Unexpected (Complete Accidental Pregnancy Box Set)

by Lilian Monroe

It’s almost as terrifying as the thought of walking up those steps and facing Harper. No, not facing her. Groveling. I’m prepared to beg, grovel, plead, do whatever I need to do to make her understand that I made a mistake.

  I’ll tell her I’ll be there for her and the baby. I’ll tell her I made a mistake. I’ll tell her I reacted horribly and I’m sorry.

  I’ll tell her I love her.

  The thought of saying those words out loud instantly makes my palms start to sweat. I’ve never put myself on the line like this before. There’s never been more than just sex with a woman and me. The flowers that Becca chose are sitting in the passenger’s seat. I grab them roughly and open the door.

  This is it.

  I pause when my foot hits the ground. Maybe I should warn her that I’m here. Give her a heads up so that I’m not just showing up at her door. I pull out my phone and dial her number.

  It rings! She didn’t block my number.

  “Come on, Harper, answer!” The phone rings and rings until her voice comes on over the receiver.

  “Hi, I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave a message!”

  I sigh and try her again. It rings out to voicemail again.

  “Damn it!”

  Her apartment building looks dark and uninviting. I shake my head. I’m just delaying this because I’m nervous. I need to just get up there and see her and explain how I feel. I climb out of my car and walk up the steps and find the door to the building propped open with a small doorstop. I push it open and look at the steps. I don’t even know what apartment she’s in. There’s an intercom and a list of names, so I ring the number for H. Anderson.

  It buzzes and buzzes without a response. I frown. I try it again with no luck. What if she isn’t home? I glance up the stairway and then look at the bunch of flowers in my hand. Should I wait in my car? I spin around in a circle, uncertain of what to do. What if she’s here, she’s just ignoring me?

  I need to see her. I need to tell her how I feel. I need to apologize for being an absolute ass! If she’s here then I have to at least try to look into those eyes of hers and tell her the truth, that I love her and I’ll do anything for her. I was in shock yesterday, but I want to be with her. I can’t say that I’m ready to be a dad, but I can try.

  I see a stack of old junk mail in the corner and rush over. Rifling through the old envelopes and flyers, I try to spot her name. Surely she’d have her apartment number on it.

  I’m starting to lose hope when an old magazine catches my eye.

  The Economist.

  “Of course,” I say under my breath with a grin. She’s always learning. And there it is, right under her name. Apartment 407.

  I roll the magazine and slip it into my jacket’s breast pocket. I practically run up the stairs and by the time I make it to the fourth floor I’m panting. Don’t apartment buildings have elevators these days?

  “I need to work out more,” I say to myself. I glance at the wall and see the arrow pointing left for apartments 401-412. I turn down the hallway and half-walk, half-jog down.

  My heart is beating faster than it was running up the stairs, which I didn’t think was possible.

  401, 403, 405… 407!

  I skid to a stop in front of her door. Taking a few deep breaths, I try to calm my beating heart. I smooth my hair back by running my fingers through it. With one more breath and hold the flowers upright and ball my fist.

  My knock sounds hollow against the door. I knock three times.

  Tap-tap-tap.

  No answer. I knock again.

  Tap-tap-tap-tap.

  Still nothing. I sigh, raising my hand one more time and slamming it against the door.

  “Harper!”

  I wait for two, three, four seconds but all I hear is the sound of silence. I hold my breath and try to listen for any movement inside, any indication that she’s home. I can’t hear a thing. I try knocking again but when no one answers my chin drops to my chest and I sigh.

  She’s either not here or she doesn’t want to see me.

  My feet felt light as a feather a few minutes ago when I was running up the steps, but now it feels like my boots are made of lead. I drag myself away from the door and make my way to the steps. At the top, I glance back down the hallway, just in case she’s there waiting to run into my arms.

  The empty hallway stares back at me, taunting me. I sigh and turn back to the stairs. I trudge downwards, swinging the flowers back and forth with every step. The tops of the flowers are brushing the edges of the stairs as I go down, but I don’t care.

