by Lili Valente
But maybe that’s another lie.
Maybe he never expected this baby to make it. Maybe everything will change if we go into the doctor’s office tomorrow and find out this child is going to be born healthy and whole. Maybe then his true colors will come bleeding through, staining everything, ensuring there will be no happy ending for this story.
Not for my baby, and certainly not for me.
I will never be able to trust a man again. Never. Which means I’m going to spend the rest of my life alone, wishing my younger self hadn’t been so gullible and desperate to be loved that she gambled away all her love chips before her thirtieth birthday.
I’m going to grow old alone, just like my mother. I will be one of those people who sees doom everywhere, who believes that every lovely thing has a dark secret hidden inside, because that’s what the world has taught her. That no one can be trusted, that her heart is safe only when it’s kept under lock and key, and that romantic love is the biggest lie ever sold to the human race.
“Oh God,” I moan as a wave of nausea rises inside me. I don’t know if it’s the lunch or my sickening thoughts succeeding in making me physically ill, but I suddenly know I’m not going to make it to the gym bathroom.
The poison inside me wants out, and it wants out now.
Jaw clenched and sweat breaking out along my hairline, I manage to hold it together until I guide the car into a loading-zone-only spot near the seedy pizza place on Burnside, where I throw open my door, launch myself out into the cool evening fog, and am violently ill behind a shriveled potted shrub beside the restaurant’s entrance.
Thank God, it’s still closed, so at least I don’t have an audience.
My stomach heaves and clenches until every last bit of that demon sausage is lying in a putrid puddle beside a filthy hoodie and a pack of cigarettes someone must have stashed behind the pot and forgotten about. The good news is that, once the unholy gut bomb is out, I feel better.
Physically better, anyway. Tears are still streaming down my face and my heart aches like I’ve been kicked in the chest by the world’s meanest draft horse, but at least I’m not too nauseated to drive. And the baby is still flip-flopping away, the way he’s been doing since the day of the ultrasound.
I stand, swiping the back of my hand across my mouth. The baby. I have to keep my thoughts on the baby. I have to stay strong for him, even if I’m having trouble mustering strength for myself.
I turn back toward the car, ready to give getting to the gym another try, and see someone in a red sock hat sliding into the driver’s seat. “Hey! That’s my car!” I shout, but the thief is already peeling away, setting the rear wheels of my Prius to swerving as he or she takes a hard left, heading down Second Avenue.
“Shit!” I curse, fresh tears surging into my eyes as I stomp my foot on the concrete.
Someone stole my car! They stole it right in front of me, and thanks to bulky clothing and a sock hat, I have no idea if the thief was even a man or a woman, let alone what he or she looked like. I will be useless to the police, totally, completely useless, but I have to call them, anyway.
I reach for my purse, grateful that it’s strapped across my body, and not in the passenger’s seat where I usually toss it when I’m getting into the car, but before I can pull out my phone, an arm locks around me from behind, pulling me back against a cold sweatshirt and a soft male body that smells of stale cigarettes. I’m so shocked by the unexpected intimate contact, I freeze, purse falling from my hands, giving my attacker time to tighten his grip on my neck.
My breath rushes out in a strangled sound, but it doesn’t rush back in.
In a sudden burst of clarity, I hear Hailey’s voice in my head, warning that I won’t have much time to react if I’m attacked from behind, that I must move quickly to free myself before my assailant succeeds in taking away my weapon. And in this situation, my weapon is control over my body, which will become this strange, stinking man’s to do with as he pleases if I can’t keep breathing.
Something deep inside me clicks into survival mode, panic fading as I concentrate on executing the last self-defense move I learned last week, right when we were running out of time. I crouch into ready stance as best I can, arms shooting up over my head with my palms facing backward. Curling my hands into hooks, I slide them swiftly and sharply down, digging into the thick arm wrapped around my throat. The movement pulls his forearm away from my neck, giving me the chance to suck in a deep breath before I lift my fist in front of me then slam it down and back into his groin.
I hit him—hard and fast—on the first try, instinctively knowing where to aim, just like Hailey said I would. The man behind me groans as he pitches forward, his jaw slamming into my spine between my shoulder blades with enough force to send me stumbling out of his loosened arm.
I’m aware of a dull ache I’m sure will hurt more later, after the rush has worn off, but right now I’m too high on fear and adrenaline to feel anything but a quiet, determined rage. I spin to face my attacker—a chubby man with thick whiskers and a glazed look in his blue eyes—assuming the ready stance. But before I can shout “No!” from my diaphragm, the way Hailey made me practice a dozen times, the pot I just finished puking behind drops down on the man’s head. His eyes roll back and then closed, and he crumples. A moment later he’s on the ground by my feet, revealing the hero standing behind him.
“Norquist!” My hand flies to my chest, relief rushing through me with a ferocity that takes my breath away. “Oh my God, thank you.”
