Not My Heart to Break (Merciless World Book 3)

by W. Winters

  “Seth,” I say and I almost ask him not to go tonight. I’m so close to blurting out that I need him to stay because I have to tell him something that’s been killing me.

  “Babygirl,” he says and his voice is so calming as he repositions me on the sofa so I’m no longer on his lap. The weight of his body rests on his knee that’s beside me and it makes the cushion tilt, bringing me into his body. “You don’t have to be worried. One more night and after that I’m telling Jase I want to ease out of it all.”

  “What?” My eyes widen with shock. “I didn’t ask you to do that.” I know who this man is and what his life is. You can’t leave the life. I’d never ask him to. “You can’t just—”

  “You didn’t have to,” he stresses and settles down next to me. “I can’t leave, you’re right… but I can back off. Sebastian is Carter’s right-hand man. They get it and with everything going on, it’s better anyway for me to lay low.”

  “What’s going on?” I ask him breathlessly, adrenaline picking up. I don’t like any of this. Nothing feels right.

  “Nothing you have to worry about,” he tells me as he leans his forehead against mine. “I promise.”

  “You make lots of promises,” I whisper with my eyes closed and my hands on his at my shoulders.

  “And I’m keeping every one of them. All you have to do is promise you’ll be here when I get back.”

  “I promise,” I answer wholeheartedly. It seems hollow in my chest though. Something’s wrong. I can feel it. As if I may not be here. My heart ticks and then thuds. “Seth,” I say and close my eyes, ready to tell him.

  “I mean it, Laura. I want to have stability. I can run the bar; I can be here more. I’ll be a good dad.”

  There’s so much hope in his voice and it’s more than soothing, it’s addictive. Just the idea of him holding our baby... I want to hear him say it again and again. My breath stills and I lean forward, capturing his lips with mine and surprising myself as much as him.

  He smiles when he whispers, “That’s my girl.”

  After telling me to go to bed, he says he loves me again. I love hearing it. For years I pretended he’d say it, and now I have it. I make sure the last thing he hears before he leaves is, “I love you too.”

  I can’t bring myself to get off the sofa, but the room has a chill. So I search for a throw, but Seth doesn’t have one. I decide I should hire movers tomorrow as I stare at the flowers on the coffee table that obstruct my view of the fire. The first batch I received are beautiful. The size of the bouquet is ridiculous. But damn are they beautiful. There’s a mix of white and pink flowers but what really makes it are the pale blue velvet leaves. I keep wanting to touch them. They’re soft and feminine and smell divine. They’re the only feminine touch in this place.

  I’m busy tallying a list in my head of everything to do tomorrow so I can square it away and make a new list for the baby when I drift off, my hand on my stomach.

  Sleep doesn’t last long though, because of my phone ringing. I leave it out in the kitchen so I can sleep easy and of course I’d fall asleep here, early in the morning to be woken up at 7:00 a.m. I hustle to the phone charging on the counter and nearly trip from my sleep-induced gracelessness.

  “Hello?” I answer it after taking a deep breath. It’s the hospital. No more waiting. It’s time to move forward.

  As she speaks, I keep my eyes closed. “Miss Roth, it’s Doctor Tabor?”

  “Yes, I remember,” I say and my voice is even and calm. “I apologize for leaving so abruptly. I—” Before I can spit out an excuse, she stops me.

  “This is not my first time, Miss Roth. I understand it can be a lot to take on. I do have to stress though, that decisions need to be made. You are very high on the list and without the transplant, I’m not sure you’d be able to successfully deliver.”

  “So I need a C-section?”

  “Yes, we can schedule one for eighteen weeks from now, but if a heart becomes available before then—”

  “Eighteen weeks? I’m sorry, but no.” I’m suddenly very awake. My hand on my belly, I start pacing and ask, “How could we deliver him so early?” I only catch that I say him after I’ve said it. The baby could be a her, but those semantics aren’t important right now. Eighteen weeks? My baby would die. “I can’t be more than a month along,” I stress, swallowing harshly and waiting for an answer in the silence.

