by Vivian Lux
I set my phone down and stared at the ceiling. This was bullshit. He was supposed to be home now.
It was kind of important that I talked to him.
I had shoved the test right back into its wrapper. Like I could undo it, maybe start again and get a different result than the big scary plus sign that had materialized on it like a monster out of the depths.
Fucking hell, Brad, where the fuck are you?
I sat up way too fast and closed my eyes against the immediate head rush. Who the hell were these I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant women? I'd felt like warmed over hell since two days before I was even late.
"This is bullshit," I announced to Romeo. "I'm not going to fucking lie around here all day, waiting for him to call.
Romeo lifted his tail and farted.
"Well, that settles it," I told him, gathering up my purse and my keys. "Thanks for making the decision easier for me, bud. Now I really can't stay in here."
I closed the door against the stench and headed out into the chilly air. A walk to Brad's place would clear my head, and maybe soak up some of the nervous energy I would otherwise be using to kill him.
I set out in the direction of the Loop in a punishing pace. I wasn't waiting for his call and I wasn't going to lollygag either. If I were a runner, I would have sprinted over to his apartment and demanded to know why the fuck he hadn't called yet, but alas, running was something else I'd sworn never to do. Runners always looked so pained. Why put yourself through something you so clearly hated? Not for me. Brad should be grateful that I didn't run. It gave him that much longer to enjoy what little time on earth he had left.
My thoughts were pleasantly murderous enough that it didn't really occur to me until I got to Brad's block that I hadn't been this way in quite some time. Months, even.
He hadn't had me over to his place since we'd become official, as a matter of fact.
I slowed to a standstill and stared up at Brad's building. Why the hell had it been so long since I'd been here?
What was he keeping from me?
The murderous thoughts weren't pleasant anymore. I dashed to Brad's building, grateful that he wasn't one of those shitty rich people with doormen. There was no one to stop me as I made my mad dash across the lobby, right to the bank of elevators.
As I waited, watching my twisted reflection stare back at me from the polished metal doors, I wondered what the hell was going on. Was he hiding something from me... or someone? Was he seriously having an affair? When I had specifically given him an out? I'd told him I didn't want to be exclusive, but he insisted and now what? He's running around on me anyway?
The elevator door slid open and I tried to tamp those thoughts back down. Brad wouldn't do that. Brad was a decent guy. Brad was....
A fucking hockey player.
What did I expect?
A sudden thought poured into my chest like ice-water. And you want to have a baby with him?
Hastily, I wiped my eyes just before the doors swished open on his floor. I'd be fucked if I cried over this guy, hormonal as I was.
But I didn't need to bother wiping them, because they dried up immediately when the doors opened up to the sounded of a booming sound system thudding through the walls.
Brad's sound system
The fucker was home...watching a fucking movie.
He hadn't even bothered to call me yet.
"You fucking asshole!" I hollered, rushing across the hallway to slam my fists against his door. My fist connected with the heavy door, bringing hot, indignant tears to my eyes, and suddenly they were flowing as fast as my words. "Really Brad?" I screamed. "Fuck you! Fuck you, you dumbass hockey jock!" The harder I cried, the angrier I got. "Fucking caveman, I knew it! I knew you'd leave me! I knew it!"
I was still pounding on the door when it swung open from the inside. I stumbled and caught myself, one hand against the door, the other flailing wildly until I felt it caught up in by another hand.
It was not Brad's hand.
I screamed and yanked my hand back, stumbling back into the hall as I wrenched my pepper spray from my bag. "Who the fuck are you?!" I demanded, aiming the canister right at his confused blue eyes.
"Whoa whoa whoa!" the stranger shouted. There was something familiar about the way he threw up his hands to ward me off. "I should be asking the questions here! Who the fuck are you?"
"Yeah right, asshole. I'm not the one inside an apartment that's not mine." I reached into my bag. "Tell me one good reason why I shouldn't call the police right now."
