A Little Bit of Guilt: Little Bits #5

by Murphy, A. E.

  Oh shit.

  Mason is up like a shot, yanking on his pants. “Oh hell no. Not my house, buddy.”

  “Mason,” I warn, climbing out of bed after him. I’m wearing little more than a satin gown because I don’t like the feel of cotton on my skin right now.

  I grab my robe off the back of the bedroom door and follow Mason into the hall. He’s yanking on his boots when Chris starts screaming again.

  I call back Lucas who answers immediately. “I found him.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah, he’s banging on my door right now, screaming my name.”

  “SUMMER! FUCKING TALK TO ME!”

  “Mason,” I beg when he grips the handle. “Let Lucas deal with him, please.”

  “I’m on my way,” Lucas states but I’m not listening.

  “Lesson one, babe,” Mason states, his gray eyes glowing with anger. “I don’t fuck around with my family’s safety. Go back into the bedroom.”

  “Please, don’t hurt him.”

  “Won’t put my hands on him so long as he doesn’t put his hands on me.”

  I grab his arm but he shrugs me free and swings open the door. Mason looks livid and on edge in a way I’ve never seen him.

  Chris comes into view, shaggy blond hair and swollen blue eyes. He’s drunk. Completely. I’ve never seen him so drunk. His eyes are hazy and his body is swaying on the spot.

  “Summer,” he breathes, not even seeing Mason who is essentially blocking the doorway. “I need, hic, to talk to you.”

  His words are a slur, but I understand him perfectly.

  “It’s the middle of the night,” Mason growls at him and Chris finally meets his eyes, his head sways both ways but catches himself in the middle. “Summer is trying to rest. Shit, the entire street is trying to rest and you’re fuckin’ hollering at this time.”

  “I need to speak to my wife.”

  “Chris, we will talk. I’ll call you tomorrow,” I say gently, trying not to provoke an argument. “Please go home.”

  “What home? An empty fucking house… my woman gone.” He hiccups again and rips a hand through his hair. “Need you.”

  I step closer and try to force Mason’s arm down from the doorframe. He’s gripping it so tight I’m surprised it hasn’t splintered under the force.

  “You seeing her right now?” Mason asks loudly. “She’s ten weeks away from having my kids.”

  “They could still be mine.”

  “No, they can’t, Chris,” I snap and blow out a breath.

  “Babe, go back to the bedroom,” Mason barks.

  Chris’ eyes narrow on me. “You know they could.”

  “No, they can’t.”

  “Sum…”

  “Stop it, Chris. Fucking hell, I am so tired of this conversation. The boys aren’t yours.”

  “I asked my doctor, even he said it’s a possibility. It’s seven days, not a month. I’m just as close to your date of conception as he is!”

  That’s not true, Mason is a few days out, Chris is over a week out. That’s assuming I ovulated on the right date that month.

  Mason glances at me over his shoulder and his arm drops. I hate the look of panic in his eyes. “What’s he talking about, Summer?”

  Chris gives me a pointed look. “Even if they’re not mine, I don’t care, hic, I want you home.”

  “I am home,” I reply. “Now you need to go to yours. You’re starting to piss me off.”

  Mason doesn’t say anything, his jaw is set and I know he’s thinking about what Chris has said.

  “Why him?”

  “Why Cindy?”

  “Cindy?” Mason asks, totally out of the loop of everything.

  “The woman he fucked behind my back.”

  “I knew it was you texting,” Chris tries but his lie falls flat on me and he knows it because he quickly corrects, “Okay, I didn’t know it was you but I was a fucking idiot and didn’t realize how good I had it.” He sways again but rights himself one more time. “You used to fold my face cloth and I didn’t notice. Who the fuck folds a face cloth? Used to rinse it out too for me. Used to iron my shirts and hang them in the closet. Used to keep my favorite at the front. Used to label the leftovers in the fridge for me so I knew how long to heat them for. I’m seeing it all now. Missing the smells, the bleach you used, the perfume, that fucking cotton candy shit you used to spray on our pillows before sleep.”

