Conditioned (Brewing Passion Book 3)

by Liz Crowe

  “What are you going to do?”

  I shook my head and put the half empty glass down with a thunk. “Not sure.” My voice was firm as resolve rose in me. If he didn’t want to see me or talk to me about this, then I would, by God, handle it on my own. One way or another. “You?” I knew it had to be Ross’s baby, which was a complex wrinkle.

  “I have no idea.” Tears rolled down her face. I patted her hand. “I mean, I’m going to have it. But…”

  I sighed.

  “Do you need me to come with you…anywhere? You know I will. If you want me to.”

  “I know. I’ll let you know once I decide.”

  “What about Tre—?”

  I held up a hand to stop her from saying his name. Ice was forming around my heart and I let it. It was the only way I was going to get through this. “He knows. He hasn’t spoken to me since he found out.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. That doesn’t seem like him.”

  “Well, apparently, it is.” I slammed my glass into the rack for the dishwasher, as anger covered the hurt that was forming. Which was just fine. I would be angry. But I would not allow him to hurt me. I wouldn’t allow any man to hurt me. “I’m sorry.”

  Evelyn smiled at me and fiddled with her straw. “Me too,” she said. “Look at us, will you? Two grown women who should know better…”

  “Knocked up like a couple of teenagers on prom night.”

  She chuckled, then covered her lips. “I shouldn’t laugh at that.”

  I shrugged, as the ice coating spread up my spinal column to my brain. It helped a little but by the time she’d left and I was sitting at my desk, I sobbed like a baby. The catharsis I should have felt never came so I slouched home, dropped onto my couch and fell asleep, my stomach rumbling from hunger, my eyes burning with tears.

  The next few weeks were a blur. Between throwing up, crying and trying to act normal around people who had no business being affected by my poor life choices, I was asleep every night by nine, and had to drag myself out of bed every morning. Trent maintained his distance. And I met him halfway, not even allowing myself to type out texts or anything so I could stare at them before I erased them like I’d done before.

  He was serious about this, it would seem. I was on my own. He’d made that clear.

  Despite my best efforts—maybe in spite of them—I did think about him almost nonstop. I knew that Taylor would be back, going to school, doing her community service, playing piano and guitar. I also kept tabs on the Kalamazoo block development. He’d hosted a pre-opening opening party and the sight of him in a suit, his smile fixed and his eyes shining had sent me into a three-day tailspin.

  I’d still not managed to eat much, which made my blood sugar spiral and turned me into a stark raving bitch. My mother had taken to showing up in the kitchen, to run interference between me as I sat crouched in my office, snarling, sobbing or puking, and the rattled kitchen staff. I worked some bar shifts and avoided Kayla as much as I could. Seeing her only brought it all roaring back in one giant wave of regret.

  At least one thing had changed. Austin was back. Evelyn was ecstatic. Ross was somewhat less so, but I could tell he knew it was for the best. They were all back together, as three, best I could tell. But I had no energy to inquire about it, much less get any details. She looked positively radiant and I felt like I was withering away, drying up, empty even as my body was doing some truly weird things to remind me that empty was the opposite of my issue.

  I’d developed a near constant craving for potato chips—something I’d never eaten before. It was as if my salt intake needed to triple to get me past the daily nausea. And I wanted a glass of dark stout every night—although wanted didn’t give the gut deep craving for it justice. I skipped it of course.

  The date moved closer. I ignored it. Then one morning I realized that this was it. This was the Rubicon that I would either cross or step back from, depending on if I kept a certain appointment, made for two p.m., with Evelyn on stand-by to take me and drive me home. I sat, staring out into the cloudy fall sky. Wind whipped at the trees, stripping them of their show-off red, yellow and orange adornments. A lovely day for an abortion, I thought, allowing that word to sit in my brain, flashing neon, reminding me that I believed in a woman’s right to choose, but not at all sure that this was my choice.

  I didn’t want a baby. Trent didn’t want a baby. Of course, this was the right choice.

  A tear slipped from my eye and hit my hand. I stared at it as the usual morning roil of hunger for a bag of the greasiest possible chips warred with the need to throw up. I picked up my phone and made a call.