“Bad guys.” Norquist says, trembling as he circles the man on the sidewalk, shaking a finger at his unconscious face. “Bad guys all around. Saw it going down. His friend stole the car and the chubby one stayed to get the purse. They were working together. Insiders. Inside job. It’s all an inside job. But they don’t win this time. Not this time!”
“No, they don’t,” I say, tears slipping down my cheeks even as I start to laugh. “You’re amazing, Norquist. You’re a hero.”
He shakes his head. “No, not Norquist. I’m afraid, always afraid.”
“We’re all afraid,” I say, putting a hand on his thin shoulder. “But you didn’t let that stop you, and I’m so grateful.”
Norquist nods, a shy smile lilting crookedly across his face. He starts to speak again, but his words are drowned out by a squeal of tires as a large white truck jerks to a stop a few feet away. Alexi is on the sidewalk beside me a second later, the fear and worry on his face so genuine-looking my first instinct is to reassure him that I’m okay. But then I remember what he’s done, and the comforting words turn to dust in my mouth.
“What happened?” he demands, jerking a thumb at the man unconscious on the sidewalk. “And this? What the hell is this?”
“Self-defense class,” I say coolly. “He grabbed me from behind. I fought him off, and Norquist finished the job with the shrub pot.”
“Jesus, are you okay?” Alexi’s eyes widen as he reaches for me, but I step away, making his worried eyebrow furrow become a confused furrow.
“Have to go,” Norquist says, inching away. “Can’t stay for the police.”
“I’m fine.” I turn to Norquist with a smile. “And I understand. Head out, I can explain to the police. But thank you again. You’re a good friend.”
Norquist’s thin cheeks go pink beneath the ever-present layer of grime. “Happy to help. Happier to be a friend.” He nods toward Alexi, adding in a more serious voice. “Be good enough for her. She deserves the best.”
“Only the best,” Alexi agrees, extending his hand and gently shaking Norquist’s. “Thank you for being there. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
I shake my head, fighting to keep the sneer of disbelief from my face until Norquist finishes collecting his cart and hurrying away down the street. Only then do I turn to Alexi, pointing a trembling finger at his chest as he tries to pull me into his arms again, “Don’t you dare. Don’t touch me. You don’t get to touch me anymore.”
The hurt that flashes across his strong features is almost comical. As if he has no idea what I could possibly be talking about.
“Sofia texted me this afternoon,” I say as I whip out my phone, ready to call the police yet again. Portland is allegedly one of the safest cities in America, but I wouldn’t know it from my personal experience. “She had some very interesting things to say about our baby and another baby, which I, of course, had no idea had ever existed.”
The instant the words are out of my mouth, a screen drops behind his eyes, hiding the Alexi I thought I knew behind a veil. “What did she say?”
“Enough for me to know you’re a liar,” I say, tears filling my eyes. “A liar who’s been lying to me for months, since the moment he found out I was pregnant.”
“I wasn’t lying, I was trying to spare you. You were already pregnant; there was nothing we could do to turn back time. I was just trying to—”
“To keep me in the dark,” I say, volume rising. “To treat me like a child, the way you do every time you decide you’re the one who should be in control.”
“I didn’t—”
“You should have told me,” I snap, swiping at the tears streaming down my cheeks. “I deserved to be informed about the possible risks to this baby.”
His breath rushes out in a frustrated huff. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I swear I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you, even before.”
“Before what?” I cross my hands at my chest. “Before you found out our baby is in trouble, too? Like this other baby you never mentioned a single time in all the time we spent together? Not once in all those nights we stayed up late talking?”
“No,” he says, voice breaking in the middle of the word. “Before I loved you. Before I realized I wanted to be with you, be in love with you and share my life with you. Whether there’s a baby in the picture or not.”
I shake my head back and forth. “Everything sounds like a lie now, Alexi. Everything. And I can’t deal with this right now. My car was stolen, I was almost mugged, and I still have to wait twenty-four hours to know if my baby is going to be okay, so you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t—”
“He’s fine,” Alexi says, his eyes lighting up. “The tests all came back negative. I got the call from Dr. Nash during practice, and Coach let me leave early so I could come tell you.”
“He’s okay,” I whisper, afraid to believe it’s true until I hear it again. “He’s totally fine? Nothing wrong?”
“Nothing wrong.” Alexi reaches for me again. This time I’m too dazed with relief to move away. “He’s healthy and fine, and we can be fine, too.”
I put my hands to his chest, and for the first time since the moment I met this man, I find I’ve got the strength it takes to push him away. “I mean it. I can’t have this talk now. I can’t. I’m so, so happy our baby is going to be okay, but I don’t know what else to feel. About the lies or the fact that you didn’t for one second imagine that I might want to help you carry that worry and fear you were dealing with all alone.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I don’t know what else I can say.”
“Me, either.” I duck my head, taking my time pulling my phone out of my purse, struggling to swallow past the lump in my throat. “I just need to take care of the immediate stuff right now. Call the police and deal with the man passed out on the sidewalk and my stolen car and…all of that.”
His mouth settles into a grim line. “I’ll call the police.”
