson caught a few familiar faces out of the corner of his eye. Some of his guys were gathering, and he felt an undercurrent of aggression beginning to grow in the crowd. He waved a hand for them to back down, nimbly sidestepping the new attack. The undercurrent wasn’t dissipating.
This was going to go to shit quickly if the others got involved.
“Andy!” a female voice cut sharply through the air. “Andy, stop!”
He recognized Nat’s voice. ‘Thank God.’
Andy shook his head as if to clear it. Tyson stayed clear, still alert. The expression on Andy’s face was one he knew well. Blind rage.