  “You are far more than a month along, Miss Roth.” The doctor is so sure of herself and I find myself shaking my head, my eyes closed as I brace myself against the counter.

  “Due to the high levels of hormones, we estimate that you’re roughly twenty weeks pregnant given the results from your initial blood taken. We could have confirmed it with an ultrasound, but since you left, we were able to confirm with the additional blood drawn at your last visit. The hormones confirm it. Roughly twenty weeks pregnant. I do need that ultrasound though, Miss Roth.”

  “Twenty weeks,” I barely speak.

  “I assure you, at thirty-eight weeks pregnant, your baby will be healthy. What I need to know is what the protocol will be if a heart is available before then, and Miss Roth, I need to give you my professional opinion. You should accept the heart.”

  The memories come back in a rush, starting with the missed appointment. The phone call from Bethany about her sister. “I was on my way in, but a friend needed me.” That was months ago. Five months ago. I missed my birth control appointment five months ago. Next month I would have gotten the alert for the six-month shot. How could I have been so reckless?

  I feel faint. I’ve only been with Seth for a handful of weeks. Almost a month.

  “Twenty weeks?” I speak louder and again the doctor keeps talking. She doesn’t understand apparently that I can’t listen, I can’t even think straight, let alone comprehend what she’s saying. Twenty weeks is five months pregnant.

  Conception happened before Seth.

  Oh my God.

  The baby isn’t Seth’s.

  “I can’t breathe.”

  Easy to Fall

  Foreword

  Two words will help you cope when you run low on hope: accept and trust.

  Charles R. Swindoll

  Prologue

  Laura

  They say death feels like falling. You plummet down to the center of a large black hole, blind with nothing to touch. Only a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach and the rush of air around you makes you aware that the descent is happening. At first there’s a dip in your tummy. The same kind of dip that happens on the road when you drive as quickly as you can down a hill. Like you’re on a roller coaster. That same concoction of adrenaline and dread that forces you to either scream or smile in the face of what’s instinctively fearful. And then it’s gone and you’re simply falling. That’s what death feels like.

  It’s funny how similar that description is to falling in love, isn’t it? There’s no controlling it. You can keep your eyes open or you can close them. You can scream on your way down, or you can lift your chin and wait silently for what’s about to greet you on the other side. Your death or a kiss.

  Sometimes, it’s both.

  One or the other just takes a bit longer to happen, but you were falling all the while.

  I didn’t realize I was falling at the time, but now as I lay here, waiting for the end, I can pinpoint the exact moment when it happened years ago. I know the very moment I slipped and tumbled down.

  Hindsight is twenty-twenty and all that.

  I didn’t even get a kiss when I started falling. One look at Seth King and I was done for. I’ve fallen many times since then, all those little dips that made me both smile and scream. Always for Seth. I guess you could say I died for him many times. But this time… this time will be my last. I know it will.

  The difference between the two, love and death, is that you can come back from love. Death isn’t as forgiving.

  Laura

  Ten years earlier

  “You know y
ou can sit with them if you want,” Cami tells me in between bites of her apple. It’s just us on this side of the cafeteria table although at the other end on the opposite side, two freshmen girls are currently having a heated but hushed conversation. I guess they wanted privacy for their gossip and they’ve planted themselves on the very end of our table to get it. “You don’t have to sit with me when you’re dating Seth.”

  I shake my head in disagreement, my gaze moving from the brunette ponytail swishing behind one of the intruders at our table to Seth’s table. Of course it’s his. He owns it.

  He smiles when he sees me. It’s slow and charming, genuine too. The kind of smile where wrinkles form around his eyes when he does it. He’s so damn handsome, it’s not fair. How could I ever not want him? There’s simply no denying it. My whole heart wants to beat with his.

