Pregnant by Mr. Wrong

by Rachael Johns

  She looked uncertainly to Sherry. “Am I really having boys?”

  “You sure you want to know?”

  Bailey sighed, ignoring the prick of guilt inside her; her mom had pretty much ruined any chance of a surprise anyway. She nodded. “Yes, please.”

  Sherry moved the probe down lower on Bailey’s belly and then pointed to the screen. “What do you think that is?”

  It took a second, but then Bailey could clearly see what her mother had blurted. “Oh, my.”

  “Two little boys,” Sherry said. “I bet Quinn will be stoked.”

  “You’re going to have your hands full when they are little,” Marcia patted Bailey’s hand, “but I’ll be here to help, and trust me, girls are painful when they hit puberty.”

  Bailey didn’t think she’d ever been that much of a handful, but she buried her irritation with her mother as an image of two little boys who looked almost identical to Quinn landed in her head. They’d be gorgeous, without a doubt, but also a constant reminder for her broken heart about what she’d lost. Or rather, what she’d never really had.

  Sherry completed the usual measurements and then gave Bailey some paper towels to wipe the gel from her belly. Once done, she retreated into the bathroom to relieve herself and contemplated messaging Quinn and telling him the news. Dammit. Although she’d inadvertently found out, doing so behind his back felt very, very wrong. Her gut rolled with guilt.

  Bailey sat through her doctor’s appointment barely taking in a word and then found herself agreeing to lunch with her mother, even though she wasn’t hungry and wanted to escape and bury herself in work.

  “You’ve got to eat,” Marcia said in her I’m-going-to-win-so-you-might-as-well-give-in-anyway tone.

  Somehow lunch turned into her mom dragging her into a nearby department store. Bailey glanced around, relieved to see no one she knew, as Marcia strolled into the baby-clothes section.

  “Oh, would you look at these.” Her mother grabbed a little outfit of tiny navy jeans and a red flannel cowboy shirt off the rack. She held it up and then grabbed another with a blue shirt. “I just have to buy these. The twins are going to look gorgeous in them.”

  Bailey summoned a smile, wishing she could catch some of her mom’s enthusiasm. What could possibly be more exciting than buying baby clothes? They were just the cutest darn things in the world. But she couldn’t get over the culpability she felt about finding out the babies’ sexes behind Quinn’s back.

  “Hey, Bailey. Hi, Marcia.”

  She spun around at the voice to see Quinn’s sister Annabel standing only a few feet away. “Hi. What are you doing here?” The question sounded a lot more accusing than she’d meant it to.

  Seemingly unaware or unperturbed, Annabel shrugged one shoulder. “One of the guys at the firehouse just had a baby and we’re putting money in to buy him and his wife a present. As I’m the token female there, the task fell to me. Honestly, for a supposedly modern world, I sometimes feel like we’re still stuck in the dark ages. What do I know about buying baby stuff?”

  Bailey laughed nervously and tried to sneakily glare at her mother to put the little cowboy outfits back. Of course, she didn’t take the hint.

  “They are so adorable,” Annabel said, reaching out and touching her finger to the red shirt. “Pity you don’t know what you’re having.”

  Bailey swallowed, her chest tightened and she wished she could turn back time. She’d always been a shocking liar. She could have just nodded—Annabel had made a statement, not asked a question—but instead Bailey found herself blurting out the truth. “I just found out. Two boys.”

  “Oh.” Annabel’s friendly smile vanished. “Does Quinn know?”

  While the McKinnels had always liked her, always made her feel like one of the clan, Bailey knew that if they ever had to make a choice, they’d side with family. Blood thicker than water and all that.

  “No,” she admitted, biting down on the urge to try to explain herself, because she didn’t have any reasonable excuse. If she’d told him about the date change in their appointment, he would have been there instead of her mother. He was going to be pissed and she couldn’t blame him.

  “I see. Well, I guess you’ll be telling him very soon,” Annabel said, and it was clear that if Bailey didn’t, she would.

