Pregnant with the Boss's Baby

by Sue MacKay

  ‘How’s his wife?’

  ‘You heard her. Devastated. They’ve got three young boys and at the moment she’s not coping. But with help she’ll get there.’

  That could be Tamara with Sebastian. She was saying the woman would manage but, sorry, what the hell did she know? She hadn’t lost her child as the result of a heart attack. Or her husband, who’d sworn to always support her and watch her back. Yet. His hand rammed through his hair. The screams, those sobs, they’d hit him deep, dried up the happiness that’d been fizzing along his veins for nearly two weeks. Brought him back to earth. ‘I’ve been fooling myself.’

  Spinning around, he strode quickly towards his office, almost running but managing to hold himself back.

  ‘Conor, wait for me.’ From directly behind him came the one voice he did not want to hear right this minute. Not until he’d sorted his head space.

  ‘Carry on with the patients, Tamara.’ His watch read two thirty-five. Nearly home time. Well, he wouldn’t be going home to stare at his four walls, but he’d be out of here fast, away from the sounds of ED, which he usually enjoyed. But not today.

  ‘Talk to me.’ She didn’t give up easily.

  He spun around, stabbed the air between them with his forefinger. ‘No. Not now. Leave me.’

  She stumbled but kept walking towards him. Shock blazed at him, but didn’t slow her down. ‘We’re in this together, Conor. You can’t walk away from me as and when it suits you.’

  I can when it’s for your own good.

  ‘I can’t think clearly with you talking. Give me some space, Tamara.’

  Tamara. Not Tam. He could see the hurt that inflicted and briefly contemplated pausing long enough to give her a hug and tell her not to worry. But she might have every reason to worry so he refrained.

  ‘What’s this about, Conor?’ That doubt she carried everywhere was wide awake and glaring at him.

  ‘Nothing to do with you, right?’ he lied, then strode into his office and banged the door shut. Twisted the lock for good measure.

  Guilt warred with the need to be alone. Now he was shutting Tamara out completely. Snap. The door was unlocked. But not open. He wasn’t going to be able to undo that lie as easily.

  At his desk he dropped onto the chair, hefted his feet on top of the desk and leaned back to stare at the ceiling, his hands clasped behind his head. His chest was pounding, his head starting to fill with haze.

  ‘I am not having a panic attack.’ He kept his elbows wide, refusing to let them fold in on his chest. He wasn’t having an attack of any kind.

  Except fear. Fear for Tamara and Sebastian. Fear that one day it would be her screaming in an emergency department as he left her to bring up their son alone. Fear that his little boy would spend years looking for him because he didn’t understand what death meant.

  The door opened and in walked Tamara, a mug in her hand and a wary smile on her face. ‘Coffee.’

  He wanted to say, ‘Go away,’ but the words refused to come.

  She came around the desk to place the mug on the desk and stood there gazing down at him. ‘Whatever you’re thinking, Conor, it’s too late. We are having a baby. The future may be an unknown on some levels but you’re going to be a father and there’s no changing that. Don’t even contemplate becoming a remote parent. That would be far worse for Sebastian than the scenario I imagine is going on in your head right now.’ Her kiss was soft on his cheek, her scent light. The bands around his chest loosened as she said, ‘We’re going to be fine.’

  Then she left him to his thoughts, the door closing with a soft click behind her.

  He went back to staring at the ceiling. ‘You think?’ How could Tamara be so positive? She’d been to hell and back, wore the scars from her own battles. Was strong because of them.

  Could be a lesson here for you, boyo. Could be that Tamara is showing you a thing or two on how to grab life with both hands and enjoy it.

  Could be he was wishing for the impossible. He did best by being alone.

  * * *

  Conor ran along the pavement circling the waterfront at Mission Bay, dodging around late-afternoon strollers enjoying the spring sunshine. His shoes slapped the concrete as he increased his pace, trying to outrun the torment in his head.

  Tamara. She’d changed everything for him, given him hope, made him admit how much he wanted her and their baby. Yet he couldn’t go through with it.

