Before exiting the bedroom I close my eyes and try to remind myself that there’s probably a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of my stuff being here like the police made him move it out but my heart won’t stop beating out a staccato until I hear it from his beautiful lips. Because God knows it is way too soon for me to be moving into his place.
I wrap my arms around my chest protectively and walk to the kitchen. I find Shane sliding a bagel into the toaster and he’s only dressed from the waist down. My eyes can’t help but scan his glorious tanned chest and the firm pecks and rippled abs that disappear beneath the waistband of his sweats. I have to actually tell my brain to close my mouth and when I look back up at his face the smirk he’s wearing tells me that he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
He slides a cup of coffee across the sparkling granite countertop before picking up his glass of juice and taking a swig.
“Get dressed and I’ll take you to the hospital to see Matt.” His voice still has that sexy, sleepy rumble to it and I can feel the vibration of it hit me right between my legs but I shake off the feeling and remind myself that I need to focus.
“It’s Monday,” I say as calmly as I can while setting my mug down. “I have to go to work.”
“I already called the douche bag and explained the situation. You’re off for a week to recover.”
“You called my boss?” I choke out.
“You were sleeping,” he says on a shrug. I decide to let it slide and switch my focus to what needs to get done.
“I should head to Matty’s first and get some things for him,” I say, looking out the window at the gloomy gray Austin morning.
“Already done. The doctor said that the only thing that will heal the injuries he has is time and rest so they plan on discharging him today. I figure he can stay here while he recovers,” he informs me.
“You’re letting Matty stay with you?” I say and I can’t keep the surprise from my voice.
“You’re both staying here,” he says firmly.
“We need to talk about that,” I sigh and he narrows his eyes.
“I thought we just did.”
“Why is all of my stuff here?” I say and I can hear the accusation in my voice.
“Your place is still a crime scene and it isn’t safe.”
“Yeah but for a few days tops,” I argue, knowing that as soon as they’ve taken the photos and samples they need they’ll be out right away. From what I understand they don’t even clean up the blood as I’m guessing that’s something our tax dollars don’t cover. “It looks like you packed up everything I own!”
“And if I did?” he challenges, raising an eyebrow. “You’re better off here than in an unsecure building with shitty locks.”
“I’m not moving in with you because my locks are shitty!” I shout back. “That is absolutely ridiculous! I’ll just go to Home Depot and get something better. I don’t have to uproot my whole life!”
“I thought I played a part in that life,” he says in a hurt voice.
“That’s not fair!” I shout. “Moving in together is a huge decision and one that shouldn’t be made out of fear, convenience or circumstance,” I say, a little more gently this time.
“But I like you here,” he says.
“Sure, right now you do but what about in a month from now? A year? I don’t want you to resent me or us because you made this choice out of some sense of obligation,” I explain and he strides around the counter and backs me up into the island. His hands come up to cradle either side of my face as he looks me straight in the eyes.
“It’s like you haven’t been listening to anything I’ve said over the past few months. I don’t give a shit how fast this feels to you because to me it feels nothing but right. I want you by my side always and I don’t see that changing,” he says, dropping his head to kiss me but I pull back and snort.
“How did you even get all my stuff packed?”
“Leigh may have helped me bring over a few things last night,” he says, trying for nonchalant.
“A few things?” I cock an eyebrow at him.
“Maybe everything. Don’t overthink it, babe. Stay with me,” he whispers.
“I’ve been on my own since the age of seventeen,” I say but I can already feel my resolve wavering.
“Stay with me,” he says again, running his thumb back and forth across my bottom lip.
“Okay, I’ll stay but only temporarily. Just as long as it takes for Matty to heal and for me to put my place back together,” I concede, adding, “but this is NOT me moving in - understand?”
“Whatever you say, babe,” he chuckles, leaning down to kiss me. This time I let him and he nudges my lips open and slides his tongue into my mouth. He tastes delicious, like fresh-squeezed orange juice and mint toothpaste, and when I stand on my tiptoes to wrap my arms around his neck the t-shirt I’m wearing lifts up to reveal my bare ass.
“This is going to kill your social life, Mr. Bachelor,” I say teasingly as my tongue darts out to lick the corner of his lips and his moan vibrates into my mouth as he lifts me on to the counter. He peels the shirt off of me and leans me back at the same time nudging his sweats off his hips. He’s commando underneath so all of his impressive length is visible to me and I lick my lips. He hoists himself up on to the counter so he’s hovering above me.
“You are so much better than any keg I could ever tap,” he jokes and his eyes darken as he bows his head to nip at my breasts.
“We should talk about how I’m going to pay for my share,” I say, gasping out as he guides his tip to my opening and slams into me. I yell out his name and he pulls back as far as he can manage and slams into me again, making my back bow off of the cool countertop.
“Shane!” I cry out again as he repeats his assault over and over. I’m begging him to give me release and he chuckles and then moans when I circle my hips under him. When he presses the pad of his thumb against my clit I hear him speak as I explode into a million tiny pieces.
