Facing Reality

by Sarah Cole

  “Do you like this one?” I ask Flynn.

  “Do you like it?”

  “It’s adorable.”

  “Then we’ll get it.” He smiles with his adorable dimples as he tosses it in the cart along with countless other girly things. We continue on like that for another few hours, picking out everything from toys and swaddles to pacifiers and bottles. I haven’t missed the way he’s looking at me when he doesn’t think I’m paying attention, or the ever-present bulge in his pants. Is it wrong that I’d almost be willing to risk this job for him to just make a move? There are other jobs, but something deep within me is telling me that there’s only one Flynn Alexander, and I’ve found him for a reason.

  “You should have had a baby shower for this.” I tell him, as we stand in the Target checkout lane with our cart full.

  He shakes his head at me, “That’s what the ladies would do.”

  “Well it doesn’t mean that guys couldn’t do it. People back home do it all the time.” I say, loading up the conveyer belt.

  He studies me for a second, looking like he’s going to say something, but instead he says, “I don’t need it. She’s my daughter, and I’ve got money. I’ll always take care of what’s mine.” He looks at me, his blue eyes burning into mine.

  I don’t know if it is what he said, or the way he said it, but it has my insides clenching with desire. I can’t help but think about how stupid hot his take charge, possessive attitude is about the situation. It is so completely opposite of the passive aggressive crap I’ve grown accustomed to my entire adult life.

  “Ok, then.” I say and he smiles his dimpled smile as he swipes his debit card.

  He leads me out of the store with a possessive hand on my lower back and I feel like I might spontaneously combust at contact, no matter how innocent it might be.

  Next stop is the hardware store to pick out paint for baby girl’s room. I have this perfect idea in my head, and I can’t wait to get on Etsy tonight and find the custom decorations I can picture in my mind. He once again guides me inside with his hand at the small of my back, and subtle small touches, like we belong together, and I don’t mind one bit. I know I shouldn’t pursue anything, but it’s hard not to at least let your mind wander a bit and dream about what it might be like to belong to a man like Flynn Alexander.

  We debate for a good hour and a half on the perfect shade of pale pink for the nursery, and finally through a game of rock paper scissors, I beat Flynn fair and square. Ballet Slippers it is.

  “Are you gonna help me paint, angel?” he asks, warming my insides. I love that nickname, and I don’t even know why. I guess because it’s just nice and sweet, and it makes me feel special.

  “Can I?” I ask as my stomach growls, echoing in the cab of the truck. Flynn chuckles.

  “Hell yes you can! I’ll even throw in some pizza. How about that?” he pats my knee, gently squeezing. He leaves it there for a bit longer than what should be appropriate given our ‘professional’ relationship, before pulling back and placing his hand back on the wheel, but I can’t say I mind.

  “This is exciting. I’ve never painted a room before! Are you excited?” I ask, and I realize I sound like I’m six, getting excited over painting time.

  Flynn gives me a sideways glance as his lips pull up into a smile, “I am now.”

  7

  FLYNN:

  The strong desert wind, kicks up the sand as it stings my eyes. I took off my sunglasses so I could see through my scope, and now I’m regretting it as I walk down the street with my arms and rifle raised. The burning ache in my shoulder is increasing as the minutes tick by.

  “You don’t have to do this, Xander.” My best friend, Bryan, and second in command says over the radio. I glance up to the roofline where I know he’s situated by my command, and see the sun glint off his scope. I flip him off knowing he’s watching.

  “Really man, I don’t have a good feeling about this.” He says again, his voice crackling over the walkie talkie.

  “Stop fucking talking, B, or this rifle is getting lodged up your ass.” I grit, as I see him shift. “And stay the fuck down. The plan’s not going to work if your ugly ass gets both of us nabbed.” I spit, trying to get the crunch of sand out from between my teeth.

  “Four weeks, then I’m coming for your bitch ass.” He warns.

  “Four weeks.” I confirm, and turn the dial to switch off the radio.