  Stepping sideways onto the grass verge, he dodged around an elderly couple shuffling along arm in arm with smiles on their wrinkled faces. Beautiful. He wanted that. To do the whole lifetime-together thing with Tamara, to raise their child, or children, and be able to relax into old age and watch over everyone without getting too tied up in arguments and dilemmas. That’s what he wanted. More than anything. But today reality had woken him up.

  Increasing his pace until he was racing, not jogging at a sensible speed that’d last the distance, Conor sucked in abrupt breaths and ignored the occasional stabs of pain under his ribs. If he didn’t leave the head stuff behind there’d be no peace. He ran and ran and ran until he could no longer put one foot in front of the other. Then he sank down onto a park bench and dropped his head into his hands, stared at the grass between his sports shoes.

  The turmoil still pounded at him. Might as well have stayed at home. Or gone to the pub with Mac and sunk a few beers.

  Might as well have visited Tamara and got this over and done with.

  I don’t want to hurt her.

  I can’t do what I’d planned on doing.

  I can’t live a lie.

  I can’t tip Tamara’s world upside down again.

  Conor’s chest tightened. In a familiar, frightening way.

  He jerked up straight, his hands fisted, his legs tense.

  Not now. Go away. Breathe, damn it, long and slow, deep. Breathe.

  Damn, but he was a useless piece of work. He would not have a panic attack now. Not when he had to front up to Tamara. That’d be like asking for sympathy when he should be thrown down the street on his face. It was time to deal with these stupid attacks once and for all.

  Pain stabbed him behind his sternum. Swift, hard, intense.

  So you’re going to make it hard for me.

  Gritting his teeth, Conor waited for it to pass. If it would go. If this wasn’t a genuine heart attack. He had been running like he was being chased by a hungry tiger.

  Stab. He gasped around the second burst of pain. Breathed in long and slow, relaxed his lungs to push the air out again. Stood up and walked slowly forward six paces, walked back to the bench. Yeah, that worked. The tightness was easing.

  Do it again. And again.

  * * *

  ‘I got a parcel today.’ Tamara forced a smile, despite the unease ping-ponging back and forth between her and Conor. He’d turned up at her flat just as she’d been pretending to cook dinner. An inedible chop and spud were now in the bin. And Conor wasn’t happy about something.

  ‘About today—’

  ‘From Ireland.’ She reached across to her dining table and held up the express package.

  Conor’s eyes widened. ‘That’s Mam’s handwriting.’

  ‘She must’ve held a gun to the courier company’s representative to get it here this fast.’

  ‘Knowing Mam, she probably fronted up to the pilot on the next flight coming down this way and begged him to bring it. What’s in there anyway?’

  ‘Your first booties.’ Her heart expanded. ‘She kept them all this time.’

  ‘I’m not that old,’ Conor choked out.

  ‘Judy has plenty more to send later. I think she must’ve been so excited she had to send these straight away.’ Tamara tipped the booties out of the courier package and into her hand. ‘Blue, not pink.’ So soft, and cu
te. Adorable.

  ‘Mam’s not thinking straight,’ Conor snapped.

  Here it comes.

  ‘Are you?’ She pulled a chair out from the table and plonked her butt down. Her elbows hit the table top too hard. Her head was whirling with wanting to know what Conor’s next move would be. Everything had happened so fast it had only been a matter of time before he stalled, and proved her right not to give in to the love growing in her heart for him.

  ‘I’m trying to.’ He sat opposite her, like they were strangers.

  Maybe they were. Deep down where it counted. She started the ball rolling. ‘Today brought home the enormity of what it would be like if the same thing happened to you as it did to your father.’ Her voice hitched. ‘And Sebastian.’

  ‘In spades. Those deep, anguish-filled sobs got to me in a way I’ve not felt before during my work in emergency departments.’

  ‘I guess knowing we’re having a baby makes it all the more real and worrisome. I understand that, Conor. I really do.’ Tamara stood, went around to him and leaned in to kiss his mouth.