His lip quirked. "Well, because then my brother would get really pissed at having to bail me out."
"Your brother?"
As soon as I said it, I knew it was true. Those eyes, the blue was exactly the same. So were the cheekbones. This guy was clean-shaven, so now I knew what Brad would look like if he ever shaved off the beard. This guy was so clearly related to Brad and yet....
"Brad doesn't have a brother," I scoffed.
He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest and leveled me with that exact same withering glance. "Oh yeah? And you know this to be true...how exactly?"
I was already shaking my head like I was trying to ward off the truth. "Because," I swallowed, "Brad never told me about any brothers."
Brad never told me anything about himself.
The guys held out his hand. "My name's Marc by the way. Short for Marcus. You must be Olivia."
"You know about me?"
His eyes twinkled. "He doesn't really go into too much detail...but I have a general idea who you might be." He looked me up and down, seemed to want to say something, and then caught himself. Which for some reason I found more unnerving than if he'd actually said something lewd in the first place. It was like he was running scripts in his head, how to be a good guy. Like it didn't come naturally. "Want to come in and wait for him or something? He was supposed to be home, hours ago."
"Um, thanks." Something seemed off about this but I couldn't put my finger on it, so I stepped into Brad's place, keeping my hand in my purse and my fingers on my pepper spray. "So, you haven't heard from him, uh, either?"
"Not like he checks in with me or anything. But yeah, I was actually looking forward to seeing him. I've got some news."
"Me too," I said grimly.
"Cool." Marc leaned against the door. "So, uh, I dunno, want me to get you a drink or something?"
"No thank you." A tiny little alarm bell was going off in my head, the same one that made me keep my eye on my drink at bars. There was something...off about this guy.
I set my purse down and looked around the apartment. It was a fucking pigsty and Brad was not the culprit, I could tell that immediately. I wrinkled my nose in spite of myself. "Are you...staying with him or something?"
"Yeah, for a bit. Just 'til I get back on my feet." Marc said.
I ducked my head, looked at my hand, saw that I was fiddling with my hair and consciously set it back down again. "Where did you live before this?"
"Brad really never mentioned me?"
"I know. I'm a little embarrassed too."
"Nah, I get it. He probably is embarrassed as well. Gotta own it, though." He straightened up. "Before I was here I lived at Metropolitan Correctional Center." He took a deep breath. "I was in prison."
Chapter 28
Brad
"Shit," I sighed. It had become a familiar refrain over the past twelve hours.
I'd said "shit," when Coach Randall came to lock-up to post bail. I'd said "shit," when the team lawyer said that the ref had a bruise in the perfect shape of my fist. I'd said "shit," when he told me the Springfield Police may not press charges, but the ref definitely might. I'd said "shit," when I finally got on a red-eye back to Chicago after being "released upon my own recognizance." And I'd said "shit," once I landed and realized I had to somehow explain all this to Olivia.
As the cab inched closer and closer to my building, I laid my head back on the seat and closed my eyes. My ne
rves were jangling and adrenaline was still coursing through my veins. I was in no condition to see her. In fact, seeing her right now, with my temper still hot and my outrage still in overdrive, would probably be the worst thing I could do.
"Here you are, man," the cabbie said, pulling up right in front.
"Thanks," I sighed, taking a deep breath, and signing the credit card slip.
"Hey uh, could I get an autograph? For my kid?" the cabbie wondered.
"Sure man, whatever," I said, scrawling my signature over the crumpled receipt he'd scrounged up for me.
The cabbie's eyes shone. "Thanks, man. Thanks so much. My kid's gonna be so thrilled."
All I wanted to do was sleep and put this whole thing behind me. But the guy looked like he wanted to keep talking. "How old is your boy?" I asked, politely.
"Girl, actually." He smiled proudly. "Die-hard Hawks fan, just like her Daddy. We got her just starting in the 7-8 leagues. She's gonna be a champ."