  “Yes. Of course.” She nodded so hard she gave herself a headache, or maybe that was down to the whole messy situation.

  “Good. Well.” Annabel looked around the baby department. “I guess I’d better go pick out this present and get back to the firehouse. See ya.”

  “Okay. Bye.” Annabel had disappeared into the next aisle barely before Bailey managed to utter those words. She wondered how long it would take for her to message Quinn.

  She turned to tell her mom she was done with shopping and didn’t want lunch, only to find her already over at the counter, laughing with the sales assistant as she paid for the two little cowboy outfits.

  “They’re for my new grandsons,” she heard Marcia announce. “My daughter is having twins and we just found out they’re boys!”

  Bailey rolled her eyes, realizing that before she went back to work, she had to call Quinn, because even if Annabel didn’t spill the news, this was yet another secret her mom wasn’t going to be able to keep.

  * * *

  Quinn marched into the staff room at the distillery and headed straight for the fridge. He yanked it open and stared inside, looking for something—anything—that would make him feel better. He was grumpy and hungry, and while he couldn’t seem to do anything about the first problem, he thought maybe he could fix the latter. But he hadn’t brought anything in for lunch and it looked like Sophie hadn’t stocked the fridge with yummy snacks as she sometimes did. He slammed it shut again and thumped the side of the refrigerator.

  “So, I guess it’s true you and Bailey have split?” said Mac from behind him.

  Quinn had barely registered his brother sitting at the table devouring a sandwich. “I’m just hungry,” he growled, eyeing the other half of Mac’s lunch on his plate. He’d never been through a proper breakup before, and if this was how it felt, then he never wanted to do so again.

  “Right.” Mac’s tone said he didn’t buy that excuse for a moment. He pushed his plate toward Quinn. “Sounds like you need it more than me.”

  Quinn pulled out a chair, sat and lifted the sandwich to his mouth. He gobbled it down in a few quick bites and then sat there in silence, waiting for the food hit to lift his mood.

  Quinn looked to his brother. “You’ve been in love before, right?”

  Mac lifted one eyebrow. “So you want to talk about Bailey now?”

  “It’s a pain in the ass, right?”

  “What? Love or women?”

  “Both.”

  Mac chuckled. “What happened between you two? You were all gooey-eyed and lovey-dovey leading up to Mom’s party, and then suddenly it’s over?”

  Quinn sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s kinda a long story.”

  Mac leaned back in his seat and linked his hands behind his head. “I’m kinda my own boss, so I kinda have all day.”

  Although neither of them had ever been big talkers in the past—preferring to kick a ball around or share a few drinks when it came to brotherly bonding—Quinn found himself spilling his guts. Everything from the crush he’d always harbored on Bailey, to comforting her when she was questioning her relationship with Callum, to finding out about her pregnancy in the inauspicious manner that he had.

  “And I get that she’s pissed,” he said, “but I don’t know what else to do. She refuses to see me. She won’t even answer my calls. I don’t know how to convince her that my feelings, my...love is real.” He still found the L word a little awkward to roll off the tongue, especially when conversing with his brothe
r, but a week apart from Bailey had only convinced him further of his feelings.

  “Wait!” Mac held up a hand and leaned forward. “Let me get this straight. You are the infamous Aunt Bossy?” Before Quinn could answer, Mac broke out in loud, uncontrolled laughter.

  With a roll of his eyes, Quinn shoved back his chair. “If you’re just gonna be an asshole about it, I’m outta here.”

  He didn’t know why he’d thought confiding in one of his brothers was a good idea, especially Mac, whose track record with love wasn’t that much better than his own. Perhaps he should consult an advice columnist himself. What guidance would he offer to someone if a letter arrived from a man in his current situation who wanted to know what he needed to do to make things right? Fact was, most of his letters were from women—men, by nature, didn’t ask for help—and if he had any idea what to suggest, he’d have already tried it.

  “I’m sorry,” Mac called when Quinn was almost at the staff room door. “Look, I don’t have any answers for you, but how about you come help me knock down a wall in the old café? I find demolition always makes me feel better.”