  “Hi, Melody,” Evelyn answered. “Are you ready for me to pick you up?”

  “No. I’m not going. I can’t do it.” I wiped my eyes and sniffled.

  “All right. So, let’s get you an appointment with my OB, shall we?”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it. We can compare our weight gains and shit.”

  I smiled, dropped back onto my bed and put my hands over my stomach. “We’ve got this, kid,” I whispered. “You and me.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Four weeks later

  “Yo, Trent! Watch out!”

  He ducked just in time, managing not to concuss himself on the bookcase that was being shuttled across the floor. “Thanks,” he hollered up to Gabe, his construction manager. This project had been the most gut-wrenchingly stressful of anything he’d done. But it was almost finished. The whole place was rented out and within weeks of being ready. The loans were covered. And he was being touted at the next Dan Gilbert.

  Which was a laugh. He’d never touch that guy’s personal wealth level. But he was proud of having pulled this off and was already being courted by a new set of investors eager to rehab spaces in Grand Rapids. He had even made money off this project—a shit ton of it. And since his corporation would manage the building, collecting leases and handling all the maintenance issues, he’d keep making money on it. He’d hired six new people, including an admittedly hot woman who was doing her level best to make sure he noticed how hot she was, whose sole jobs were to manage this city block. Even with their solid, living wage salaries and benefits, he would still make money as long as it stayed rented.

  But almost getting brained by a damn bookcase was emblematic of his bigger problem. He only got about four hours of sleep every night. Food turned to cardboard in his mouth. Beer or wine to vinegar. He would sometimes catch himself sitting and staring out the nearest window and picturing her. His hands would clench on his knees as he fell deeper into the fantasy of it—her hair, her lips, her ass, her long longs and her sweet, talented mouth.

  His heart would seem to stutter-step, then speed up. Sweat would bead his face. His gut would roll and turn in around on itself as the next thing he’d see was her mother’s face when she’d told him. He’d see the pavement that he’d stared at for so long after that. Then he’d see her building, where he’d waited, frozen and useless, unable to face her because of his own deep displeasure over the fact of a pregnancy.

  “Trent,” a female voice hit his ear, making him blink back to the here and now. “Could you come over here a minute?”

  He rubbed his eyes and headed in her direction. The woman—God what in the hell was her name—stood at a work table, pointing down at some papers. Her long hair gleamed in the overhead lights. He looked down at the papers, ignoring the way she stared at him. This was not helping him. Not that he was interested, but fighting her off was sucking away what little energy he still possessed.

  After okaying whatever it was she needed, he turned to his other youthful staff who also waylaid him with their details. The massive space that he was converting into his new HE LLC management company was making him nuts. He needed air. He shoved past the people scurrying around installing electronics and desks and bookshelves and shoved his way out into the cool fall air.

  Propping his hands on his knees, he sucked in deep breaths,
shoving aside Melody and the potential of their child—something that still wouldn’t take hold no matter how much he tried to make it—and focusing on what still had to be done. He had to get through this. He needed to call her. But he wouldn’t. Something held him back and he knew that the longer he waited, the less likely she’d be to ever talk to him.

  His phone buzzed with a text from Taylor.

  Don’t forget my doctor’s appointment.

  He groaned and leaned against the building. Sheila had dropped the whole birth control thing in his lap last week, demanding that he get her to the doctor so she could get a damn IUD. He’d obsessed over it the last few nights, wishing like hell he could talk to Melody about all this.

  But no. He’d fucked that six ways to Sunday.

  “Right. Okay.” He shoved the phone back in his pocket and ground his teeth, willing himself stronger, braver, anything but what he was right now—miserable, exhausted and missing Melody Rodriguez like a fucking phantom limb.

  “Trent?” He turned around, about to bite the woman’s head off out of self-defense. But she was holding out a phone. “It’s for you.”

  “Thanks.” He took it and put it to his ear. “Hettinger.”

  “Oh my God, Trent, where…?” Some kind of racket started up behind him from the office so he shoved his finger in his other ear and headed down the street away from the noise.

