by Stacey Lynn
“I’m going to be a dad.” I don’t know what look I give her, but her jaw drops and a soft laughing sound comes from her.
“You’re just now realizing this?”
No. I’m not an idiot. I’ve known this since she told me. But there’s something about the reality. Our ultrasound coming, names. The swell of her belly. God…how did I not realize there was actually a person in there before this?
“I think reality is just starting to hit me.” Fucking hell, I sound like a pussy, but damn it, I’ve been talking about honesty, and was pissed last night that she’d held out on me. I can’t give her that now. I won’t.
“I think…” I say, lifting my eyes to see hers, beautiful blues crinkled at the edges. She’s still laughing at me and rolls her lips together. “I don’t think I’m ready.”
Her lips part and she breaks out into a wide smile. “Oh, thank goodness!” She laughs again and yanks me to her, throwing her arms around my shoulders. “I’m so glad to hear this!”
I rub my head against her shoulder, pressing my lips to her neck. “What?”
“You always seem so confident. I’m always so terrified I’m going to screw something up. You think I’m ready for this?”
No. It’s the beauty of it. Neither of us is ready, yet somehow we’re making it work. Not just making it work, but we’re doing it together.
“We can do this, right?”
She slides her hand to my cheek, lifting my face so our gazes meet. “Yeah. I think we can. Together, right?” A question dances in her eyes along with her words, but God. Yes.
“I want us together.” It’s not even about the baby. But I put the force of my conviction into my statement, into my expression, so she can see everything, every way I feel about her, to leave no doubt.
She drags her teeth across her bottom lip and her fingertips skim across my cheek, down to my jaw. Her touch is feather light and heavy all at once. “Me too.”
Thank fuck.
I have to get to work, and as much as I don’t want to bring up another argument, it still needs to be said.
“After dinner tonight, I want you to call me. Immediately.”
Her expression dips, like she’s forgotten about it. “I’m serious, Cara, I won’t be there to hear the shit they pull, but I want to be there for you after. Promise me.”
“Of course. Nothing bad will happen. They’ll either accept this, or they’ll insult me and I leave. I promise.”
There’s nothing but honesty and determination in her eyes. I bend down and brush my lips against hers, grabbing her hips, and help her off the counter, not letting go until I’ve gotten my fill of her and she’s steady on her feet.
I don’t want to let her go. I don’t want to throw her to the wolves without someone at her back.
But she needs this.
And I really am late for work.
“I gotta go,” I groan, pulling back from her.
“I know. I’ll be okay. I promise. I’ll see you back at home when I’m done, okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, unable to stop smiling like a goof. I don’t think she realizes she called my place home. “I’ll see you back at home.”
I kiss her again and leave, tossing her a grin over my shoulder when she stands in the doorway, shoulder propped up against the doorframe while I wait for the elevator. Her hair is still messy from sleep and sex, the T-shirt plenty long enough to cover all the important parts of her.
And I want this. Her. Standing right where she is, every morning, waving me off to work.
Damn. When did I become so traditional?
* * *
—
“What is your problem?” Stella snaps, slapping down a stack of folders. “You’re being a dick.”
“I’m not a dick.” I’m not, I’m on edge, knowing any moment Cara is going to get into the Uber I called for her to take her to her parents’ house.
Her night from hell without me is about to begin. I hope I’m being overdramatic, that everything will be fine, but I doubt it. There’s no way her parents are going to accept me being the father of Cara’s baby, or her baby.
They give too many fucks about perfection.
“You’ve been an ass all day and Tim doesn’t look that thrilled with you.”
“My work ethic is fine.” Tim and I are taking a ten-minute smoke and bathroom break. I needed the time to stretch my hands as much as he did his muscles. We’ve got at least another hour to go before we reach a stopping point. Hopefully by then, Cara will be on her way to me. “And Tim is fine too. Just leave it, Stella.”
“Talk to me.”
She crosses her arms, taps her Doc Marten boot on the tiled floor, and glares at me.
“God, you’re a pain in the ass.” I toss a pen across my desk and sit back in my chair. “Cara’s having dinner with her parents and I’m concerned it won’t go well, that’s all.”
“Why won’t it go well? Too afraid Cinderella is going to discover she belongs in a castle and not a parlor?”
“The hell? What’s your problem?” Stella’s rough around the edges. Her life was just as tough as mine, but she’s never been an outright bitch like this. Not to me.
“Nothing.” She shrugs, but her sneer stays firmly fixed in place. My hands curl into fists and my sudden burst of protectiveness toward Cara over Stella stuns me. “I just think before you get with this girl, you should really think about it. Not like you two really belong together. She’s too preppy. You’re too normal.”
“Wow. Get the hell out of my office.”
I can’t believe she’s talking to me like this.
“I’m just sayin’—”
“I don’t want to hear what you’re saying, Stella. She’s living with me. She’s having my baby. We are together and frankly, we’re good that way.”