“Welcome home, babe,” he says hoarsely as he follows closely after me.
Chapter 23
One of the greatest things about having a best friend is that you can drive each other to the brink of sanity and still come back from the edge loving each other. It’s also one of the worst things once put to the test. I love Matty, I do, but if he isn’t ready to go home soon I’m probably going to push him over whatever edge I can find.
It’s been two weeks and at first things went pretty smoothly with him riding on a Vicodin induced high but now that it’s the end of week two and the painkillers have all but dried up I’m dealing with one of the bitchiest queens this side of Texas. He’s since taken up permanent residence on Shane’s expensive sectional sofa and if he isn’t barking out his lunch order or complaining about what’s on TV he’s feeling sorry for himself. At first every comment he made would rip the wound right open for me and sprinkle in a little salt but I’m starting to become more immune to it as my exasperation outweighs my guilt. It’s Friday and the first day I’m going into work, having taken off an extra four unpaid sick days to help my healing friend. But I have to go in today because Donovan’s boss, the Editor-in-Chief, wants to speak to me about something important. I have my fingers crossed that it’s not about firing me for missing so much work but everyone seemed understanding when I told them about Matty.
I’m tucking my white blouse into my heather gray pencil skirt when the first wave of nausea hits me. It passes quickly but I don’t have time to think about it before Matty’s shouting at me from the other room.
“What?” I yell back as I hop out from the bedroom with one of my heels in my hand.
“You’re out of Frosted Flakes.” Matty is sitting at the counter and he shakes the box in my face when I reach him.
“So?” I say, making my way over to the pantry. “There’s like half a dozen boxes of cereal in here.”
“But they’re not Frosted Flakes!” he whines and it takes everything in me
not to reach across the counter and throttle him.
“What are you, ten years old? Just pick something else,” I huff out but before I can debate the subject of breakfast any further another wave of nausea comes and I’m running to the bathroom as fast as I can.
I dry heave for a while spitting up mostly nothing but water, then I wipe my clammy forehead with a towel and go back to the kitchen.
“What’s wrong with you?” Matty says icily.
“I have no idea,” I bite back, adding sarcastically,” it’s probably all the Frosted Flakes I ate.”
“Maybe your preggo,” he snorts like the idea is the most ridiculous thing in the world and I literally stop in my tracks. While I calculate the days backwards in my head Matty takes the opportunity to tease me some more.
“Come to think of it you do look a bit chestier than usual,” he laughs but he stops when he sees my face. “Carm?” He takes a step forward, clutching at his side when he does which tells me that his ribs are still giving him grief.
“I’m sorry about the cereal thing and the boob comment. I don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with me. I think I’ve just been going a little stir crazy in here. Please don’t be mad,” he sounds really concerned as he takes my hand in his but I pull my hand away and turn to face him.
“It’s not that, it’s me. My period. I haven’t had one since I met Shane back in June.”
“That’s like almost ten weeks ago, honey. I know you are irregular but come on,” he frowns and of course only my gay best-friend would know my cycle better than I do. I’ve always been irregular with really light periods, which is why I went on the pill in the first place as a teenager to regulate them. Sometimes I have short periods or even skip them all together but I haven’t seriously dated anyone in a long time so it hasn’t been an issue. It could be nothing, but I am really bad at remembering to take the pills. I’ve been meaning to get the shot but my HMO doesn’t cover the cost and at nearly a thousand bucks it hasn’t been at the top of my priority list.
“Oh honey,” he answers, picking my hand back up. “When do you have to be at work by?”
“I have to be there in an hour,” I respond, feeling more than a little stunned.
“There’s a drugstore on the corner. We’ve got time,” he says, tugging me towards the front door.
Matty offers to run out and get it but I can’t in good conscience let him go when I know he’s still hurting. I switch my heels for flip flops and race to the corner and I’m back in less than ten minutes with a handful of different tests. Matty makes me pee into a big cup which is weird but he says it’s the best way to try out multiple tests. How he knows this I don’t know but I’m too distracted to ask him. I’m lucky that Shane only lives about a fifteen minute walk from my work or else we wouldn’t even be doing this right now.
I take the cup from the bathroom to the kitchen which is just gross on so many levels. Matty’s already opened all of the sticks and as he hands me each one I dip them and line them up on the counter and wait. Only seconds pass before they all start changing color: two lines, a plus sign, two more lines, a pink cross…over and over each one is the same.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I moan, covering my mouth with my hand.
“Congratulations mommy,” Matty says but he sounds as stunned as I feel.
“That’s not really helping,” I swallow.
“You need to talk to him.”
“No, I need to get to work so they don’t fire my ass,” I say, grabbing all the tests and tossing them into the under-sink trash. Matty makes a strangled noise and drops to his knees to dig them out.
“Why not make a poster for him when he gets home that says, ‘hi, I’m knocked up’?”
“Shit, you’re right. I wasn’t thinking.” I say, squatting down to help but he waves me off.
“Go to work, honey. I got this.”