  “I’m sorry? Who’s this? I can barely hear you.”

  “God damn it…sorry motherfucker…”

  “Oh, hi, Evelyn.” He stopped at the corner. “What’s up?”

  “…you sorry ass, it’s Melody.”

  “I can’t hear you. What about Melody?”

  “…Grant Hospital…blood loss…miscarriage.”

  “What the fuck?” He was already running for his car, keeping the phone pressed to his ear. “What are you talking about? Where is she? Speak up, woman!”

  “She’s in Grant Hospital. I found her at home when she didn’t come to work this morning. She was… Oh shit. Just hurry up and get here.”

  He was already in the Jeep, pulling out into the heavy, late-afternoon traffic. Ignoring the honks and waved middle fingers, he screeched onto the freeway, his heart racing and his ears full of the sound of Melody’s voice.

  He parked and shoved past the crowds hovering at the elevator of the garage and ran down the stairs. When he hit the main desk, he was breathing heavy but focused. “Melody Rodriguez,” he said, trying to smile at the old guy sitting at the computer. “Please.” He tapped his fingers impatiently while the guy looked her up.

  “Yes, she’s in room seven eighteen.”

  “Thanks.” He ran off, leaving behind the words “But wait, sir…you can’t…”

  He hit the elevator, punched the seven and held the door close button, shrugging his apology to the older couple who’d tried to join him before the doors shut in their faces. He kept wiping his lips and tapping his foot as the damn thing crawled up two, three, four. Then stopping at five and letting a bunch of people in scrubs on, and disgorging them at the next floor. Biting back the words “couldn’t have taken the stairs, guys?” he gritted his teeth until the doors slid open on seven and he ran out, nearly colliding with a nurse carrying a stack of computer tablets.

  “Excuse me,” she said, snippily.

  “Seven eighteen? Please?”

  He must have resembled an honest-to-God crazy person—or somebody who was worried about a sick loved one—so she pointed helpfully down the hallway teeming with people in scrubs and lost civilians like himself. He took off at a run, heart in his throat, as if his proximity to her was ramping up his panic. He skidded to a stop outside her door, took a breath and knocked.

  Evelyn appeared, her face haggard. She slipped out the door into the hall and gave him a tight hug. “Oh God, Trent. She’s…it was awful.”

  “What happened?” He peeled her off him. “Talk to me.”

  She took a breath. “She was late for work which never happens. I called her. I texted. I sent someone over to beat on her door. He said no one answered but it didn’t feel right to me. I knew…” She bit her lip and closed her eyes. “I knew something was wrong. Anyway, I got in my car and drove to her place. I talked the manager into unlocking the door. We found her in the kitchen, unconscious. There was so much blood. Jesus.” She slumped against the wall.

  Trent glanced at the closed door. “The baby…”

  “She lost it. Not that you care.” She seemed to recover herself, standing and wiping her eyes with a tissue. “Shit. She’s gonna kill me for calling you.” She glared at him. “She lost the baby and nearly died. Her placenta was in the wrong place or something and it ruptured. She must have fallen and hit her head on the kitchen counter. She was… The EMT guys said her body temperature was so low she was practically dead when I f-f-f-found her. Oh Jesus.” She looked up at the ceiling. Trent tried not to yell. He used all his abilities, all his well-honed control skills not to shake her.

  Instead, he moved her aside and pushed the door handle down. “No, wait,” she said, moving in front of him again. “She’s not…awake.”

  “Move,” he said, not meaning to sound so gruff but not caring at the same time. “I need to see her, Evelyn.”

  She made one more effort, holding out her arm. He pushed it down gently, moved her aside once more, and opened the door. The room was dim but he could make out a bed and some beeping monitors. He froze for a few seconds, his mind flipping through all the reasons he’d left her alone for the last month. Which all boiled down to one thing—he was a total, weak-kneed loser. That broke his trance and he stumbled forward toward the bed and staring down at her.