  Quinn paused. He wasn’t sure anything would lift his mood right now, but Mac’s suggestion beat hanging around in the warehouse feeling sorry for himself. “I could probably spare a couple of hours if you need my help.”

  Mac shrugged. “The job will get done faster and that will keep the big boss happy.”

  The big boss, aka Callum, hadn’t stopped smiling in days. Quinn reckoned they could set fire to the whole distillery and he’d still be happy. He tried not to begrudge Callum and Chelsea their fairy tale, but he couldn’t help feeling a little bitter.

  “Let’s do it,” he said. “And do you mind keeping the Aunt Bossy thing to yourself?”

  Mac slid his finger across his lips. “I won’t tell a soul.”

  They’d had to close the café to complete the extension and Callum wanted it done ASAP so they could get back to the important task of making money.

  Half an hour later, as Quinn slammed a sledgehammer against the wall and watched the drywall crumble, he had to admit the physical labor made him feel a darn sight better than talking and thinking. Thwump, thwump, thwump—with each swing of his sledgehammer, he felt a tiny bit of tension inside him easing. The only thing that might work even better was sex, and unfortunately that was a no-go zone right now, because if he couldn’t have it with Bailey, he didn’t want to have it with anyone else.

  This in itself should prove his love because he’d sure as hell never been this discriminating before.

  “Thanks for asking me to help,” Quinn said, once he and Mac stepped back to take a look at what they’d achieved.

  Mac nodded his head once. “You’re the one doing me a favor. The faster I finish this, the quicker I can get on with the next job.”

  “Next job?”

  “Yep. Claire’s parents want me to add a games room to their place.”

  “So, this is what you’re going to do now?” Quinn asked, gesturing to the rubble around them. “Build stuff?” While Mac was undoubtedly good at construction, it was hard to imagine him giving up soccer for good.

  Mac scowled as if he didn’t want to answer that question, and at the same time, Quinn’s cell rang in his pocket. Wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, he dug the phone out with his other hand and almost leaped into the air when he saw the caller was Bailey. He swallowed and then looked to Mac. “It’s her,” he hissed, staring down at his phone as if it might spontaneously combust at any moment.

  Mac nodded toward the cell. “I thought you wanted to talk to her?”

  “I did. I do.”

  “Well then, answer the freaking thing,” Mac suggested, before turning and walking through the wall they’d just decimated.

  “Good plan,” Quinn muttered. He slid his finger across the screen to answer and then lifted the phone to his ear. “Bailey.”

  “Hi, Quinn.”

  It was so good to hear her voice, but silence followed for a few moments, as if neither of them had any idea what to say next. Until a week ago, they’d spoken at least twice a day on the phone and had never been hard-pushed to find anything to say to each other. Now he didn’t want to speak for fear of saying the wrong thing.

  “I’ve been trying to call you for over an hour,” Bailey said. She didn’t sound happy about this fact and he swallowed the urge to mention all his calls she’d been ignoring.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear the phone. I’ve been knocking down a wall in the café with Mac.”

  “So you haven’t spoken to Annabel yet?”

  “No.” Quinn frowned, wondering what his sister had to do with anything. “Why?”

  Silence followed, which Quinn desperately wanted to fill, but he didn’t want to risk upsetting or annoying her. It felt like forever before she finally said, “I had an ultrasound today.”

  Something squeezed inside him, like a hand curling around his gut. “I thought our appointment was tomorrow.” He’d been looking forward to it, not simply to see his babies again, but because she wouldn’t be able to ignore him when they were face-to-face.

  “They moved it forward a day.”

  Quinn’s first instinct was to demand why she hadn’t told him, but he pushed it aside and asked the more important question. The question that made his heart stop beating. “Is something wrong with the babies?”

  “No,” she rushed to assure him. “Nothing like that.”

  Relief washed over him, but he could tell this wasn’t a social call. His patience waning, he asked, “What is it, then?”