"That's awesome, man." I meant it. The way his eyes sparkled...you could tell his daughter was the world for him. "Hey, lemme get her something. Give me your address, I'll send her a stick."
"You mean it?"
"Absolutely."
"Hey, that's really great of you." He blinked rapidly, and I turned and looked out of the window to give him a sec to collect himself. "Here it is. She's gonna be so happy, man. Thanks so much."
"No problem. Tell her to keep playing." I slid out of the door. "Stick with it."
I wondered if I was talking to him or myself.
"Hey man, that's funny, you should write that on the stick! 'Dear Danielle, stick with it!'" he chuckled, looking very pleased with himself.
I laughed. "That's actually pretty good. I'll use it." I reached out and shook his hand, feeling much better. "Thanks again, I mean it. You take care of Danielle."
"Always do man, always do." The cabbie gave me one more eager smile in the rearview mirror as I pulled my bags from the trunk. Then with a wave, he pulled away.
"At least one person doesn't hate my guts," I said out loud. And then hated how petulant I sounded.
But really, was I wrong? As I trudged across the sidewalk up to my building, I felt like I had been turned inside out. Like my insides were on the outside and everything was raw and exposed. The exhaustion of spending the night in a jail cell was palpable. But more than that, I had this strange feeling of wrongness. Like justice hadn't been served.
I wasn't an idiot. I knew life wasn't supposed to be fair. But goddammit, over and over again I tried to do the right thing, and it never fucking worked. I tried to keep Ian from getting injured and he got pissed at me. I tried to protest the call and got thrown out of the game. I tried to call out the ref for being corrupt and got my ass thrown in fucking jail...
Red rage clouded my vision so that I didn't even see her until she was practically in my face.
"Olivia," I stammered, stumbling to a stop before I plowed right into her.
She was storming out of my building, a wild look in her eye. She looked angry and unhinged, but more than that, she looked...afraid.
"Hey!" I said, grabbing her by the arm before she could blow right past me. "Where are you going?"
"What do you care?" she snapped, yanking her arm away.
"What the fuck?" No, this is not happening. "Olivia, get over here!"
She whirled around on me, her hair whipping across her face. "Don't you order me around, Brad. Don't even try. You don't get to do that...ever."
"I'm not fucking ordering you around. I'm trying to figure out why you're leaving."
She burst into wild laughter. "Oh I dunno, I thought maybe you should have some quality time with your brother. I mean, he just got out of prison and all."
My hearts sank. "You met Marcus?"
Her eyes blazed. "Yeah I fucking met Marcus. Was I not supposed to?"
"No, not really, I guess...."
"You never told me you had a brother," she accused.
I exploded. "You never asked!"
"Are you serious, Brad?" She looked deeply wounded and I had no idea why and it was starting to make me panic. "Having a brother isn't something I should have to pull out of you with carefully worded questions that you only answer half of. You should have fucking told me. You haven't told me anything about yourself!"
"Well if you had any shred of curiosity about me or my life whatsoever, you would have known already!" I protested. "It was all over the papers, what Marc did."
"I shouldn't have had to go fucking researching you, Brad. What the hell? Why are you so full of secrets?"
"I'm not! I just don't feel like blathering on about myself."
"Oh, like I do?"
"Well? You talk a lot, Liv. I don't have time to get a word in edgewise."
"That's mean."
"Well I don't know what to tell you, it's the truth."
"Is it because you didn't want me in your life completely or is it because you don't trust me?
"What?" I was confused and running on zero sleep. "How did we get to this?"
"Answer the question. Tell me, 'Liv, I neglected to tell you any pertinent details about my life because I don't trust you,' or 'hey Liv, I left out a major factor in my life because you don't really matter that much.'"
"Those are my only options?" I raged.
Olivia crossed her arms, as cold as ice. "Seems that way to me, yeah."
"If you wanted to be a bigger part of my life, you had ample fucking opportunity," I pointed out. "You sit here and wait for me to come home, just so you can give me shit about going away. Fucking come with me! Come to a game! Watch me do my thing!"
