Dirty Bastard

by Jessica Clare

  How he went stark white when I called him a bastard. Apparently I hit a nerve there, and instead of making me feel triumphant for finding his weak spot, I feel like the world’s biggest asshole. Like I went too far without even realizing it.

  Even after all this, I’ve never wanted to hurt him. Never wanted to go for the jugular just to win a fight. I know about his family and how his parents weren’t married. I was just calling him a bastard because I was angry . . . but Knox took it very personally. I wish I could turn the car around and go tell him that I didn’t mean it. That I could rewind back to that conversation and call him a jerk or something that wouldn’t make him look as if I’d kicked him in the gut.

  Then again, if we’re rewinding time, I’d go far enough back that I wouldn’t have reacted to the hint of Keith at the pharmacy like I did. That must have been what tipped Knox off—that I acted skittish and afraid. I don’t know how he found out about him, but once again, Keith has ruined my life.

  I don’t know if I can really blame Keith, though. Maybe Knox has been controlling all along and I’ve just been too enamored of him to notice. This is why I’m bad with men. Because once I get emotionally attached, I can’t separate the good from the bad. Or maybe it’s the hormones.

  Or maybe it’s that I’m in love with Knox and terrified of what that means for my life.

  You don’t want anyone. You keep everyone at arm’s length.

  It’s a lie. Isn’t it? I don’t even know. I let some people in, I reason. Like Natalie. Except . . . he’s right in that I kept things secret even from her. And I’ve never truly let anyone in and exposed everything I am to them. The thought is utterly terrifying. I guess some part of me is still waiting for the inevitable change of heart. The part where I open up and show them exactly who I am . . . and they decide it’s not enough.

  Just like my family did back when I was a teenager.

  My stomach cramps and I try to remember the last time I ate a meal, a real meal and not just garbage. I’m feeling a little nausea, but I don’t know if that’s from pregnancy, or driving, or just the fact that I feel like Knox betrayed me. It might be all those things. The highway around me is empty, but an exit sign advertises a truck stop waffle diner if I head south instead of east. I think for a moment and then I exit to head south when it comes up. East is Luka, but there’s nothing for me there. Might as well go south. Houston’s big. Plenty of opportunity. Plenty of space to hide in plain sight.

  I pull up to the diner and head inside, sliding into one of the booths. The waitress raises a finger, indicating she’ll be with me shortly. That’s fine—I’m not in a hurry. I’m too busy wallowing in self-pity, hurt, and betrayal. Might as well eat my feelings. I pick up a sticky menu from behind the napkin dispenser and consider it.

  “All right, honey, can I get you a drink?” the waitress says as she comes over to my table.

  I really, really want coffee. But the awful way I’m feeling reminds me that I’m pregnant and I can’t just think about me. That means no coffee. “Milk, I think.”

  She scratches a note on her pad. “Ready to order?”

  “Pancakes,” I say, and then glance up at her. “Can I get a big side of pickles with that?”

  She nods as if I’ve said the most reasonable thing in the world. “You know what else is good, honey? I can have the cook whip you up some hash browns made with a hint of sriracha and maple syrup. It’s really something. Right amount of sweet and spicy.”

  I look up at her in surprise, because it’s like she’s read my mind.

  She pats her stomach under her waitress apron. “Four months along with number four. I get the same weird cravings.”

  “You are?”

  “Yup, and I recognize a pregnancy craving when I hear one.” She smiles at me. “Sound good?”

  My belly cramps again and I nod, putting aside the menu. “My parasite and I would love that.”

  She winks at me and heads back behind the counter. I watch her go, studying her. She’s older than me, with hints of gray in her frizzy blonde hair, and now that she mentioned the pregnancy, all I can see is the slight bulge of her belly under the apron. It must be rough to work on your feet at a diner all day while pregnant, and I think guiltily of the little guesthouse back at Natalie’s that I’m leaving behind.