  “Chris—"

  “Yep,” Mason gloats, sneering at the man I loved enough once to promise eternity to. It’s crazy how things change. “You fucked up. Missed out. Lost this. Never felt so fucking looked after at home. Should’ve held it tighter but you didn’t. Now get the fuck off my property. She’s tired, pregnant, and she is not interested.”

  “Summer,” Chris begs. “Please. Just give me ten minutes.”

  “Go home. It’s done.” I pull on Mason’s arm again as Chris’ face turns red.

  He directs his sudden burst of anger at Mason and my heart stops. “You can stand there all smug but I was the one she was fucking while you weren’t around! Had her on the kitchen counter, fucked her up the door.”

  “Stop it!” I yell, trying to get around Mason now to shut him up. If I wasn’t heavily pregnant, I would fly at him, claws out. Why is he being so spiteful?

  “She’s only with you because she’s convinced herself those babies are yours but there’s every fucking chance they’re mine!”

  “I haven’t touched him since I left home,” I promise Mason but his blazing eyes are on my ex. “I swear. I have not touched him.”

  “Get the fuck out of here, you pathetic SOB,” Mason grits at Chris through clenched teeth and then slams the door in his face.

  Chris doesn’t bang again and I don’t move from where I’m standing, not until Mason takes my arm and guides me back to the bedroom.

  “I swear I didn’t fuck him,” I say solemnly. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Babe.” Mason touches my jaw and forces me to look at him. “I know. I can tell when a desperate man is lying to me. I was trained to be able to see it.” His eyes are sad when they scan my body. “Just like I knew you were lying when you said to him the boys aren’t his.” He bites on his lip. “I’m gonna ask you this once. Just once. And you’re gonna be honest with me.” When I look away, he shakes me gently, his hands on my waist. “Look at me in the eye. Is there a chance these kids aren’t mine?”

  “If there is a chance, it’s a tiny, insignificant, one-in-a-million chance.”

  He stares at me unblinking for the longest time and then wets his lips before carefully speaking, “You’ve got me playing house and building a nursery for babies that might not be mine?” His tone is wary, neutral, but I hear his pain and see it in his eyes.

  “It was one day after my period ended. It’s impossible.”

  “No, it’s not,” he replies sharply. “It’s not impossible.” Then he rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. “How many days between me and him?”

  Fuck. This is not going my way. “Seven or eight. I can’t remember the exact number.”

  “Okay,” he breathes and then clicks his tongue. He’s battling so hard for control right now. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. We’re gonna keep going as we are, except I’m going to move my shit to the couch.”

  “What?” Oh my God. He’s breaking up with me. “Please, Mason, I know they’re yours. They’re twins, for crying out loud. Twins don’t run in my family or Chris’!”

  “Doesn’t matter. I need to breathe.” He steps away from me. “I feel like I just lost my kids and woman all in one night, Sum. I need to breathe.”

  “Breathe in what way? Like away from me?”

  “Exactly. Had a great few weeks home, a magical Christmas, even better New Year’s Eve and, shit, you’re making me fall so hard for you I can’t think of anything else. Right now, I’m thinking I don’t want to be in this any deeper when those babies come out with Chris’ eyes and you go running back t
o him.”

  “You’re falling for me?”

  “Impossible not to,” he admits and looks me up and down again.

  “I’ll never go back to him, even if they are his.”

  His face falls. “So there really is a chance?”

  “No… I just… I don’t know.”

  “I’m not raising another man’s babies. I’m not that guy.” Mason stalks from the room, leaving me alone with tears staining my cheeks.

  I follow him after composing myself and find him sitting on the couch staring ahead with his strong arms folded over his chest. “I’m falling for you too, Mason. I think I might have already. And that terrifies me. Especially while I’m this big and pregnant. It terrifies me because we’re about to start an adventure together that could make us or break us. I really want it to make us.”

  “If those babies are his, I’ll be raising them and fighting with him when he collects them every weekend.” At least he’s calm and collected and not yelling. “I don’t need that situation or baggage.”