Her eyes blazed. "On the sidelines?"
"It doesn't have to be 'on the sidelines,' Olivia!" This entire conversation felt like whiplash. "You want to come out onto the ice with me? I'll take you out onto the goddamn ice."
"I don't know how to skate."
"I know."
"I lied when I said I took lessons." She didn't look abashed in the slightest.
"Whatever. I can teach you."
"I'll fucking fall on my ass."
"I won't let you fall. Trust me."
She stared at me, wounded. "Trust me, Brad. Why don't you trust me?"
I clenched my fists to keep from grabbing her and opened my mouth to tell her that we'd figure it out. That I wasn't letting her go. That she and I were two stubborn people who had a lot of work to do, but that I was willing to do the work because I loved her like crazy and that was all that mattered.
But the words got stuck.
Just like it did at the game last night - when it mattered most - my tongue betrayed me. I couldn't say anything. I could only take deep, gulping breaths and hope like hell that the spell would pass soon enough.
Olivia stared at me, eyes darting, waiting for me to speak, but I couldn't say a word.
She turned away from me and walked away.
Chapter 29
Olivia
He had nothing to say to me. So I left him there on the sidewalk.
I wasn't going to be shut out anymore.
I loved him and I knew he loved me... But maybe love wasn't enough for this to work?
We have too much baggage. Too much mistrust.
These were the things I told myself, but they didn't stop the tears from flowing like a fucking river. It was mortifying. It was like I had sprung a leak.
I cried most of the weekend. I also broke rule three over and over again, taking my phone from room to room and just waiting for him to call me and tell me... well tell me fucking everything. Starting at the beginning. Maybe let me know about any other mystery brothers waiting to pop up out of nowhere.
I waited right up until Monday morning. Then I silenced my phone, shoved it into my purse and went to my new office.
"Wow, Kyle. Spared no expense I see," I snarked, taking in the gray, windowless space. "Did you hire a former KGB agent to do your decor?"
Kyle looked up from his terminal
and winced at me. "Yeah, it's shit, I know. I'm doing everything myself right now."
"Including the decorating?"
"I thought neutrals were supposed to be calming," he fretted.
"Oh dear lord," I sighed, sparing a fleeting wistful thought for the offices of Cupid’s Arrow with their floor to ceiling view of the river. "Please tell me there is coffee," I blurted.
"There's a Keurig over by the bathroom."
"Sanitary. I like it," I said and made a beeline for it. But as I walked over, my steps slowed and my hand fluttered to my stomach without me even realizing.
"Shit," I winced.
"What's wrong?" Kyle called.
Caffeine. Was caffeine good for babies?
"Nothing!" I shouted, a little louder than necessary, and whipped out my phone to do a quick Google. "Shit," I breathed quietly as I saw that no more than one cup a day was recommended.
Along with everything else, I was going to have a wicked headache soon.
I turned my back on the sweet, life-giving nectar and went to my workstation instead. It didn't make sense. I had never wanted kids, never wanted to deal with motherhood and all of its indignities. It was completely weird that I hadn't taken matters into my own hands right away.
But for some reason, I didn't feel like it was my decision. Not completely.
It wouldn't be right to do that to Brad. He deserved to know what I was doing, whatever that might be.
He just needed to fucking call me so I could tell him!
I pulled my phone out of my purse and flicked it off of silent, then turned the ringer way the hell up. No messages. No calls. No texts. No explanation as to why the man who said he loved me kept me shut completely out from his life. Pissed beyond reason and with the beginnings of a caffeine headache starting between my eyebrows, I sat down to check Kyle's code.
Fifteen eye-watering minutes later, I sat back in my chair. "Kyle," I exhaled, pinching my nose. "I want a raise."
"You've been working here for a half an hour," Kyle pointed out.
"And I already can tell you're not paying me enough." I flicked a middle finger at my screen. "It's like you banged your head on a keyboard and then ran it through an Excel formula checker."