“You can’t really think, though—”
“I don’t think it.” I shove my fists into the desk and stand, bending over it so Stella can’t miss a second of my seriousness. “I fucking know it, Stella. She’s it for me and I won’t tolerate you being a bitch to her or saying shit like this to me. You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am on your side.” Her hands fly to her hips. “I am on your side and that’s why I’m worried.”
“Nothing to worry about.” The timer dings on my phone, telling me my ten-minute break is up, but hell if I’m in the mood to finish now. Anger and confusion with Stella are pumping blood through my veins at dangerous, heart attack levels. “Take a break. Get out of here. Go get us something to eat, wherever you want, but don’t come back to work tonight until you’ve gotten rid of your attitude.”
“My attitude?”
“Go, Stella.” I shove off the desk and reach the door to my office, stepping around her. She’s more like a sister to me than an employee. I’ve known her more than half my damn life. “If you can’t be happy for me, happy I’ve finally got all the shit in my life going right, shit you know I’ve wanted for over a decade, then maybe you shouldn’t come back at all.”
“You can’t mean that.”
I’m not even sure if I do. I fucking love Stella.
You love Cara too.
I do love her, and I’m willing to take out anyone who can’t see past our differences to realize how good we can be together.
“I do, Stella.”
I head down the hall, back to the main area where I’ve been working on Tim’s tattoo, taking my time pulling on new latex gloves and realigning my supplies on the tray before I turn back to him.
The buzz and concentration of the needles will wash away the epic disaster that just occurred.
Chapter 24
Cara
I haven’t been to my parents’ house since the day I packed u
p my meager belongings and moved out. Their visit to my apartment wasn’t just a surprise, it was the first time they’d ever come there. I wasn’t entirely sure they knew my address.
Last night’s argument with Braxton still weighs heavily on my mind as I sit in the back of the SUV Braxton had called for me, texting me to let me know when it would arrive outside his building. I don’t want to fight with him, although I definitely enjoy the way we made up.
Plus, I essentially admitted to him that I love him. And then I went and called his place home.
I hadn’t realized I said it until he left the apartment, it took me a few minutes to understand why his smile had gone so wonky and happy before he left. Once I replayed the conversation in my head, I realized it was true.
His penthouse condo is more of a home than any I’ve ever had before. He’s the most family I’ve had outside of Jimmy and Jenna. But Jimmy is gone and Jenna is married, ridiculously planning to start a family based on my delivery schedule, and I know two things for certain, as the SUV pulls into my parents’ drive and their early-1900s home looms in front of me.
One, Jimmy would be so happy for me, if he could see how happy I currently am.
And two, I am absolutely in love with Braxton Henley and I can’t imagine anyone else I would want to have a family with. He’s all hard edges and scowls on the surface, but beneath the ripped muscles and brightly colored ink, he has the largest heart of anyone I’ve ever met.
Based on the way he looks at me, the things he’s said to me, I have no doubt he’s falling in love with me too.
I will treasure every single part you give me, Cara, you have my word.
I close my eyes and breathe out a slow, confidence-gathering breath as I remember his promise to me earlier. Knowing he’s thinking of me and worrying about me right now fills me with everything I need for the night ahead.
Regardless of how my dinner goes with my parents, everything will be fine.
It’s this assurance that has me opening the door of the SUV and thanking my driver. I don’t need my parents’ permission or their blessing. As much as I’d love for us to have a good relationship, one based on love and compassion and support, I’m twenty-four years old and I’ve finally realized if they can’t give that to me, then I don’t need it or their negativity in my life.
Stepping out of the SUV, I brush down the sides of the long, flowing dress I chose. It’s bright blue, covered with large tropical flowers. It’s one of the maternity dresses I bought when Braxton and I went shopping: it has thick shoulder straps that come down, showing off my lovely new cleavage from my rapidly swelling breasts. There’s a thick band just below them and then the material poufs out of my belly. It makes me look larger than I actually am. I chose to wear it tonight for that reason. I will not hide anything from them. Now that my morning sickness is less of an all-day dramatic affair and a lingering sensation I can manage with small meals and frequent snacks, I’m actually beginning to like the changes pregnancy is making to my body.
My breasts are larger than ever and the small swell of my stomach makes me smile when I stand in front of a mirror after my shower.
I’m growing a tiny little human inside of me, and perhaps it’s as this reality becomes more clear, I realize that this life inside of me is depending on me to teach him or her how to grow up, to be a decent and kind and loving person. Whether it’s a girl or a boy doesn’t matter to me. Squirt belongs to Braxton and me and no one else’s opinion matters.
Great. Even I’m using the ridiculous nickname.
Smiling, I head up the walk to my parents’ home and open the door, not bothering to ring the bell or knock. As soon as I enter, I’m assaulted by the aroma of dinner. Garlic and bread and a host of other scents that actually make my stomach rumble. I also have no doubt my mom didn’t prepare a single item of the dinner. She’s most likely had it either catered in, or had someone prepare it here, but it doesn’t matter. For all her faults, she’s the master at choosing dinners.
What makes me pause as I remove my jacket and set down my purse, however, isn’t the lack of greeting at the door, or the delicious food sure to be coming my way, it’s the laughter coming from the back room and quiet hum of music, the muffled murmur of voices that tells me it’s not solely dinner with my parents.
