Between The Lines (Hot in the City Book 4)

by T Gephart

  “Okay.” She let out a long breath, her eyes flicking nervously to mine. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m pregnant. And it’s yours.”

  What.

  The.

  Actual.

  Fuck.

  “What?” I wheezed out, barely able to get the word out on account of it felt like I couldn’t breathe. “But we used condoms.”

  I didn’t imagine wrapping my dick before having sex, the habit one I had never broken before Tessa. And hold on a fucking minute, I hadn’t seen May in . . .

  “I’m twelve weeks, Justin. And yes, it’s yours. I know you probably don’t believe me, but other than you, I didn’t sleep with anyone else. But I’m prepared—and expect—to take a paternity test, so you won’t have to take my word for it. Guess the condom didn’t work because, here we are.”

  It felt like I was dying; my chest so tight it was possible I was having a heart attack. I’d been careful, how the hell could it happen? It couldn’t be happening, desperate for it to be some crazy weird nightmare I was going to wake up from.

  “Twelve weeks?” I was reduced to broken sentences, unable to process the information, speak, and breathe all at the same time. And if it was okay with everyone, I’d prefer to keep respirating. “Twelve weeks?” I repeated like a parrot.

  She nodded, the apology clear in her eyes. “I know, I know, I should’ve told you earlier, but I honestly didn’t know what I wanted to do. I mean, how the hell am I going to be someone’s mom? And I didn’t want you to pressure me into making a decision when I couldn’t make one myself. But, Justin, I’m keeping this baby. And you deserved to know.”

  It wasn’t happening.

  It just wasn’t.

  I’d assumed I’d have kids some day and since being with Tessa, that hypothetical point in the future had seemed a lot closer. Hell, I’d even tempted fate, the idea of knocking Tessa up something I’d probably welcome. But having a baby with a woman I barely knew and didn’t love hadn’t been part of the plan.

  “Okay,” I nodded, still not doing real well with finding the right words. “There’s a coffee shop around the corner. Let’s go there.”

  Clearly it wasn’t going to be a two-minute conversation, and considering we were out in the street where anyone could hear us, I wanted to manage the fallout as best I could.

  I had no fucking idea what was going to happen. But what I didn’t want was some asshole hearing half of it, and then running and telling Tessa. Whatever she heard would be the truth, and it would be from me. And only after I knew what the fuck was going on. Because even though May had made it clear she was twelve weeks pregnant with my kid, I was still grappling with it.

  “Sounds good,” she agreed, her feet moving in the direction of the corner. “All I want is to talk.”

  We walked in silence to the coffee shop not far from the stationhouse and it felt like someone had died. I guess in a way they had, because if what May was saying was true, my life as I knew it was done.

  I ordered myself a double shot espresso—because they didn’t serve vodka—and May wanted a herbal tea. Then with our drinks in our hand we found a quiet booth toward the back and took a seat.

  She was the first to speak. “I know this isn’t ideal, and you are probably freaking out. And the reason I know that is because that was exactly what I went through. I was terrified, I was angry, I was in denial—and so much more. But when I really thought about my choices, I just couldn’t face a termination. And I am fully prepared to have this baby on my own. I’m not trying to trick or trap you, or force you into something.”

  I held up my hand, not wanting to accuse her of anything. “May, I never said—”

  “You didn’t have to,” she shrugged, “it’s written all over your face, Justin. I know there are women who weaponize their uterus, but I’m not one of them.” Her hand dropped to her stomach, the bump still MIA. “I want this baby, Justin. And as unplanned and messed up as this situation is, I refuse to think of any child of mine as a mistake.”

  She was surprisingly calm and well-adjusted, but then she’d been given weeks to digest all the information and I’d had it dropped in my lap like a grenade a few minutes before.

  “You’re right.” I prayed the next words I said were decent and didn’t make me sound like a complete asshole. “And you’re wrong, May. It isn’t the baby’s fault. And whether the condom failed, or we fucked up, I don’t want him or her growing up with that kind of emotional baggage. But you also can’t tell me that you’re having my kid and that you’re just going to do it solo. Firstly, you didn’t get knocked up on your own, that was a two-person activity. I also can’t pretend I don’t have a child and just go on with my life.”

  Even though my lungs were struggling to inflate and function as normal—and my instinct was to run—it was unfathomable I would abandon my son or daughter.

  My dad had been amazing, the best a kid could ever ask for. And I’d become the man I was today because of him, helped along by the chief. So the idea that I could say fuck it, and walk away without giving my kid a similar chance, honestly made me want to throw up. How would I ever look at myself in the mirror?

  Nope, wasn’t happening.

  So, while I had no idea how it was all going to work, or what I needed to do, there was one thing that was certain. If the paternity test—because as much as I wanted to trust her, I needed the proof—came back, and I was the dad, I was going to be a part of that baby’s life.

  “What are you saying?” May asked, stirring her tea as she looked at me cautiously. “I think it’s probably best for both of us if we say exactly what we mean. I don’t have time for games, and I know you don’t either.”