  And I think of Knox, who I’m also leaving behind. That hurts me more than any guest house. Why did he have to get so controlling? Why couldn’t he have left the situation with Keith alone? Instead, he stepped in like I was his property and he had to piss on me like a dog marking his territory. The sad thing is that I understand why he did it—I just don’t like that he did. It goes against everything that I’ve taught myself over the last ten years.

  While I’m lost in thought, she brings the first plate of food to me and a glass of milk, and then sits down across from me. I’m surprised that she takes a seat, but a quick look around the place shows that there’s no one else around, the last customer having exited a few minutes ago. Great. My normal surliness at being around people doesn’t seem to be here tonight, though. I actually don’t mind the company. Maybe it’s because we’re both pregnant, or maybe I’ve just gone soft in the head. Maybe Knox boned all the brains out of me.

  That’s more likely than me suddenly liking company.

  “So how far along are you?” she asks, tilting her head and regarding me.

  “About three months,” I say and fork a mouthful of hash browns into my face. Oh god, she’s right. They’re spicy and covered with maple syrup and it’s pretty much the best thing I’ve ever eaten.

  “This your first one?” When I nod, she studies my hand as I reach for the milk. “Unmarried, huh?”

  “Yeah, he’s an international spy and can’t settle down in one place,” I say, my sarcasm rising to the forefront at her nosy question.

  She chuckles. “Sure he is. So he’s not in the picture?”

  “Oh, he’s in the picture,” I grumble. A bit too much for my liking.

  “But there’s problems, I take it.” The waitress gestures toward me. “Lemme see a photo and I’ll tell you if he’s worth it.”

  I snort at that. Like she can tell me if he’s worth the hassle just by a look at him. But I pull my phone out and flip to a selfie we took together in front of a gravestone on one of our dates. Just looking at it makes me hurt, because he’s not even looking at the camera in the picture. He’s just staring at me like I’m the greatest thing ever created, and I wish again that he hadn’t ruined things. I wanted him in my life.

  You don’t let anyone get close.

  Okay, maybe I wanted him in my life on my terms, not his. I hand her the phone and shove another mouthful of food into my stomach, because it’s cramping up again out of stress.

  The waitress studies the picture. I want her to comment on how cute he is. How gorgeous his eyes are with those long lashes and his strong face and that smile that makes me melt. But she just looks at it quietly and then looks at me again. “He younger?”

  “Five years.”

  “Mmm. That makes him pretty young to be a daddy. I don’t know if I like that.”

  “Oh shit,” I say, feigning surprise before switching to sarcasm. “I completely forgot to get your approval before we banged. My bad.”

  She harrumphs and shrugs. “I’m just saying. I’ve had three husbands and I’m about to marry number four. You learn certain things about men after the first few marriages.”

  Clearly not, or else she’d stop marrying them. “Do tell.”

  “Young men tend to flake out on a girl. They don’t like the idea of being daddies.”

  I want to tell her that she’s wrong, that Knox pretty much wants nothing more than to be a father. I remember the ultrasound and when we heard the baby’s heartbeat, I thought he was going to break his face, he was smiling so widely. It was adorable and I’m pretty s
ure he melted the doctor’s heart with his excitement. I know he melted my panties. No, Knox isn’t like what she’s suggesting. He wants the family, and he wants to settle down with me. He’s the opposite of the advice she’s giving.

  But that’d sound a bit like I’m defending him, so I just shrug.

  “He’s kind of scruffy looking, if you ask me, with that beard and all.” She circles her finger around the image of him on the phone.

  “He has to keep up his disguise so the law doesn’t get him,” I tell her, deadpan.

  She just shoots me a patient look, and it’s one I recognize. Oh god, she’s mothering me. “All I’m saying,” she continues, “Is that it’s hard to find a good job with that kind of unkempt facial hair. He needs to think about that if he’s going to be a dad. Or is he unemployed?”

  “Self-employed,” I tell her. It’s kind of the truth. If I told her he was a billionaire she’d probably tell me to jump on his jock and never leave. The thought’s amusing, really.