  She probably wants nothing to do with me. What would a couple of flowers change?

  I push the front door open and walk down the steps. My mind is swirling with all kinds of thoughts about Harper, about seeing her, about apologizing. I can’t focus on anything and it feels like all my thoughts are rushing at me all at once.

  It’s not until I’m almost at my car that I see the man leaning against it. I stop in my tracks and my brow knits together as an unnerving smile paints itself across his lips. My blood runs cold as I recognize him.

  “Hello, Mr. Lockwood.”

  “Greg Chesney,” I breathe. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  38

  Zach

  His eyes slide over me and I almost shiver. There’s nothing in them—no emotion, no anger, no fear. He’s completely dead behind the eyes. He makes me just as uncomfortable as he did at the Christmas party.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He holds up his hand and something glints. I frown but stay rooted in place. I don’t want to get any closer, and I’d prefer it if he stopped leaning against my car. I’d prefer it if he disappeared forever and never came anywhere near me or Harper, but that doesn’t seem to be happening.

  “I could ask you the same thing. I told you to stay away,” he growls as he holds up the item a little bit higher. I stare at it until I finally realize what it is.

  “Harper’s ring.”

  “Harper’s ring!” He shouts. “That I gave to you as a warning, and now I find it on her finger?”

  “So it was you who sent it to me,” I say.

  “Harper and I belong together. Everyone wants to tear us apart but I won’t let that happen. We belong together.”

  His chest is heaving up and down as he stares at me, his eyes darting back and forth. He’s obsessed with her. Does he know about the baby? The thought of this man being anywhere near Harper and my child makes my blood turn to ice.

  “Where’s Harper?”

  “She’s at home,” he replies. An eerie grin appears on his face. “She’s in bed!”

  His face terrifies me. Harper is in danger. My heart starts pounding in my chest and I try to reach into my pocket slowly. I need to call the police.

  “I swear to God, Greg, if you touched one hair on her fucking head, I’ll kill you myself,” I growl.

  Greg ignores me. “I told you to stay away from her. We belong together. You people keep trying to tear us apart!” His eyes are becoming wilder with every second.

  “Who’s trying to tear you apart?”

  “You, stealing her away from me. That bitch Rosie always whispering in her ear about me, poisoning Harper’s mind. You all just want to keep us away from each other. We belong together.”

  “She doesn’t want to be with you,” I say as calmly as I can manage. My whole body is trembling. My fingers have found my phone in my pocket but I can’t remember how to dial emergency without looking at it.

  “You’re lying!” He yells as he pushes himself off the car, taking a step toward me. I put my hand up defensively, flowers in one hand and phone in the other.

  “Stay back.”

  “Or what,” he snarls. “I warned you. I warned you to stay away from her.”

  “Since when do you have jurisdiction over Harper? Since you fucking terrorized her last year?”

  “Terrorized her!?” His eyes widen and I see they’re not dead anymore. They’re
alive with fury. “I terrorized her? It was that bitch Rosie, I just told you. She twisted Harper’s mind and made her hate me. She was going to be my girlfriend! We were going to get married!”

  I say nothing as I watch the spit flying out of his mouth with every word. He doesn’t bother to wipe it off his lips where it lands, only stares at me as he thrusts Harper’s ring at me.

  “And now Rosie has poisoned you too. She’s convinced you to go after Harper just to take her away from me.”

  I feel my brows knit together. Rosie? Why does he have such a vendetta against her?

  “Rosie has nothing to do with this,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

  “Rosie has everything to do with this!” He yells. He takes another step closer to me and puts the ring into his pocket and then reaches for something in the same pocket. My blood is thick in my veins as I watch him. I hold up the flowers defensively and wish I had something better to protect myself with. Finally I’m able to press the emergency button on my phone before slipping it back into my pocket. I keep my eyes on Greg.