  That doesn’t mean we have to put a label on it. I know damn well that it will be the kiss of death if we do.

  And it sure as hell doesn’t mean I can’t sit with Cami anymore.

  “We aren’t dating,” I say, denying what Cami suggests, even as my heart goes pitter-patter in protest. It’s too warm in my chest, with too much commotion going on in there at the mere sight of Seth’s smile. My eyes are caught by his steely gaze. There’s a sense of tension and electricity between us. There’s no use fighting it anymore.

  “You’re one of them now,” she whispers, leaning closer to me for comedic effect with no trace of malice, only humor. And it works. I laugh, this ridiculously high-pitched laugh as my cheeks burn and I turn to her.

  My lips part to object as I reach forward and unscrew the cap on my iced tea, but Cami doesn’t give me a moment to form a rebuttal. “You hang out at the bar. You play pool with them. They walk with you on your way home.”

  “Not the whole way and not always,” I protest.

  She tilts her head and makes an expression like I’m being unreasonable denying it and maybe I am. In the last two months, I’ve spent every waking moment with Seth and his crew. And it feels like I belong there, like I was always supposed to be on that side of the room. It’s like they’re my new family. Not by blood but by choice. Cami is my family too, though. Nothing will change that. Ever. We will always be inseparable.

  “Semantics,” Cami argues and takes another bite of her apple. She doesn’t bother swallowing before telling me with a nudge of her shoulder, “You should sit with your boy toy.”

  “Boy toy freaked me out a little yesterday,” I say. I’m going off script, changing the subject and hiding behind huge news. I’m not sitting with Seth whether Cami’s here or not. It would make what we have more real. And if it’s real, it can be taken away from me. So my ass is staying put.

  “What?” Cami’s happy-go-lucky façade vanishes and she quickly glances behind me. “What happened?” she asks lowly, barely moving her lips as she keeps her eyes pinned to mine. I have to laugh, my shoulders shaking gently.

  “Nothing bad,” I start to tell her and my stomach does this weird flip that coincides with my heartbeat as I remember last night.

  “So I was doing our biology homework last night, you know how there’s that genetics question about kids? Like about what color eyes they’d have if both parents had blue eyes?”

  Cami’s in the middle of nodding and taking a sip of water when her eyes go wide, and she whips them to me. “Kids?” she questions, getting right to the point.

  Again, my stomach does something strange, almost like it’s cringing. Which is exactly what I feel like doing too.

  “He said we’d make cute babies,” I say and blush.

  “Oh. My. God. Seriously, go sit with him,” she says, brushing me off jokingly and then laughs. It takes her a half minute to completely change her tone. “You are not allowed to get pregnant in high school,” she reprimands me although there’s nothing but humor there. She knows how driven I am. Still… the thought, even if it was a quick one, of having a baby with Seth feels like the world shifting under my feet.

  “As if,” I half-heartedly joke and remember the next bit of the conversation. How Seth laughed, but it was a sad laugh, and then he told me he’d make an awful father.

  I bet whatever it is that makes him feel that way is because of his own father. I never knew the man, not really. I only knew of him. Instead of replying to Seth’s offhand remark, I simply kissed him. He told me, “You’re too good for me, you know that?” Which earned him a quiet laugh and another kiss from me.

  He’s wrong about that. He’s wrong about a lot of things, but one thing he’s right about is that we would make cute babies.

  Flip, tumble, I willingly fall all the way down…

  Laura

  Present day

  There’s this sick feeling I get in my gut sometimes. It happens when I know I’ve messed up or when I’m highly aware that someone’s going to be mad at me. My grandma told me once it’s something that people-pleasers get. It’s like this churning that’s too deep and low to be due to my stomach but still wants me to throw up. Ever since I got off the call with Doctor Tabor, I’ve had that nauseated feeling.