  The waitress nods thoughtfully. “He’s got his own business, then? That’s good. Does he have insurance for the baby?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “You need to ask,” she tells me. “It’s not just you that you have to think about, but that kid inside you. Do you know how much insurance costs? Why do you think I’m on my feet at this shithole all day?”

  “The ambiance?”

  She laughs. “Yeah, that’s it. No, honey, it’s because this is one of the few chains that offers insurance to their employees. All of ’em. Hell, I’m still paying off the hospital bill from the last one’s birth. Kids cost money.”

  I stuff more food into my mouth, because she’s talking sense, and I don’t want to hear sense right now. I’m outraged and butthurt over Knox getting into my business.

  “Look, he’s young, but it doesn’t matter. You’ve got that baby to think about. If he’s got a business, that means he can pay child support, and you’re going to need that money. Don’t be too proud to ask for help when it comes to babies. They’re a lot more work than anyone ever tells you. They’re worth it, of course, but I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that it’s great. It’s hard being a single mom.”

  I know she’s trying to help out, and I swallow my food and offer her a faint smile. “I’m more ready to be a single mom than part of a couple.”

  She gives me a knowing look. “He’s clingy and you’re running?”

  Oh wow. She’s good. “Not really clingy. He just wants more than I’m ready to give him. Keeps getting into my business and all.”

  “Spending your money?”

  “No—”

  “Tracking your phone calls? Not letting you talk to other people? Raise a hand to you?”

  “Well, no—”

  “Did he make you quit your job? Tell you how to dress? Does he try to change you?” She sets the phone down and crosses her arms over her chest, looking all mama bear at me despite the fact that she’s probably only five years older than me.

  All of what she’s describing is pretty horrific, and from the expression on her face, I wonder how much of that she’s experienced herself. “No changing my appearance. And he was giving me money to help me set up my business. But—”

  “Oh, honey, if you don’t want this young man, I do.” She chuckles. “He sounds better than my up-and-coming number four.”

  I scowl at her, because the thought of Knox—my clever, sly Knox—flirting with this woman makes me want to fling things across the room. “He’s a pain in the ass. You don’t know him like I do.”

  “Try me. You said he kept getting involved in your business. What’d he do?”

  “He interfered with . . . an ex.” There’s no way to say it that it doesn’t sound crazy, now that I’m reasoning it out aloud.

  “So you were cheating on your man with your ex?” Her expression grows icy.

  “Uh, no. The ex was being a nuisance and Knox threatened him. I didn’t want him to get involved because I had it handled.”

  The waitress gets a soft expression on her face. “Oh, honey. If that’s your biggest problem, I don’t know whether or not to hug you or slap you upside the head.”

  “You don’t know what kind of girl I am. Maybe I like both.” And I give her an exaggerated wink, hoping she’ll find me weird and stop spouting advice. “Maybe I like it rough.”

  “No, you don’t know what rough is. Rough is working a double shift and coming home at midnight to find the electricity is off and you’ve still got to pay the babysitter and make lunches for the next day. Rough is your youngest having the flu and giving it to you and you still have to get up at five in the morning for the breakfast rush and hope you get enough tips for cold medicine. Rough is an entirely different sort of thing when you have babies, honey.”

  Her words sound far too sensible, and I hate that she’s making me feel like a petulant child. I also hate that everything she’s saying is right. If Knox trying to make Keith leave me alone is my biggest problem, I have a pretty good life. “Maybe so.”

  She reaches over and puts her hand on mine, ignoring my cringe backward. “Let me tell you something about babies. How you’re feeling right now?”

  “Queasy?”

  “Protective,” she says, ignoring my sarcasm. “Protective and fierce about that little one. Like you’d do anything and everything in your power to ensure that baby has a good life? He probably feels that way about you. If he’s a little overprotective of the mother of his child, I don’t think that’s a flaw. Just imagine how he’ll be with that baby.”