  “I’m sorry, Quinn, but I found out the babies’ sexes today.”

  It took a moment for this news to register, but then, “What the hell?”

  It was bad enough her not telling him about the changed appointment, but then going against what they’d decided together? That hurt like nothing had before. And he guessed that had been her agenda—to hurt him like he’d hurt her—but no way was he going to let her cut him out of the babies’ lives. She couldn’t just go making decisions that affected them without him.

  “It wasn’t a conscious decision. Mom took one look at the screen and could tell. I said I’m sorry.” She sounded more defensive than sorry, and that only got his back up more. He wasn’t sure whether he believed the story about Marcia, either.

  “What was Marcia doing there? I’m the one that should have been there, dammit. I won’t let you shut me out like this.” His grip tightened on his cell. “They’re my babies as well, even if you wish they weren’t.”

  “I know that,” she snapped, “but don’t take that tone with me. You’re not the boss of me and you don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do.”

  “Maybe not,” he reluctantly agreed, “but this is exactly what I didn’t want for our kids—parents who can’t agree or speak to each other without raising their voices.”

  “You’re the one yelling at me!”

  “I’m sorry.” Quinn closed his eyes and silently counted to ten. In all the time he’d known Bailey, she’d never been this unreasonable. They needed to stop acting like bickering schoolkids and start acting like responsible parents. “We both need to calm down and make a time to meet and talk about all of this. About how we are going to navigate the road ahead. I don’t want to be a part-time dad. Can you do dinner tonight?”

  She hesitated a moment and he prayed for a positive answer. Yes, they needed to talk, but he also needed to see her. He missed her. Living by himself had always been a joy, but the past week of going to bed and waking up alone had been anything but. He missed holding her. He missed asking her about her day and telling her about his.

  “I’m really busy at work this week and too tired to go out in the evenings,” she said. “We still have a few more months to work out the
logistics, so there’s no huge rush. Let’s go for a coffee or something after next week’s ultrasound and talk then.”

  Next week? She may as well have suggested they meet next century. How could he prove how he felt if she wouldn’t even give him a chance? Yet, short of barging over to her place and forcing his way inside—which might only alienate her further—what else could he do but acquiesce? Perhaps if she saw he thought her worth holding out for, she would finally believe and accept his love.

  “Okay. But if you change your mind and want to talk before then, call me. Anytime, day or night.”

  “I’ll see you next week, Quinn.”

  “Wait!” He raised his voice, hoping she hadn’t disconnected. “You didn’t say. Are we buying pink or blue clothes?”

  She made a tsk sound between her teeth. “Such notions of gender are ridiculous and outdated. Real men aren’t afraid to wear pink and girls can sure as heck wear blue.”

  Oh, for... Could he say nothing right?

  Before he could defend himself, she added, “But if you mean what sex are the twins, then we’re having boys.”

  Boys. For the first time in a week Quinn truly smiled. Girls would have been just as good. He’d meant it when he’d said he didn’t care what they were as long as they were healthy, but he understood guys, whereas he sure didn’t understand women right now.

  “That’s awesome,” he said. “At least now we can narrow down the names.”

  But all he got in reply was three little beeps telling him Bailey had already disconnected the phone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It felt like Groundhog Day to Bailey as she walked toward the clinic for her weekly scan. The only difference was that previously she’d always been excited—unable to wait to see how much the twins had grown, to hear that beautiful synchronized beat of their hearts. Today her own heart danced with trepidation at the prospect of seeing Quinn again after a two-week drought.

  She paused in front of the building, deliberating whether to go in or wait for him outside. Could he already be in there, or would he wait for her if he got there first? Unsure of the answer, she glanced left and then right and saw him striding toward her, his long legs gobbling up the sidewalk between them. Her stomach did a traitorous flip as she drank Quinn in—he wore smart but faded jeans and a McKinnel’s Distillery polo-neck shirt, as if he’d come from work. And, unless she was seeing things, he looked even more gorgeous than she recalled.