by Tracy Wolff
“Get me to do whatever you want.”
“I don’t.”
“Sure you do.” She gestured with the ice. “I’m sitting here with an ice pack I don’t want, getting a headache from the cold against my little bump.”
“First of all, it’s not a little bump. Second of all, it only makes sense that you treat yourself when you’re injured. Surely that has nothing to do with me.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Camille.” Matt regarded her with amusement, even as he set the vegetables to sauté in the pan. “You make me sound like some kind of bully.”
“Not a bully. Just determined to get your own way. Always convinced that you’re right.”
“In this case, I am right.”
“That’s not the point!” she huffed in frustration.
“Then what is the point?” He turned the element temperature to low, then crossed the room and crouched down next to her, so that they were eye to eye. “What’s wrong, Camille?”
His eyes were filled with compassion and she felt her own well with unexpected—but now familiar—tears. She dashed a hand across her eyes, hoped he wouldn’t notice. “I don’t like being handled.”
He reared back. “Is that what you think I’m doing? Handling you?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” He was crowding her, pushing her, his big body so close she could feel the heat radiating from him. A part of her found the warmth comforting, but at the same time she felt stifled. Overwhelmed.
“What do you mean you don’t know? Either you feel handled, or you don’t.”
She couldn’t breathe, panic welling up inside of her for no reason that she could really understand. Shoving at Matt’s shoulders, she tried to scoot her chair back, to put some distance between them. To get away.
Matt took the hint and stood up abruptly, crossing back to the stove without another word. His back was straight, his shoulders tense, and she hadn’t missed the flash of hurt in his eyes before he turned away from her.
“Look, Matt, I’m sorry.” She really didn’t feel like apologizing, but figured she owed it to him since she’d been the one to pick at him, when all he’d been trying to do was help.
“Don’t be.” He dropped more vegetables in the pan, lifted the chicken breasts onto a plate to rest. “Matt—”
“Drop it, Camille.”
“So that’s it?” she asked, her annoyance rekindling instantaneously. “You don’t want to talk about it so we don’t? And you wonder why I feel handled?”
The fork he was holding hit the granite countertop with a crash. “You want to talk, Camille. Fine, let’s talk. There was a message from Rick’s office on the machine—you need to go in for a blood test but you keep dodging it. What blood test is it and why didn’t you tell me about it?”
“Because it’s nothing—it’s unimportant.”
“Obviously Rick doesn’t think so, or he wouldn’t have his staff calling to make an appointment. So what test are we talking about here?”
“It’s an optional test—for Down’s syndrome.” She winced as Matt turned pale. “See? That’s why I didn’t tell you. I knew you’d freak out.”
“Rick thinks the baby has Down’s syndrome?”
“No. Of course not. But they offer a test for it. It’s completely optional, but Rick suggested I have it because I’m over thirty and that increases the risk a little bit.”
“Let me get this straight.” Matt spoke through gritted teeth. “There’s a chance our baby could have Down’s syndrome. Rick wants to test for it because you’re over thirty, and you’re procrastinating?” The last was said at almost a yell—something Matt rarely did and which told her just how upset he was.
“There’s a one-in-five-hundred chance that any baby will have Down’s syndrome. And I’m not procrastinating. I have no intention of getting that test.”
MATT STARED AT CAMILLE in disbelief as her words echoed through the kitchen. “Of course you’re going to have the test.”
“No, I’m not.”There was a roaring in his ears, and his stomach was one big knot as he tried to come to grips with her matter-of-fact words. “Camille, this is our baby we’re talking about. If there’s a chance he or she has a problem, we need to know about it.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean why? Are you being deliberately dense?”
“No. I’m serious. Why do we need to know? Is it going to change anything?”
“It can change everything. It—”
“Really?” She cocked her head to the side. “What exactly is it going to change, Matt? Am I going to have an abortion?”
“Of course not!” He thrust a hand through his hair, feeling as if his entire world was crumbling around him. “Jesus. I can’t believe you’d even suggest that.”
“I’m not suggesting it. I’m telling you why I don’t want to have the stupid test. We’re in agreement that I’m not going to have an abortion, so what’s the point? If the baby does have Down’s syndrome, there’s nothing they can do until he or she is born anyway.”
She walked toward him, holding her hand out imploringly, but he could barely hear her over the shock ripping through him. “I did my research, Matt, I swear I did. And there’s a high chance of a false positive, which will lead to more invasive tests that may or may not be able to tell for sure. Not to mention the fact that it will completely freak us out for the remainder of the pregnancy.”
“Camille, this is our child’s well-being we’re talking about.” How could she not see that? How could she not understand that they needed to take every precaution? Knowledge was power. How could he plan for the unexpected if he didn’t know whether or not the baby was sick?
“Not taking the test won’t hurt our child in the least.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Sure, I do. If there is something wrong with the baby, we can’t fix it. And if we get a positive result from the test, it means Rick will have to do an amniocentesis, which—besides hurting like hell—carries with it all kinds of risks to the baby, including infection and miscarriage.”