  Conor’s hands came between them, on her upper arms, holding her away. ‘Tamara.’

  Not Tam. Thud, thud. Her heart knew something was off. More than today’s episode in ED. This tight, don’t-be-hard-on-me feeling was familiar. She’d felt the apprehension before and knew it would lead to bad things. ‘Tell me. Now.’

  Conor’s chest rose, and his gaze lifted to her eyes before his hands dropped away from her and he stood up. ‘I’m sorry, Tamara, but I can’t marry you.’

  Why wasn’t she in a heap on the floor? Her legs were like jelly and her heart had stopped. But standing she was, and in front of her was Conor, the man she’d believed in and come to accept wouldn’t hurt her. All the moisture in her mouth dried up, and words were impossible as this rerun of her past unfolded before her. The man she’d foolishly fallen in love with when she’d known how dangerous that would be. Strange how the moment she learned he was leaving her she understood she really did love him.

  ‘We’ll still bring up Sebastian jointly. I’m not walking away from my son. Or my responsibilities.’

  As the mother of your son, I’m one of your responsibilities.

  No, she wasn’t. Her life was her business, her problem. Not Conor’s.

  He looked pale and tense. But also determined. ‘It might be easier if we have two homes in Sydney so that we’re not tripping over each other all the time.’

  Thought he’d enjoyed tripping over her, hauling her up against that divine body to kiss her whenever she got in the way. She sank back onto her chair. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ve let you down. I’m sorry.’ He stared out the window, his hands gripping his hips. What was he staring at? Seeing?

  ‘Why?’ she repeated over the clunking of her dreams breaking into tiny pieces. He’d never said he loved her, only proposed marriage to make it easier to raise their child together.

  Conor leaned back against the windowsill. ‘When I proposed I thought I could face anything with you at my side.’

  ‘So what’s changed?’

  ‘I was fooling myself. I can’t risk putting you through what my mother suffered.’ Those dark eyes locked on her. ‘I rushed into proposing before we’d talked through so many outstanding issues. I have been flying solo for so long, but for a few crazy days I let my guard down. I wanted to have the wonderful life you and our baby were offering.’

  ‘You can. We can.’

  ‘We can’t.’

  Anger began unfurling. He wasn’t doing this to her. Not without a fight. ‘You sure you’re not using your medical history as an excuse?’

  ‘I don’t believe so.’ Those lips were getting tighter by the word.

  ‘So we’re not getting married.’ Her heart was curling in on itself, her stomach tightening defensively. Keep talking. ‘We are having a baby, but we’ll raise him in two homes, not one. We’re moving to Sydney in the next couple of months.’ Did he not see what she was saying? ‘We, Conor. We, we, we.’

  ‘I’ll stay and apply for a permanent position in one of the hospitals in Auckland if you’d prefer.’

  ‘Conor.’ Her hands slapped her thighs. ‘I don’t want to change a thing.’ She’d got it damned wrong. Again. Conor held her heart and he’d jumped on it. Unknowingly, sure, but it had happened.

  She loved him through and through. Did that not count for anything? What if she told him how she felt? Just because she hadn’t said those three little words it didn’t mean they weren’t real. She opened her mouth but the words would not come out. The last time she’d told a man she loved him he’d abused that love. And tonight wasn’t going any better. How would saying it out loud help? Gulp. Swallow. She whispered, ‘I do love you, you know.’

  Conor jerked, like he’d been stabbed or something. ‘Please, don’t, Tamara.’

  ‘Doesn’t it mean anything to you?’

  He stared at her, looking deep, as though absorbing her love. Then the shutters came down over those sad eyes, making them remote. ‘All the more reason I let you go. Better to finish it now before we get too involved.’

  Jamming her hands over her ears, she cut off that voice that usually had her in a rush of hormones. No rush tonight. More of an Irish bog.

  Tamara asked in a wobbly voice, ‘But you intend being there for Sebastian for ever? Will go wherever I decide to go for his sake?’ A recipe for heartache on a daily basis. Seeing him, hearing his voice, conferring over what was right for Sebastian. She couldn’t do it.