  I see the billowing clouds and hear the sounds of intermittent explosions before I see anything else, but I keep walking. My boots crunch on the battered, sun ravaged earth, and I keep walking not knowing what fate meets me on the other side of this. My guys are trained and prepped for these situations; I just hope all the drills I make them run daily pay off. They already did well by taking out the initial small group of scouts that had rocket launchers, but we knew it was only a matter of minutes before the rest followed them into the village.

  I hear shouts and the rumbling sounds of dilapidated engines speed towards me before they come to a stop about a hundred feet or so from where I stand.

  “Drop your weapon!” someone shouts.

  “On your knees, dog.” Another voice shouts through the still rolling dust.

  A dark figure appears through the haze and I see that his face is completely cloaked in dark rags as he holds a US Marines issued gun to my chest. Part of me thinks it’s a smart idea to cloak your face to avoid the dirt in every hole in your face type of thing, but I know it’s not the reason they do that around here. It’s because they’re fucking cowards. They want to do this shit to people, but they don’t want to own up to it. If you’re going to kill for senseless agendas, at least be a fucking man about it.

  “Why do you make it so easy?” he asks in heavily accented, broken English.

  I shrug, knowing I have to play my cards right or I’ll have a bullet between the eyes faster than I can say, “fuck you.”

  “Why are you here?” I ask.

  “Taking what’s ours. Why are you?” another figure appears, and his British accent takes me by surprise. I’ve come across all different nationalities fighting on the side of evil, but it’s few and far between, and every time I’m stunned into silence. It really teaches you a lesson on discrimination.

  “Helping people that can’t help themselves against tyrant assholes like you.” I seethe, and the bastards laugh.

  The British one walks closer, and I can smell the stench of gasoline and smoke on him as he pulls down his balaclava, exposing his youthful face and he spits on me. I don’t miss a beat as I swing my rifle and let it ricochet off the side of his head causing him to stumble and curse in pain. Immediately I’m surrounded by a group of enemy soldiers and someone lands me a blow in the back of the head with what can only be a metal pipe from the way it feels as it cracks against my skull. Jesus, I’m going to need a Band-Aid for that. I fall forward as my vision blurs and spins and the contents of my stomach threaten to make a reappearance. I swear to God, I took one for the team already today and ate the Captain Country fucking Chicken MRE. If I have to taste it again, there’s going to be hell to pay.

  “Crawl, dog.” Someone says, as I get a foot to my injured shoulder, and I nearly black out from pain. Holy hell. I do as I’m told – all part of the plan as I crawl in the dirt. Each forward motion of my arm, sending me to the edge of insanity.

  ***

  I hit the floor on my hands and knees, already on the move before I realize I’m in my own bedroom. I’m safe. I’m home. I roll over to my back to catch my breath, my chest heaving from the war that is waging inside my head. I stand on still shaking legs, and as I head to the bathroom to turn on the shower, my phone rings. Peering at the clock I see it’s just after three in the morning, and I grab my phone from my nightstand. Erica.

  “Erica, what’s wrong?” I say into the phone.

  “My water broke.” She says in a nonchalant way that makes me want to grind my teeth. I can just picture her sitting there, doing her nails,
completely unfazed by the fact she’s about to birth a human being. Erica isn’t a terrible person, she’s just selfish and maybe a little bit immature- definitely not ready to be a mother. That is why despite everything, I can’t be angry with her decision to walk away. I actually respect her more for it. The situation is less than ideal for me, sure, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I hang up, not willing to argue with her. The baby is a few weeks early, but I know from everything I’ve read, it’s an acceptable range.