“But if something’s wrong—” He knew he sounded like a broken record, but he couldn’t help it. He’d been blindsided by this, stunned by her inability to see his side of the story.
“If something’s wrong, we’ll deal with it—after the baby is born.”
“So that’s it? I don’t even get a vote?”
“Of course you get a vote. I—”
“There’s no ‘of course’ about it. You weren’t even going to tell me about the test. If I hadn’t heard that message, I would never even have known it was an option. Isn’t that right?”
She shifted uncomfortably and he felt the shock melting, being replaced by anger. “I thought we were partners, Camille. I thought we were in this together.”
“We are.”
“Bullshit. You were going to make this decision on your own. Actually, you’re still making it on your own. What I want—what I think about it—doesn’t matter to you at all.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m ridiculous? You’re the one who won’t even consider my point of view.”
“I’ve considered your viewpoint. I have,” she insisted when he looked at her with patent disbelief. “But I don’t agree with it.”
“So that’s it. We’re back to the fact that I don’t get a say in my baby’s welfare—at least not while it’s in your body.”
“Of course you do. Why are you being so stubborn about this?”
“Why are you being so absurd about it? You’re burying your head in the sand like a damn ostrich—if you can’t see the threat, it doesn’t exist.”
“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this. When you’re ready to be reasonable, come find me.” She spun around, headed for the door, but he was two steps ahead of her. His palm hit the doorway with a thud, effectively blocking her exit.
“Get out of my way, Matt.” It was her turn to s
peak through clenched teeth, but he was too far gone to care.
“Not until we finish talking about this.”
“We are finished talking about this.”
“Because you say so?”
“Because you’re acting like a Neanderthal.” She shoved at his arm. “I won’t put up with you trying to frighten me into seeing things your way.”
His eyes narrowed and he leaned forward until mere inches separated them. “Is that what you think I’m doing? Trying to scare you?”
“What would you call it?” she challenged.
“Going out of my freaking mind! I know we’re not the best of friends or anything, but shit, don’t you know me at all, Camille?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve never used force to intimidate a woman in my life and I really don’t appreciate being accused of it by you.”
“Well, then, don’t tower over me like some crazy man bent on getting his own way.”
“You’re the one determined to get her own way.”
“That’s a joke.” She took a deep breath, seemed to be considering her next words carefully. When she finally spoke, it was like a knife in the gut. “I’m not some doll you can bend this way or that to suit your moods or beliefs, Matt. I’m a person and sometimes I want to do things my way. Even if it’s different from yours. It doesn’t make it wrong.”
“When have I ever said your way was wrong?”
“How about right now?”
“This time you are wrong.”
“Why? Because I don’t agree with you?”
“Because you don’t agree with the doctor! If Rick wants you to take the test—”
“Rick wants every pregnant woman to take that stupid test! That doesn’t mean it’s necessary.”
“It doesn’t mean it isn’t, either.”
“Back off, Matt.”
“Or what? You’ll run away?” The words slipped out before he could stop them, but once they were said he couldn’t regret them. He’d lived with the cloud of her taking off for weeks now and it was wearing on him, big-time, just like Rhiannon had predicted.
Camille let out a strangled scream. “There you go again, with the same old argument. But I’m not the one holding this relationship hostage. You are. You’re the one who’s always making plans without me, then leaving me to catch up. Whether it was picking out my obstetrician or deciding what we have for dinner or convincing me to move in with you. Everything we do is always your way.”
He stared at her, speechless, for nearly a full minute, and when he finally did speak, he concentrated on keeping his voice low, controlled. Otherwise he just might start screaming and never stop. “Yes, Camille, it’s all my way. Having you move into my house and turn it into a pigpen is definitely what I wanted. Not getting a vote in whether or not you take an important blood test that concerns my child is certainly my first choice. Dealing with your mood swings and your suspicions, worrying about when you’re going to run off and to where and if I’ll ever get the chance to see my baby, yes, that’s all my way.”
He literally vibrated with anger. “You have all the power, Camille, and we both know it. So don’t pretend that you’re the injured party here, that you’re just being pushed along by big, bad me. Because it doesn’t play and frankly, it’s beneath you.”
He slammed out of the kitchen, leaving her staring after him while his carefully chopped vegetables smoldered on the stove.
CHAPTER TEN
MATT WALKED THE STREETS furiously, his mind replaying his fight with Camille with every step he took. What the hell was wrong with her? How could she accuse him of intimidation, when he’d bent over backward to make things easy for her? When he’d switched his whole life around to accommodate her and a baby he hadn’t planned for? What more could he do for her, short of severing one of his damn limbs?
What exactly had she done for him lately—except wreak havoc on his life and his libido? Sure, he’d been the one to suggest that they not renew their romantic relationship, but he’d only been doing what he thought was right. And she sure as hell had punished him for that, hadn’t she? Waltzing around in her little tank tops and short-shorts, her newly rounded curves distracting him with every move she made.And she had the nerve to call him manipulative? She was the one who had made an important decision regarding their child without so much as consulting him.