  I try to picture Knox with our baby. In my mind, the kid’s dressed in black onesies and wearing a tiny matching trucker cap that looks just like Knox’s favorite hat. I picture Knox’s expression while holding the kid . . . and okay, yeah, my ovaries melted a little. I picture Knox swapping pacifiers out on the baby to see if he’d notice, but if he’s Knox’s kid, he’ll notice. His dad won’t be able to get anything past him.

  I imagine a little boy grabbing a fistful of Knox’s beard and how Knox would smile like it was the most adorable thing he’s ever seen, and then he’d look at me like I’m the center of his world . . .

  And, well, shit.

  Maybe Keith Lawrence isn’t the hill I want to die on when it comes to relationships. I toy with my spicy-sweet hashbrowns, not really hungry anymore. For the first time in my life, it feels lonely to be alone. I want what I had with Knox. I want to be able to curl up against him and imagine our life together. But . . . I’m terrified of that very same thing. “I’m not good with relationships.”

  “Honey, who is? The hard part isn’t fighting or fucking. It’s meeting in the middle when things are important to you. You learn that as you go.”

  I’m not sure she’s qualified to give that advice, but she sounds pretty sensible so far. “Maybe so.”

  “All I’m saying is give him a chance. If he wants to be in the baby’s life, maybe you let him. There are worse things out there than a dad that wants to be involved.” She pats my hand and gets to her feet as the doorbell clangs. “And now back to work for this mama.” She squeezes my shoulder as if we’re best buddies and then heads off.

  Funny, but I feel weirdly better after that talk. Maybe it’s one a mother would have given me, if my own mother hadn’t been such an unforgiving wretch. I rub my stomach. I’m not going to turn into that for you, baby. I’m going to be the best mom you ever had, even if I’m the weirdest mom in the PTA. I think of Knox, and the way he flinched when I called him a bastard.

  He doesn’t want the baby to grow up a bastard like he did, I realize. All the problems he had growing up? He wants to fix them for our parasite. I know how that is. Maybe his declarations of marriage aren’t so crazy after all. Maybe I’m the one that’s being unreasonable. I don’t know what to think.

  My stomach cramps again, and this
time it’s a sharp, awful pain . . . and I realize it’s not my stomach. It’s lower, deeper, almost like I’m getting my period . . .

  Except I’m pregnant.

  Ill at ease, I slide out of the booth and get to my feet. Even as I do, I can feel a warm rush between my thighs that shouldn’t be there. I glance down and there’s a smear of blood on the bench I just vacated.

  I’m bleeding.

  The waitress brings my pancakes, which I’ve completely forgotten about, and I set down a couple of twenties on the table to pay for the food and tip. “Where’s the nearest emergency room?”

  * * *

  * * *

  There’s no ultra-close urgent care since I’m in the middle of nowhere, but the waitress gives me instructions to a nearby doc-in-the-box urgent care location one exit over, and I head there. They immediately take me back and draw blood, running tests, and then I sit alone on the table, waiting for the doctor to come see me. It’s a busy night and there’s a lot of people in this place, but I feel very alone and very vulnerable.

  Old Lexi wouldn’t have cared about how alone she was. Old Lexi would just push off her feelings and make shitty comments to everyone that tried to talk to her. She’d take everything in stride. She’d be all No sweat, I have this.

  I’m trying really, really hard to be Old Lexi right now, but I don’t know that it’s working. I’m scared and I’m sad, and I ache all over. I want nothing more than to have Knox here at my side. I know I’m angry at him, but . . . he just makes everything better by being nearby. I’m dependent on someone once more, and strangely enough, I don’t hate it. It’s not like before with Jonas, when he would throw everything in my face and become even more controlling. Knox is different in every way. He’s supportive and caring and he knows just what to say and do to make me laugh and feel better.

  I miss him. It’s not even been a day since I left and I feel like I’m being torn apart. What if I lose the baby and all of a sudden, he no longer wants me? Just the thought makes it feel as if all the air’s left the room. I can’t breathe.