  I bolt to the bathroom and rinse off quickly before dressing, and I run down the hall to the nursery where Clara has packed a bag with essentials. She really has thought of everything for my little girl. I don’t know what I would be doing right now without her. Together we painted the nursery a soft shade of pink last week, and Clara picked out some soft white crib bedding. She brought over a car load of story books and toys and decorations like large paper flowers for the walls and tasseled banners. She made it feel special and pretty. I don’t want to even think about what it cost her, but when I tried to pay her back, she refused. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it, although answers are slowly trickling in and things are making more and more sense to me by the minute. So, now my little lady has a room fit for a ballerina princess. Doing everything with Clara almost felt normal… right even, like two people should feel when they are expecting their new baby.

  I grab the pale pink duffel bag, the carrier for the car seat, and look around one last time to make sure I grabbed everything we’ll need. It’s a scary thought that the next time I walk through this door, I’m going to be holding a baby, my baby…

  CLARA:

  My alarm goes off at six for my early morning run, and I stretch, loving the silky feel of the sheets. The sun is just beginning to shine through my sheer curtains casting a pale orange light across my white rug, and I can hear the birds singing in the tree outside. I don’t think I’ll ever get accustomed to the quiet, or the slowness of life. It’s amazing. I reach over to my phone to see a missed call and a text from Flynn, and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest.

  Every time I think about him my heart rate skyrockets, and I feel like I’m going to overheat. Don’t get me started on the way he looks at me – like he wants to eat me alive. I have got to keep these feelings in check though. I need this job for my future, and I can’t let some schoolgirl infatuation derail the track I’ve set myself on finally. I say that, but I know myself, and I know I’d be on him in a hot second if he ever made the first move.

  I swipe to see the missed call from four this morning, and the text was from just a few minutes ago. Overcome with worry, I quickly scan over the message.

  Flynn: Erica’s water broke early this morning. The doctors say she’s progressing at a normal pace and admitted her. I wanted you to be one of the first to know. We’re at St. Anna’s General over in Riverbend. Only about 20 min. away.

  Holy crap! She’s coming!

  I launch myself out of bed and throw on a pair of athletic shorts and an old t-shirt from a charity event, before sweeping my long hair into a low, side braid and sliding into some flip-flops. I don’t bother with makeup but I decide it’s in everyone’s best interest if I brush my teeth.

  I’m out the door in less than ten minutes, but I hit the brakes hard as I’m backing out of my garage and see a glint of something in the hedge row. I’ve seen enough camera lenses in my life to know one when I see it and how they catch the light. Thoroughly paranoid and freaked out, I close the garage door, and hightail it out of there.

  I decide to stop and grab some donuts and some coffees. I’m assuming Flynn called his Aunt and Uncle, and I’m sure he’s exhausted. It doesn’t take long for my order and I end up finding where I need to go a town over.

  When I arrive at St. Anna’s, the nurses are pretty accommodating, pointing me in the right direction of the labor and delivery floor. The closer I get, the faster my heart beats. I could say it’s nerves and excitement to meet this baby, but I know deep down it’s because of Flynn. I’m not entirely certain I’m really even invited, but here I am nonetheless. Somehow I just feel like it is where I need to be right now. It feels right.

  8

  FLYNN:

  My phone dings with a new message alert from Clara, and I can’t fight the excitement that fills me at the sight of her name popping up on my screen despite my exhaustion. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this feeling. The one where your heart beats a little faster and you feel like you got punched in the gut – but in a good way.

  I step out into the hallway, letting the door to Erica’s room close softly behind me. She’s sleeping for a bit, which is probably for the best, because we’ve been arguing all morning. We always bickered back and forth, but it’s way worse now. I’m pretty sure it’s because I’ve finally gotten my priorities straight, and she doesn’t understand it. Our main point of disagreement this morning is her attitude because while I know she doesn’t want to keep our baby, she’s so detached from the situation that it’s driving me crazy. Plus she’s in a bitch mood and taking it all out on me. I look up and see Clara walking slowly towards me balancing a carrier of coffees and a big bakery box. I feel my face pull into a smile, and when her eyes land on me, her face lights up and she walks faster, causing her long braid to swing behind her. But I’m focused on the long, tanned legs in neon pink running shorts.