  “I would never expect that of you but, Mason… I know these babies are yours.”

  “Not one hundred percent.”

  “Close enough though.”

  He shakes his head. “Let me breathe. We’ll talk tomorrow. Okay?” His blank gray eyes meet mine and he reaches for my hand, gives it a squeeze and then lies on the couch. When he throws his arm over his eyes I tiptoe away and fetch him a duvet and pillow from the closet. I leave them on his feet, ignoring the fact his boots are on the couch, and head back to our room.

  What a fucking mess.

  The next day we don’t talk about it at all. We fall back into routine; Mason stays attentive for the most part without the sexual innuendos and casual touches. He distances himself from me in that sense. I try to bring it up but he shakes his head at me when I do.

  He’s still not ready.

  So I’m giving him his space. Mainly because I’m terrified if I keep bringing it up he’ll ask me to leave.

  When four days pass, I’m surprised to find him finishing the crib in the nursery. We haven’t spoken about the twins at all. In fact, apart from daily stuff such as where did you put this? Do your feet hurt? How’s your blood pressure? We haven’t spoken about much of anything.

  Our easy chemistry is withering away and it’s my fault, yet again.

  What if he falls away from me as the weeks go on?

  After two more weeks of this petulant bullshit I’m about done with it. The pregnancy, Mason’s frostiness toward me, the flowers Chris sent me this morning with an apology on them that Mason dumped straight into the trash. I’m not mad at him for doing that, but we didn’t talk about it either. Seems like a waste of beautiful flowers and it’s not like I asked Chris to send me anything.

  I keep myself busy to pass the time, doing the housework. Mason is actually a lot better at it than I thought he’d be. I rarely have to ask him for anything and for the most part we make excellent roommates.

  That is until he fucking wrecks me.

  I find something… a note… the name Lula with a number written below it. I find it in Mason’s pocket as I’m doing the laundry. His laundry.

  I slam it down on the shiny, smooth surface of the washing machine and then clench it in my fist. The tears come before I can stop them. I’m stressed. I’m tired. I want to sob and cry.

  I really was falling in love with him, I might have already been there, but this… this has knocked me back a few steps.

  I leave the paper behind, dry my eyes on my T-shirt and stomp out into the hall.

  Mason is in the den drinking a beer, not something he does often. The game is on. That explains it.

  I move to stand in front of it.

  “Who’s Lula?” I ask as he tries to lean around me to see the flat screen.

  His leaning stops, his mouth forms an O and his gray eyes widen. “What?”

  “I asked who Lula is.” He must have a thing for girls with weird-ass names. No offense to all the Lulas in the world. I’m just really fucking bitter right now.

  He hesitates. “Just… she… umm… a girl who works at a coffee shop nearby.”

  “Have you fucked her?”

  This time he doesn’t hesitate, he switches to disbelief. “What? No. Are you kidding me? She just gave me her number.”

  “And you took it?”

  “I didn’t want to hurt her feelings!”

  “You could have told her that you have a pregnant girlfriend at home.”

  “Do I though?” he retorts, standing now.

  “No, I guess not if you’re taking the numbers of other women,” I whisper, feeling sick and so fucking hurt.

  “Summer.”

  “I really missed you before, I thought we had something, and now I just kind of wish I never came here at all.” I exit the area and enter my bedroom, clicking the door shut behind me.

  But the moment that door closes and my foot hits the rug I feel warm liquid leak down my thighs. It doesn’t gush, it doesn’t splash, I feel no pain. It’s like a long, slow trickle, like a tap that has been left open by mistake.

  All thoughts of relationship drama fly out the window when I yank my pants down and see red staining my thighs.

  “MASON!” I scream, my heart goes into overdrive and the door flies open.

  He looks at me, then at the blood running down my thigh and I’ve never seen or felt fear so potent in my life.

  Ambulances are superfast when they need to be. They got to us in record time and I’m trying not to freak out.