  She was asleep, or unconscious. Had an IV line stuck in one hand, some kind of clear tube under her nose. Her cheekbones were so prominent he cursed himself all over again for being such a lame ass. His hand shook as he stroked her arm. His fingers trembled when he touched her face. She didn’t move. “Is she all right?”

  He glanced over his shoulder. Evelyn was standing by the door, hand over her mouth. “I don’t know. They moved her up here from the ER. They tell me she’s got to have more surgery.”

  “Surgery,” he said, under his breath. “For what?”

  “I don’t know. Do I look like a damn doctor?”

  He rose, his ears ringing and his vision tunneling. An alarm went off somewhere and the room was flooded with people in scrubs, shoving him aside yanking off the sheet that had been covering her. Evelyn had tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and was pressing her face against his shoulder. He put his arm around her and watched while the medical crew rolled Melody out, hollering about opening up an operating room, stat.

  The next two hours were a living hell—and one purely of his own making. He kept his fingers locked together and his head down, staring at the floor until his eyes crossed. Evelyn patted his shoulder in between bouts of pacing. At one point, he grabbed her arm. “You’re pregnant too?”

  She nodded and leaned into him. “Please tell me she’ll be all right.”

  “I wish I could,” he said, his voice breaking. “Why didn’t she…ever call me?”

  She leaned away from him, her eyebrows raised. “Dude, don’t even.”

  He sighed and resumed his study of the floor at his feet.

  “I’m willing to forgive you,” she said. “If you promise to never make me into a giant liar ever again.”

  He glanced at her, his fingers clasped so tight it hurt. “How did I manage that?”

  “You disappeared,” she said, bumping his shoulder. “I mean, I get it on one level. But on another, much more mature one, I would just as soon gouge out your fucking eyeballs as look at you right now. She was so fucking miserable. She hardly ate anything. She couldn’t keep anything down at all. Our OB had her on those gross liquid supplements like for old people or little kids.”

  “Jesus,” he muttered, pressing his forehead to his hands, willing himself back four weeks, or five, so he coul
d just go to her and hold her and take care of her…and their baby.

  Dear Lord. The baby.

  His vision blurred. He closed his eyes tight.

  “Why didn’t she…never mind.” He ground his teeth. “Just never fucking mind.”

  She leaned into his shoulder and they waited another hour before a doctor emerged from the double doors that cut the waiting room off from the operating rooms. “Mr. Hettinger?”

  He rose, gripping Evelyn’s hand. “Yes.” He couldn’t choke anything else out.

  “Well, we stopped the hemorrhage. It was a serious rupture.”

  Trent nodded, feeling as if he was moving in slow motion, staring at the doctor’s lips, willing him to say more. “She lost a lot of blood. It’s a good thing you found her when you did.”

  Evelyn grabbed his arm. “Will she be all right?”

  “Yes, but we’ll need to keep her in the ICU overnight at least. She has to be monitored to make sure her blood pressure doesn’t drop again. And we need to use warming blankets. Her body temperature keeps dropping for some reason. It’s precarious. But she will survive.” He glanced up at Trent. “I believe that her uterus will recover. So you can try again. But not until she’s regained a lot of strength. Losing that much blood is going to mean a lot of rest, and careful monitoring even after she goes home.”

  Trent felt his knees give out, but he kept control of himself, set his jaw and nodded at the doctor. “Can I see her, please?”

  “In a few minutes. A nurse will come get you.” He glanced at Evelyn. “One visitor at a time, though. Does Miss Rodriguez have a next of kin?”

  “Yes. Her mother should be here any minute.”

  Trent stepped away from them, rubbing his face, feeling as if an army of ants was crawling up and down his spine, parading over his skin. The doctor shot him a look, then was distracted by something on his phone. “I have to go. She’ll be in recovery a while longer. Once she’s in the unit, you can see her.”

  Trent paced for a solid twenty minutes until someone came out and got him. He approached her bed, wary, horrified at himself, battling every demon he’d ever faced to keep from running away and hiding in shame. But he sat in the chair, took her hand, kissed it and whispered in her ear. “I’m here, bella. I’m here and I’m never leaving you again.”