  “Hey Daddy! How’s everything going?” she asks when she gets within earshot, her usually soft voice, sounding excited.

  “Hey, angel. Everything’s going good so far. She’s about seven centimeters, the nurses say- taking a nap.” I eyeball the coffee, and she holds it up closer to my face, waving it playfully back and forth as the heavenly scent hits me full force.

  “I wasn’t sure if Irene and her husband were here, or how everyone took it so I got four large black coffees and just the bag of assorted creamers and things. Oh! And some pastries! The lady at the bakery told me to tell you good luck and something about sunshine. I’m sorry, I can’t remember.”

  I laugh knowing she’s talking about Maggie’s mother. “Yeah, that’s Maggie’s mom. You didn’t have to stop and grab this stuff.” I take one of the coffees.

  “Well, I wanted to, and judging by the time you called, you’ve probably been up for a while.” She raises her eyebrows, waiting on confirmation.

  “Yeah, you’re right, but seriously. Thank you, this was sweet of you.”

  “Not a problem. Are your aunt and uncle here?” she asks, searching over my shoulder for familiar faces.

  “No, they were going to come up later. Irene had to call the crew foremen in to give them plans since I’ll be out for a couple weeks, and Mitch was just going to meet her up here. Word is already echoing through the grapevine though, because Maggie called me right before you texted and she and Lucas are going to stop by later.”

  She shuffles from foot to foot, before setting the box of pastries and the remaining cups down on a chair that’s lining the wall. When she turns, I see the worry in her face that she’s trying to mask.

  “Talk to me, angel. What’s got that crease in that pretty forehead of yours?” I ask, and I realize I’m completely overstepping my bounds, though she doesn’t seem to mind.

  “Are you sure it’s alright if I’m here? You didn’t exactly invite me to come, and I didn’t ask…” she starts rambling, and the only thing I can think to do to stop her is place my finger to her lips to silence the nervous babble.

  Her eyes widen briefly, before she firmly seals her lips together and smirks.

  “Sorry,” she says, “I tend to do that when I’m nervous.”

  “Quite alright.” I smile, “Clara, you are more than welcome here. In fact, that is why I texted you. I figured you might want to be one of the first people to meet her. After all, you’re going to be best buds pretty soon.”

  “Ok. Well, I’ll just wait here.” She parks her perky rear end into one of
the upholstered chairs that line the corridor.

  “It could be awhile. Why don’t I call Maggie to see if she wants to come keep you company? I don’t want you sitting out here alone.” Not fully understanding my protective instincts towards her still, I decide to just go with it. I want her in that room with me, beside me, but Erica would rip her to fucking shreds with the claws she’s sporting today.

  “I’ll be fine; I brought a book. Besides, I’m sure she’s got her hands full with Peyton and Brady.” She digs out a book and waves it around as she talks.

  “I’m still calling Maggie.” I smile.

  “You do whatever makes you feel better.” She says defiantly, as she settles back into the chair with a sassy smile.

  I love that quiet, sweet sass about her. Definitely got a little devil in her, but in the best of ways. I shake my head taking a coffee and snagging a donut, before shooting her a wink and heading back into Erica’s room.

  ***

  Cries erupt from my daughter’s tiny lungs, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Want to see your baby girl, mama?” the nurse asks Erica, reaching to lay my daughter on her chest. She arrived late into the delivery to help out, so she’s completely unschooled on the situation.

  Erica pierces the unsuspecting nurse with a hard, icy glare, “I’m signing my rights over. Give her to her Daddy, but just tell me that she’s ok?”

  The nurse tries unsuccessfully to hide her shock, before looking to me. I nod confirmation, and while I understand that Erica literally just pushed a tiny human from her body, she could stand to be a little more kind.

  The nurse stutters over her words, undoubtedly confused by what just transpired. “Ummm. Yes, she appears to be doing well, but we’ll have to run some basic tests, and take her measurements to be certain.”