  “Where’s Harper?”

  “She doesn’t want to see you.”

  “That’s not what I asked, Greg. Where is she?”

  “I said she doesn’t want to see you!”

  His eyes are practically popping out of his head. The veins on his neck are pulsing with every heartbeat. His chest heaves. His eyes are darting back and forth from me to the stairs to the street. I want to do the same, to look around and see what my options are but I can’t risk looking away from him. He’s completely unpredictable. Why is there no one on this street? Usually New York has throngs of people and now it’s deserted?

  Greg Chesney looks back at me. His hand is still in his pocket and his eyes get darker.

  “I saw you,” he says. His voice passes through my chest and makes my whole body grow colder. “I saw you at the Christmas party. You stole her from me.”

  “She came to me,” I say, my hands still up. “She came to me.”

  “She would never do that! She’s pure. She’s mine.”

  He lunges for me, finally pulling his hand out of his pocket. I see a glint of steel as he rushes toward me, just seeing the knife come down on my chest at the last moment. His body collides with mine and I fall backwards. Pain shoots through my chest and I feel the knife press into my flesh like a hot blade through butter.

  Greg’s eyes are inches from mine and feel his breath on my face like hot garbage. I try to push him off but I can’t move my arm. Suddenly everything feels heavy and I see a dark puddle growing next to me. It looks black until my eyes adjust a second later.

  Blood.

  My blood.

  The last thing I see is Greg’s arm coming down on my face and sending an explosion of pain through my temple.

  39

  Harper

  My head is splitting. It’s like there’s an ax buried deep in my skull right across my forehead, and the rest of my head is shattered in a million pieces. A groan escapes my lips and I try to open my eyes.

  I’m in my own bed.

  Any relief I feel quickly evaporates when I try to move. My hands and legs are bound with rope, keeping me spread eagle over my bed. My heart jumps against my ribcage and the panic starts clouding my vision. I struggle against my restraints but I can hardly even move my wrists more than an inch or so across.

  Greg Chesney.

  I force my eyes open wider even though the dim winter sunlight makes my entire head ache. I glance around the room, whipping my head back and forth to see if he’s here. He must be here, who else would have tied me up like this? I glance down and feel a small drop of relief when I see I’m still fully clothed. There’s that, at least.

  I whimper and then I hear a sound just outside my window. The old window slides up with a loud scrape and Greg’s face peers in through the opening.

  “You’re up!” He says cheerily. I don’t answer. The cold breeze hits me and I shiver. He climbs in through the window and closes it behind him. Why is he using the fire escape?

  “I didn’t want to disturb you so I went out for some coffee. He produces two steaming mugs, holding them up proudly. “You look so peaceful when you sleep.”

  His eyes are wild. He comes closer and I can smell the familiar odor of wet socks and staleness that follows him like a cloud. I try not to shudder.

  “Did you have a good snooze?”

  His pleasantness is almost more disturbing than if he were menacing right now. I don’t know how to react. His eyes are darting around the room and he takes another step toward me, holding the coffee out. His jacket is stained in the front and on the sleeve, a dark brown patch as if he spilled coffee all over himself.

  He gets closer still and I stare at the stain. The edges look almost red. My eyes widen and I look up at his face.

  It’s blood. My already wild heart jumps again and my throat starts to close. I can’t breathe. Whose blood is that? Is it mine? His? Someone else’s?

  Greg notices my gaze and makes a noise almost like a growl. He puts the coffee down on the bedside table and rips his jacket off.

  “What are you looking at?” He barks. He throws the jacket off to the side and it lands with a thud. I can still see it and the bloodstain from where I’m lying. I shift my gaze back to Greg. He’s standing over me with his hands on his hips, as if he’s deciding what he wants to do.

  I’m completely powerless. I can’t move and the panic is making it impossible for me to speak. I can hardly even breathe.