I kiss the top of his head, slide my heels back on and race for the door while praying to God that I make it on time because if the last few minutes are any indication this is a job that I’m really going to need to hang on to.
***
I’m literally shaking in my seat as I sit across the conference table from Donovan and the Editor-in-Chief whose name is Walter.
“Ms. Dahl, I think you know why I called you in today to speak with us,” Donovan says and his formal address only ratchets up my anxiety even more.
“I know,” I say softly, dropping my hands into my lap. I take a deep breath to prepare myself for what’s coming next. We are still in the throes of a recession and I’ve taken too much time off to help Matty when in their eyes my focus should be on my job. Truthfully, I’m not at all surprised that I’m here right now.
“We need you to go to Venezuela,” Walter says, smiling at me and leaning back in his chair. His large body is stuffed into an ill-fitting pinstriped suit and the collar of his white dress shirt is so tight that his neck fat bulges over the top.
“I’m sorry?”
“Don’t be,” Donovan replies, “you were right all along. Your little ‘hunch’ about the Petroleo Energy Corporation and the potential for political scandal proved reliable. The researchers unearthed a source - a security guard that was fired from the company - but apparently you are already one step ahead. The guard says that you emailed him and left him messages last month and so now he will only talk to you,” he explains.
“My source?” I repeat and my head is spinning from the direction this conversation has taken. I did leave messages with a security guard that I thought could help but I never heard anything back so I thought that it was a dead lead.
“We want to run a feature series on Texas oil, foreign investment and corruption,” Walter interrupts. “It will bring some ire to be sure but we think we have enough to run it as an expose. But to do that we will need a verifiable source which means that you will need to vet this security guard’s story face to face.”
“You did it, Carmelina,” Donovan smiles across the table at me.
“My story,” I say a little shakily and he laughs.
“This is the investigative break that you’ve been waiting for and you are exactly the right person for the job. This is your baby,” he encourages and at the word baby I involuntarily cringe. He must misread my body language because he gives me a strange look. “That is, unless you don’t want it?”
I puff out the breath I’m holding while thinking of just how loaded his words are. I sit up a little straighter and turn to look into Walter’s watery eyes.
“I only have one question,” I say and he nods for me to continue. “When do I leave?”
Chapter 24
On the drive home I have to pull the car over to the side of the road to expel this morning’s cup of coffee and cold toast. When I climb back into the car I pull down the rearview mirror to inspect myself and while I’m wiping the smudged mascara from under my eyes I wonder if I look different. Other than the dull and constant ache of nausea that seems to have come on full force I don’t feel any different. But with a baby inside of me and Venezuela on the table things are changing so drastically that I know I need advice from someone who’s been there before. I turn the car around and head in the direction of my mom’s place on the east side. Sure, she hasn’t exactly been a nurturing force in my life but she has experience with a surprise pregnancy and she’s probably the one person who will give it to me raw. That and I haven’t had a chance to confront her yet about what happened with Matty or to find out exactly who she’s unleashed on me.
As I pull down the familiar street and park at the curb of the rundown house of my childhood I have to do a double-take when I see that the windows are all boarded up and the door is sealed over with tape.
I scramble out of the car and race up to the porch to read the orange placard on the door. It reads ‘warning, unlawful to occupy’ and references a section of the county code. There’s a phone number on the bottom that I quickly enter into my cell before turning on my heel. I’m so focus
ed on getting back to my car that I almost miss the yard but when I see the gaping hole in the grass where my willow tree used to be my breath catches in my throat. The tree - my tree - is nowhere in sight. I know that it’s probably the just start of the house being bull-dozed to the ground but seeing it uprooted like that does something to me that I can’t quite explain. I laugh humorlessly to myself, figuring that the state of the house must have something to do with Shane. I stomp back to the car and tear away from the curb as fast as I can on a mission to have words with the one man I’m about ready to strangle.
“You’re home early,” Shane says, looking up at me from his spot on the sofa as I slam the door.
“My meeting went short,” I say, struggling to keep my anger in check.
“Matt packed up and left this morning. It was weird, I told him he didn’t have to rush but he tore out of here like a bat out of hell. I guess we should break out the champagne and celebrate.”
“I wouldn’t pop the cork yet, baby,” I say sarcastically. “I drove over to the east side today,” I add and he averts his eyes.
“Why don’t you take a seat so we can talk about this?” He speaks slowly like he’s coaxing forth a wild animal but my glare only intensifies.
“Why is my mother’s house boarded up, Shane?”
“Sit down,” he says firmly and I clench my hands into fists.
“I’ll sit down when I damn well feel like it. I’ll repeat, why is it that my mom’s house been condemned and I know nothing about it?”
He gets to his feet and comes toward me. “I was going to wait until Matt left to tell you because I know how much stress you have been under but I made a few calls to the city. The place was unlivable and it turns out that the landlord had been planning on selling to a developer anyway. Apparently he’s been trying to evict your mom for years for non-payment of rent but she’s been protected by some bizarre squatter’s rights,” he explains.
On His Turf Page 21