  I’m stuck with a needle, a cannula is placed into the side of my hand, I’m questioned consistently, poked, prodded, my belly is listened to by the kind female EMT who told me her name but I forgot it already and I just lie on the gurney, or whatever it’s called, praying to a God I’m not sure I believe in.

  My babies, please don’t let this be it. Don’t let this happen to me. I can’t handle it.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Mason reassures me, gripping my hand in both of his. I’m reaching across the ambulance to him. I daren’t touch my belly, just in case I feel nothing there. It’s irrational and stupid but I’m legitimately terrified. I have no idea what’s happening in my womb right now. I’m not in any pain, my water hasn’t broken, I’m not getting contractions.

  I feel a splash of wetness between and under my thighs and rear and everybody in the back of the ambulance seem to freeze.

  I take back what I thought a second ago, my water has broken.

  “Come on, go faster, Bobby, or we’ll be delivering twins in the back of your medi-truck!” the nice lady whose name I don’t know yells. She smiles at me. “He’s a bit of a redneck, gave up his prized truck to come help people here in the city, so we call this his medi-truck.”

  “It’s not the same thing though!” Bobby shouts back.

  I don’t have time to react because what I’m assuming is a contraction pulses through my stomach, tightening it. I scream in agony. It feels like my cervix is being ripped open.

  “Hang in there, Mama, we’re not far now,” she tells me as Mason sits and just stares.

  He’s in panic mode, I’m in panic mode. This is bad. Really bad.

  “Blood,” Mason barks, pointing between my thighs. I can’t see shit because of my belly but his clipped word has me ready to climb off the bed.

  “It’s just a little bit,” the woman says softly, covering me with a blanket. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “Can’t you stop and help her?” Mason yells. “Surely this isn’t protocol!”

  “Those babies need a hospital.” She looks at me and smiles again. “The doctors will get them out safely, get them incubated and get you fixed up in no time.” She looks back at Mason. “Please, calm down, Mr. Smith. You’re scaring her and she doesn’t need to be scared. I’ve seen this a hundred times and every single time it has been okay.”

  “Every single time?” I ask her, my tone showing how close I am to sobbing.
r />   “Every time,” she reassures me and places her hand on my exposed belly. “Keep calm. It’s the best thing for you right now.”

  She hooks me up to the gas and air as another pain hits me. This doesn’t sound like what they described in the baby books. This is horrific. I feel faint and sick.

  I don’t know if I can do this.

  “Her lips are turning blue,” Mason yells.

  The doors open, we’re here. No more rocking. I can’t stand the rocking.

  “Stay awake,” Mason begs me but I’m not sure that I’m sleepy, I just can’t keep my eyes open. “No… Summer, baby, please. Stay awake. Please. Look at me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t care whose they are. I don’t care, I’m there. Okay? You have me. I promise.”

  I wake up, I feel drowsy. My head hurts. There’s a burning ache that is crossing my stomach.

  My stomach…

  I reach for it gently caressing the fabric of the blanket that covers me. I feel so sluggish, my arms heavy, but there’s no mistaking what I’m not feeling.

  My stomach is soft.

  It’s empty.

  “Hey, girl.” Marie presses something above my head. It starts to beep incessantly. “Give me your eyes.”

  I look at her, blinking a few times to gather myself. She looks like she’s been crying, her eyes are swollen making the gray in them stand out.

  “Good girl,” she coos, stroking my arm with her hand. “How’s your head? Are you ready to talk? You’ve been in and out of it for an hour now.”

  “What happened? Where am I?”

  Marie looks elsewhere, my eyes are too unfocused to see past her profile. “You’re in the hospital, you came out of surgery a couple of hours ago. You’re okay though. Your babies are fine. Perfect in fact. They’ve been incubated for warmth and monitoring because they’re on the small side, but they really are amazing.”

  I breathe out a shallow breath of relief as it floods through me, spilling over the seams of my soul. “Can I see them?”

  “Soon,” another voice says cheerily and the beeping stops. A woman leans over me and checks my eyes. “You lost a fair amount of blood; you’ve had a transfusion. How are you feeling?”