  “You’re very quiet today, puppet,” he says, taking a seat next to me. His gnarled, dirty finger reaches for my face and I turn away, squeezing my eyes shut. He strokes the side of my face with his finger, tracing the line of my jaw all the way down my neck. I keep my eyes shut and hold my breath until it’s over.

  “You’re shaking! Are you cold?” There’s concern in his voice. I open my eyes and watch as he gets a blanket from the cupboard and throws it over me. “There.”

  His hair is sticking up in all directions and his eyes are hazy and unfocused. He won’t look at anything for more than a second, and his movements are sharp and jittery. He sits down on the bed again.

  “Oh! I almost forgot your coffee. Here,” he presents it to me as if he doesn’t realize my arms and legs are bound.

  “I... I can’t,” I finally say, nodding at my hands.

  “Oh, of course,” he replies. He leans in toward me and another wave of stench invades my nostrils. His greasy hand cups the back of my head. Is that blood under his fingernails?

  He lifts my head almost gently and brings the coffee cup to my lips.

  “Careful! It’s hot!” He says with a child-like giggle. I take a sip and nod.

  “Thanks,” I respond. He smiles, satisfied, and puts the coffee back on the table. He folds his hand in his lap and looks at me. It looks almost like his smile is plastered on his face but the rest of his features didn’t follow along. It’s like his eyes operate on a completely different circuit than the rest of his face.

  “Great. Now, what should we do? Do you want to play cards? I remember you said you were great at Blackjack! Have you got any cards?”

  I take a deep breath. “Greg, what’s going on? What are you doing here?”

  “What do you mean, puppet? We’re together, finally. This is how it’s meant to be. Everyone else is out of the way and now we can finally be the way we’re supposed to be.”

  My blood turns to ice. Everyone else is out of the way?

  “Greg, we’re not together. I’m your boss.”

  “That didn’t stop you a couple of weeks ago, did it!” His head spins toward me and the spittle flies off his lips as he almost shouts the words at me. He leans into me and my whole body goes rigid. The ropes at my wrists and ankles digs into my skin but I can’t relax my body enough to ease the pain, not when Greg’s face is inches from mine and he’s breathing heavily. His eyes are completely dark.

  He knows. He saw us. I knew
there was someone. My stomach drops as I realize I should have listened to my instincts. Greg sits up again and his feature rearrange themselves again. He smiles at me.

  “That’s okay,” he says, patting my arm. “We’re together now and that’s all that matters. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yeah,” I say quickly.

  “Say you agree,” he says.

  “I agree.”

  Greg nods and gets up, brushing his hands together. “I hope you’re hungry, I’ve been planning our first meal together for over a year! I learned to cook from my grandmother,” he explains. “I’m quite the expert with a knife!”

  My eyes shoot back to the jacket on the ground, and the bloodstain down the front. Expert with a knife echoes in my brain over and over and over.

  40

  Zach

  “Sir, you’re at the hospital. You’ve been stabbed but we’re going to stitch you up. Everything is going to be fine.”

  There’s a voice near my left ear and it keeps telling me things. You’re going to be okay. I feel like I’m moving and my eyes flutter open. The ceiling is rushing past me. I try to move my head but there’s something around my neck. Thick straps are holding me down to the bed.

  “Get him to OR-B, it’s been prepped and the surgeon is ready. What’s his status?”

  “Lost a lot of blood. Stabbed about an inch below the heart. If he hadn’t had a magazine in his pocket he wouldn’t be here right now.”

  “Lucky.”

  “Definitely.”

  “Any ID?”

  “In his wallet. Zachary Lockwood, 37 years old. No medical details. Called from his cell phone and found him alone on the street.”

  Doors swing open and my bed rolls down another white hallway. Stabbed. Lost a lot of blood. I try to process the words as they reach my ears but I can’t make sense of anything. A new voice comes close to my ear again, a woman.

  “Zachary, we’re going to operate on your chest. We need to sew you back up and get you healthy again, okay? You’re going to be fine.”