  I still have to go in for the ultrasound for more precise specifics, but the hormone levels in my blood are conclusive proof that this baby is farther along than a few weeks. She’s sure of it. Months. Months and months. Not weeks along like I originally thought.

  Suddenly, I’m even colder than I was just a moment ago and the blanket isn’t helping. I don’t cry. I won’t cry even if my breath skips and hitches.

  That revolting feeling churns again and I have to close my eyes. I haven’t cried yet but I want to. This baby isn’t Seth’s. Just the thought makes my throat constrict and bitter tears prick the back of my eyes. I’m physically not all right. Not in the least.

  Instead of giving in to the harsh need to let it all out in useless tears, I lean forward, picking up my cup of hot tea and take a sip. It’s caffeinated and part of me thinks I shouldn’t drink it because it means I’ll just be staying up that much later. The other part of me thinks I shouldn’t drink it because caffeine isn’t good for the baby. But it’s the only thing in this damn house that I can pretend will soothe me right now.

  And that’s all I’m doing. Pretending. Because nothing is all right. Not a damn thing. Rocking back and forth, my mind races and I try to work it all out in my head, but I can’t.

  I have an urgent need to get up and go to work. Not because I bury myself there when I want to run away… well, maybe partly that. But also because the answers I’ve been avoiding await me at work. I can reference the dates I went on by checking my old work schedules and I can make use of the equipment for pregnant patients.

  I need to know exactly how far along I am. Hate and resentment burn inside of me, knowing I’ve been running all this while. I’ve known for weeks that I was pregnant. Weeks! At the very least, I could have gone in at any point to make sure this baby was healthy. Instead, I was running from the truth and burying my head in the sand.

  Seth’s right, I do always run. I fucking hate myself right now.

  My hand splays across my stomach as I stare out the window, watching a late-night thunderstorm crack open the sky with an occasional bolt of lightning. I pretend this doesn’t hurt and that I’m not scared. And more than that, ashamed. Ashamed of being a horrible mother to this tiny life that hasn’t even been born yet.

  If it wasn’t so cold, I’d slip outside onto the porch and listen to the sounds of the rain beating down on the roof. It’s so soothing to hear. From in here, I can’t hear the rain, and I can barely see it at all once the lightning ceases.

  I haven’t felt a single kick. I’ve barely gained any weight at all. In fact, my jawline is tighter than in recent months and my stomach only looks a little bloated. If I’m really months along, I should be bigger. Even as the thought hits me, I strike it down. Women carry differently. Every pregnancy shows differently. I need answers. I need to take care of myself and this baby.

  Months. My chest puls
es with pain as another burst of lightning rips the sky open. Thunder comes many seconds later. All the while my eyes are closed.

  Months of drinking.

  Months of stress at work and late nights.

  Months of sex with various men. Only seven months ago I spent the night with one man and the very next night with another. Was I already pregnant then? Impossible. I can’t be seven months along. No, no, I can’t be that far along.

  I need to know how far along I am and I need to know right now. Because the one thought that’s been screaming in my head feels accurate. It feels right. The baby isn’t healthy. No kicks, no weight gain. Maybe my heart is failing my child.

  The tears prick again and this time one escapes and rolls down my cheek. I brush it away, pretending like it didn’t happen and stare out of the window into the dark sky, speckled with blurs of the pouring rain.

  I have work this week. Work will have answers. And I’ll schedule every appointment my doctor wants first thing tomorrow. I just need to make it through tonight. I’ll be a good mom, I silently promise my baby. I may fail everywhere else, but I promise I’ll be a good mom.

  More tears escape as I hold my stomach and I can no longer stop them.

  I don’t know how I’ll make it that long. I can’t take any more. From my heart, to Seth, to this pregnancy and jail. Jesus Christ! I can’t take any more! My heart spasms in my chest and I grip at my shirt, stifling the useless sobs of self-pity. I’ve taken all my medication; I’m doing everything I can, but I can feel myself breaking.