I nod. “I’ll see if I can find my car on the app they made me get at the dealership. It’s supposed to track its location.”
Alexi and I click into crisis management mode, and just a few minutes later there are more police and ambulance lights spinning through the evening air, reminding me of the way this all started—that moment in the ambulance when Alexi found out he was going to be a father and immediately decided to lie to me, even as he got pissed off at me for not working harder to track him down the instant I learned I was pregnant.
I have every right to be angry and stay angry, but learning my baby is okay has made every other trouble seem small in comparison to that miracle. My rage has been washed away in relief and gratitude, but that doesn’t mean things with Alexi and I will ever be the same.
“I’ve called Diana,” I say as soon as the police tell me I’m free to go, promising to keep looking for my car, even though I couldn’t find it with location tracking. “She’s going to pick me up any minute, so you can go. I’ll be staying with her for the next few days while I decide what to do next. I just…need some space.”
Alexi shakes his head with what looks like a miserable expression, though I don’t trust myself enough to be much of a judge of those things anymore. “Please, Mandy,” he whispers, so as not to be overhead by the cops still milling around near the crime scene, though my attacker has already been loaded into an ambulance and whisked away. “Please believe me. I never meant to hurt you. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I say, but I don’t move into his arms, and when Diana pulls up to the curb a moment later, I don’t hesitate to climb into the passenger’s seat, leaving Alexi alone on the sidewalk.
Chapter 24
From the text messages of Alexi Petrov
and Will Saunders
*
Saunders: Hey, man… I got a call from Hailey a few minutes ago. She said Diana had to leave five minutes into their session last night because Mandy was stranded downtown and needed someone to pick her up.
And she, um…didn’t want to go home with you.
Sorry, I didn’t know how to put that more delicately.
So, anyway, I gather some pretty serious shit went down with you and your lady last night, and I wanted you to know I’m here if you need to talk, okay?
Hang in there…
*
Alexi: Thanks. I’m trying.
Even though Mandy sent Diana to pack up her things this morning.
*
Saunders: You think she’s moving out for good?
*
Alexi: I don’t know. She asked me to give her space so I’m giving her space.
*
Saunders: Yeah, well…
Can I give you some unsolicited romantic advice?
*
Alexi: Sure. Since I clearly have no fucking idea what I’m doing.
*
Saunders: Of course you do. You’re fucking Alexi Petrov. Women fall at your feet, man. I’ve seen it happen. You’ve just been out of the serious relationship game for too long. You’ve forgotten that women never want space.
*
Alexi: Not so sure about that. Mandy usually says what she means, and she certainly couldn’t get away from me fast enough last night.
*
Saunders: Okay, well, yes, they might want physical space—when we’ve just done something stupid, for example—but they don’t want emotional space. Not if there are big feelings involved, and Amanda clearly has big feelings for you.
One look at her face is all it takes to see that.
*
Alexi: I’m not sure about that anymore.
I lied to her…
A lie of omission, but still, a lie. A big one.
For a woman with her history, it’s basically the worst thing I could have done aside from developing a drinking problem or being secretly married to someone else. At the time, I thought I was doing what was best for her, protecting her, but now I realize it was a disrespectful thing to do.
I should have been up front with her.
I should have shown her that I know how strong she is.
*
Saunders: Did you tell her that?
*
Alexi: Yes.
Well…no.
I told her I was sorry.
*
Saunders: Women need more than “sorry.” They need the when, why, what, where, and how behind the sorry. They want to know how shitty you feel about what you did
, and what you’re going to do to fix the problem. And then they want to know how miserable you are without them, and all the reasons they are the only person in the world who gives your life meaning.
I mean, you’re in love with her, right?
*
Alexi: Yes.
*
Saunders: Yes, and…?
*
Alexi: And I’m miserable without her.
*
Saunders: And…?
*
Alexi: And I want to make things better. I want her back, no matter what it takes.
*
Saunders: Better, but you’re going to have to step out of your “I don’t like to talk about feelings” comfort zone, man. I know it chafes, but it’s necessary. Women can’t read our minds—especially yours.
*
Alexi: What’s that supposed to mean?
*
Saunders: You’ve got one hell of a poker face, Petrov. If you were in front of me right now, for example, I’d have no idea if my advice was pissing you off or striking a chord.
*
Alexi: I’m not pissed off…
*
Saunders: Good. And look, you obviously don’t need to open up to me, but at least think about what I’ve said. Opening up works. It really does.
At least until your girlfriend decides she doesn’t want to marry the first guy she ever dated and breaks up with you.
*
Alexi: Ouch. Sorry about that. Hailey seems great.
*
Saunders: She is great. And I can’t blame her. If I’d only dated one person my entire life, I wouldn’t be ready to settle down. It’s not her fault that I sewed my wild oats before we met. And we’re still friends, I guess. Sort of.
Though I still want to start drinking heavily every time we get off the phone after talking business shit.
*
Alexi: I feel you. Maybe she’ll change her mind about getting back together.