Great. I get to be talked down to in front of guests, which means their barbs will be more passive-aggressive than usual.
“Hello?” I call out, giving a quick peek into the library and then a formal sitting room as I head down the hall, past the main staircase. My heels click politely on the original wood floors, polished to a sparkling shine. “Mom? Dad?”
There’s no response, so I continue until I’ve reached the kitchen and turn the corner. I take in the sight in front of me, barely holding back a laugh at the ridiculousness of the scene.
Of course this is why they didn’t want Braxton to come.
The Shermans are here. Miles and my father are dressed in suits and perfectly smoothed ties as if they haven’t been wearing them all day at the office. My mom and Darla Sherman—best frenemies who are only polite to each other because they have to be—are both dressed in black gowns, as if this is a formal affair, or they’re headed to some sort of gala after this. Perhaps a funeral.
Possibly my mother’s, because I’m definitely feeling some murderous tendencies as I take in who else is here.
Graham. My age. Handsome. A complete goofball who’s recently finished law school.
He’s at the fireplace, elbow up on the mantel, glaring at what I know is a whiskey sour because it’s the only thing he’s drunk since we turned twenty-one. Currently, he’s staring at it like it’s much too sour and he wants to crush the offensive glass in his fist.
From my spot at the corner, still unnoticed, I can smell the stench of a setup that is never going to happen. Graham, while a decent friend of mine, is his father’s puppet and will do everything his family says, but Jimmy and I are two of the few people who’ve known since we were all sixteen that Graham is gay.
I’d bust a gut laughing if this wasn’t so pathetic. All my anger and nerves dissipate, and suddenly, I’m very much looking forward to the evening ahead.
Let the games begin.
“Hello,” I state again, since my earlier greeting went unheard, and step into the room.
My mother is the first to turn, quickly followed by Darla. Both of the women’s eyes do a quick dip to my protruding abdomen. Where my mother flinches away, Darla’s light blue eyes lighten with excitement.
I rest my hand on my stomach and walk toward the parents who are fanning out in a semicircle, while Graham hangs back. My arrival is apparently something to be celebrated.
Perhaps to them, it is, especially if they think I don’t see exactly what’s going on here.
“Good evening, Cara,” my father says, leaning in and giving me a peck on the cheek. His cologne is the same he’s worn since I was born, and I remember at one time, as a young girl, I’d crawl into his lap just to smell him. Occasionally, I would sneak his ties into bed with me, using them like a blanket and running the silk through my fingers and pressing it to my nose to fall asleep.
Odd, how he used to be my hero and now I know he’s all plastic and perception.
“Father,” I greet politely and step back, shaking hands with Miles Sherman and saying hello.
Darla greets me next, hands at my shoulders, and air-kisses both of my cheeks. I actually like Darla. She’s the nicest of my parents’ friends, rather normal. Probably why my mother despises her. “Hi, Mrs. Sherman. How are you?”
“I’m well.” She grins down at my stomach. I doubt she’s happy to see me, but more thrilled at the prospect of my unborn child being her grandbaby. “How are you? How are you feeling?”
I smile up at her, happily. “I’ve never
been better.”
With little pretense, I glare at my mother, not bothering to touch her. If I’m correct, this is all her doing in the first place. “Mother.”
“You’re late and dinner might be getting cold. We should start our meal.”
I’m five minutes early and I have no doubt that the caterers are hiding off our formal dining room, ready to serve piping hot and delicious entrees.
“Actually, Cara and I will not be joining the rest of you for dinner tonight.” Graham says, walking up to me and giving me a hug. “I’m so damn sorry,” he whispers in my ear before pulling back.
“What?” My eyes widen and I jolt, but am unable to move out of his hold. He adjusts me to his side and winks at me before looking at my parents.
“Excuse me,” my mother says. “Dinner is ready.”
Graham glances at a watch that isn’t on his wrist. “So is our reservation. I believe for what you are all planning, Cara and I should have our conversation privately.”
“Graham—” Darla says, but she’s cut off by my father.
“That makes sense,” he says. “Yes, that sounds like an excellent plan. You two go out and get reacquainted. You can join us back here for drinks later.”
He raises his highball glass in a toasting gesture.
It takes everything I have not to snap at him. Instead, I take comfort in Graham’s still firm embrace.
This whole conniving extravaganza has well exceeded the line of never gonna happen, but at least dinner will no longer suck.
* * *
—
“So,” Graham says to me as soon as we’re seated at Le Chat Noir, a French restaurant I absolutely adore, “you want to explain to me why I was called to the house tonight or”—his eyes drop to my stomach, hidden beneath the table, but his point is obvious—“or do I need to guess?”
I reach for the glass of sparkling water with one hand while the other rests on my stomach. “I believe we’ve been set up.”
I grin, but it’s solemn, and I’m not sure what Graham’s been told, but other than being a goofball and willing to play his father’s game to become partner by thirty, something Miles has always wanted for his son, he’s a good guy.