  ‘I’m sure we’ll be able to make it work without too many problems.’

  That kind of suggested he didn’t love her in any way. She’d gone and done it again. Fallen for the wrong man. Only this time she’d looked hard, thought it all through before giving her heart. And had still got it wrong. ‘You think?’

  Uncertainty worked into his gaze. ‘I don’t see you making it difficult for me. You’re not a vindictive person.’

  ‘You’re making it sound so black and white, no grey at all.’ Her voice was rising. Too bad. ‘Think about it. What’ll happen when you meet another woman who gets under your skin? Will she follow me around too?’

  ‘I doubt that’ll happen. I managed to stay uninvolved for nearly fourteen years.’ He turned away, turned back, said softly, ‘I’m setting you free so it’s you who can meet someone else. A man without my health issues. A guy who can be a part of our child’s life too. In case,’ he ground out through clenched teeth. ‘But I am not deserting my son. I will be a part of his life.’

  ‘Just not mine.’

  His hands slammed through his hair, setting it awry. ‘Everything happened too fast. I should’ve thought about everything before my proposal.’

  ‘You’re not getting any argument from me on that score.’ Tamara sat rigid, her hands gripped together between her knees. She would not beg Conor to rethink. He wouldn’t listen. His mind was made up. As hers needed to be. She had to accept his withdrawal and get on with organising a future for her child.

  Lifting her shoulders, she eyeballed this man who’d devastated her, and told him the biggest lie she’d ever uttered. ‘Other couples manage two-family parenting so I’m sure we can. Now, if you haven’t got anything else pressing to say, I’d like you to go.’

  Her voice broke. Tears threatened. This time her grief would be private, not played out in front of even one person. Certainly not Conor. She could not show him how much he’d hurt her. He might use that against her. An hour ago she wouldn’t have believed it possible; now she knew anything was conceivable. Her heart was a ball of pain and her stomach was churning. So not good for the baby.

  ‘Tam.’ He swallowed hard.

  ‘It’s Tamara to you.’ Gulp. ‘We were working just fine,’ she snapped. ‘Then you changed everything.’

 
‘Maybe I did.’ Sadness dripped off his words. ‘We still have a lot of things to sort out and plan, but they can wait.’

  Just go. Now. ‘Get out of my home.’

  Before I fall into a sobbing heap. Before I make an idiot of myself in front of you. Because once I do that you’ll know you’ve done the right thing, that you definitely don’t want to be hooked up to me for ever.

  She sank further into the chair and covered her face with her hands. ‘Go away.’

  Conor’s hand touched her head, gentle and warm, and shaking. ‘I’ll leave my key on the hall table.’

  And she’d thought she’d been hurting before. A throbbing set up behind her eyes, under her ribs, in her gut. The key to her flat she’d been so happy to give him only yesterday because it showed she trusted him. He was giving it back.

  The end.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  NEXT MORNING TAMARA called in sick. ‘I’ve got stomach cramps and a head full of cotton wool.’

  ‘You’re not going to Sydney for the weekend with Conor, are you?’ Michael asked with a chuckle.

  I wish. ‘I could send you a selfie of me tucked up in bed, looking paler than a bottle of milk, but that’d be gross.’

  Michael coughed. ‘Didn’t mean to sound uncaring. Maybe you should see your midwife if you’re having stomach ache.’

  Now, that would be the solution to all Conor’s problems. Except she knew he’d be gutted if she miscarried. She’d be breaking down the midwife’s door if there was any chance she was having a miscarriage. Her tummy wasn’t too bad. Just showing its usual disgust at breakfast, probably made worse by anguish over Conor’s desertion, and with lack of sleep thrown in. ‘I think it’s more what I ate for dinner than anything.’

  ‘Keep vigilant and make an appointment if you think you’re wrong. We’ll see you on Monday.’ Michael hung up.

  All that was wrong with her was she’d been dumped by the man she really and truly wanted to spend the rest of her life with, and she couldn’t face him today.