He kept up his angry pace, tackling block after block in the stifling July heat, aware of nothing but his own thoughts and the sweat rolling damply down his back. Camille was a piece of work, that was for sure. He’d given her everything he could and still it wasn’t good enough. Worse, she had the nerve to say it wasn’t what she’d wanted. That she’d wanted something else entirely, but had never bothered to clue him in before.
He made a right turn onto Willow Lane, heading toward Reece’s house with the intention of having a good, old-fashioned bitch fest. After all, if a man couldn’t complain to his best friend, whom could he complain to? But when he stopped in front of Reece’s house, it was to find his friend playing baseball in the yard with his seven-year-old twins, Justin and Johnny.
“Hey, buddy, what are you doing over here?” Reece called, jogging down the driveway.
Matt ground his teeth together, forced himself to be polite when the last thing he wanted to do was see Reece blissfully ensconced with his happy, happy family. How was he supposed to complain when the kids were underfoot?
“Just out for a walk.”
Reece eyed him knowingly. “You look like a man on a mission—or one with woman troubles. Come on in and have a drink.”
Matt shook his head. “Are you sure?” He gestured to the boys. “You look kind of busy.”
“Nah, it’s fine. We were just about to go in anyway. It’s sundae night—come on in and have some sugar. I’ll run you home afterward.”
“Yeah, Uncle Matt! Stay! Pleeease!” Johnny looked at him expectantly. “Mom always dishes out more ice cream if we have company.”
Matt laughed despite his bad mood. “Nice to know I’m good for something.” But he started climbing the stairs that led to the front door.
“Perfect timing, guys.” Reece’s wife, Sarah, called from the kitchen. “I’ve got everything on the table.”
“We’ve got an extra guest, honey.” Reece led them all into the kitchen, where he dropped a lingering kiss on Sarah’s lips before turning to blow raspberries on his eighteen-month-old daughter’s tummy. Rose chortled in delight.
“Matt! It’s good to see you.” Sarah’s smile lit up the room. She looked so healthy and well-rested that it was hard to imagine she’d given birth a few short weeks before. Maybe he should tap Reece for their secrets—especially since he and Camille were ready to tear each other’s hair out and the baby hadn’t even arrived yet.
“Hey, where’s the baby?” Matt asked, glancing around the crowded kitchen.
“In his bassinet in the family room.” Sarah nodded toward the doorway. “You can go take a look if you want.”
“I do.” Tiptoeing into the darkened family room, he peered into the bassinet at little Jacob Anthony. A sense of wonder filled him as he looked at the baby’s little fingers, at his small head and delicate features. He was so small, yet already Matt could see how he’d grown in the weeks since he’d stood with Reece, checking him out through the window of the hospital nursery.
It seemed impossible that in a few short months he would have one of these tiny creatures. A baby that depended completely on Camille and him. The idea warmed him, until his doubts crept in. Would he ever get the chance to do the things with his child that Reece took for granted? Or would he be relegated to the role of part-time father, only seeing the baby when Camille was in town—or when he traveled to wherever she was?
It was a sobering thought, and one that he was sure would haunt him in the months to come.
He didn’t know how long he stood there, looking down at the little guy, thinking about what it would be like
to be responsible for something so slight, so utterly dependent.
“He’s pretty cool, huh?” Reece came up on the other side of the bassinet and peered into it, as if he, too, couldn’t believe that he’d helped create such a tiny, perfect human being.
“I’ll say. You and Sarah make beautiful babies.”
“We try.” His friend’s grin split his face from ear to ear. “But come on, let’s get some ice cream. There’s a rumor going around that Sarah picked up some Chunky Monkey.”
“Well, by all means, I don’t want to be left out of that.”
“That’s what I figured.”
Matt spent the next few minutes loading up on ice cream and laughing at the twins’ antics as they tried to outdo each other in a contest to see who could get the most ice cream in his mouth in one bite. Reece put an end to the competition with a monster bite of chocolate ice cream loaded with sprinkles and whipped cream.
“Ugh, Dad, that’s disgusting!” Justin crowed in delight.
“Disgusting!” Johnny echoed. “Do it again!”
“I think once is enough for this lifetime,” Sarah interjected drily. “Now, everyone finish up—at a normal rate—please. It’s bath time in T minus five minutes.”
“Cool! Bath time. Can we try out the new submarine, Mom?”
“That was supposed to be for the swimming pool,” Sarah replied over her shoulder as she wiped down the counters.
“Aww, come on! If you let us take a bath in your tub it’ll be plenty big enough!”
“You’re supposed to take a bath in your bathroom,” his mother said.
“Just for tonight! Pleeease!” Johnny stuck out his trembling lower lip in the most pathetic pout Matt had ever seen, but Sarah merely laughed.
“All right, guys. Tonight only.”
“Yay!”
“All right!”
“I get first dibs!” Johnny called as he raced his brother for the stairs.
“No way! You got to pick the color—that means I get to play with it first.”
“Yeah, but I picked yellow because it’s your favorite color. That means I should get it first.”