  I took a breath, the air pushing past my lips in a rush. “I mean I’m going to be there, May. Financially, emotionally and physically. I’m not going to let my kid grow up without a dad.”

  My kid.

  Dad.

  The words sounded so foreign coming out of my mouth I wasn’t even sure I’d been the one to say them.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  “You’re freaking out again.” May pointed to my face.

  I nodded, figuring there was no point lying. “Yeah, I am. But I’m going to get my shit together so you don’t need to worry. I just need a little time.”

  She lifted the cup to her lips, blowing across the surface of the drink before taking a slow sip. “Well you’ve got roughly six months. You’ve got time.”

  Funny, hearing that didn’t give me any reassurance.

  I was so fucked.

  Tessa

  WHEN I WOKE to an empty bed, I assumed it was still early. My head was still cloudy and sleep was a little erratic, so it wasn’t unusual for me to wake at varying times of the night and day.

  But when I got up and went to the bathroom, I noticed the light pooling in from the gap in my drapes, my phone confirming it was well past nine.

  Huh, I guess Tibbs got caught up.

  While he usually finished around seven, he might have headed to his place before coming to mine. Traffic across town wasn’t exactly favorable any time after seven, and there was always the possibility he’d decided to have breakfast first. He hadn’t been at the station in over a week and had probably decided to catch up with Leighton or North. Or maybe he figured I’d probably sleep in since I knew he had a key so was running a few errands before coming over. In any case, it wasn’t like he’d gone missing, and an hour or two late when we’d had no real plans was nothing to get excited about.

  Debating whether I should crawl back into bed and wait for him, I decided to go shower first. I figured it would not only help pass the time, but if he came home while I was still in there, he could join me for shower sex. I was glad he seemed to have lost the earlier concerns he’d had. And while he seemed worried about the headaches I still couldn’t shake, he was letting me take the lead on my own recovery.

  I’d showered, dried my hair, changed the sheets
and had coffee by the time I started to be concerned. All the earlier possibilities were still valid, but I’d have thought he’d have at least called me. It was when I picked up my phone ready to text him that I saw that I had an unread message.

  Something came up.

  Going to have to take a raincheck.

  I love you,

  Tibbs x

  Something came up?

  What the hell could have come up that he couldn’t just say what it was?

  No, hey, babe, I got a blow-out and need to go get a new tire.

  Or Leighton needed me to move furniture and it’s going to be a few hours.

  Or even, I didn’t realize how exhausting my first day back was going to be, and I just want to sleep by myself.

  I’d have been good with all of those excuses. Would’ve happily told him to do whatever he needed to do, and I’d be waiting when he was done. And why the hell did he need a raincheck? Was he going to be busy the whole day? Something just didn’t add up. It wasn’t like Tibbs to blow me off, especially when things had been so good between us.

  I’d even given him a key—

  Shit.

  The key.

  Maybe because I’d given him a key to my apartment that he thought he had to give me one to his. Or maybe he felt pressured, thinking the key symbolized something else, and I was trying to muscle him into something he wasn’t ready for. And while I had no hesitation or doubts on where we were headed—even hoping that sometime in the near future we might even move in together—I wasn’t in any rush. Funny, I’d assumed he’d felt that way too.

  “Okay, do NOT freak out,” I told myself as I wandered around my apartment. “We have no idea if he thinks any of that, and if he was feeling pressured or overwhelmed surely he would have just told me.”

  Great, now I was talking to myself and acting like a lunatic.

  My stomach churned with unease as I reread his message again. He’d said he loved me, something he surely wouldn’t say if he was having second thoughts. Unless he was trying to give me the gentle brush off, placating me without raising too much suspicion. Thoughts and scenarios swirled in my mind, and most of them weren’t great, mentally already building a case for a crime that hadn’t been committed.

  Sometimes I honestly hated being a cop, wishing I could shut down that part of my brain and live in blissful ignorance like other people. But noooooooo, not only was I seriously contemplating mapping it all out on a dry easel like Detective Rockefeller did with a case, but I was also turning into one of those hysterical girlfriends we saw in the precinct. You know the kind, all doe-eyed and sweet looking, but slashed all four tires and then took a Louisville slugger to the front end of a car because they suspected their boyfriend was cheating. I promised myself I’d never be one of those women, yet there I was, spinning out of control.

  Disregarding the text—which told me nothing—I hit the call button instead and was promptly sent to voicemail. Which meant either his phone was turned off or he was avoiding me, my hand gripping the phone tighter as I waited for the obligatory “I’m busy, leave a message,” bullshit that was prerecorded.

  “Hey, it’s me.” I breathed out, trying to not think the worst. “Look, I know you said something came up—which is cool—but the text just didn’t sound like you. So if you could call me back and let me know you’re okay, that would be great. We don’t have to hang out if you’re busy or . . .” I paused, hesitating before adding, “or if you don’t want to. It’s fine. But call me so I don’t think you’ve been kidnapped and some asshole is sending fake messages so we can’t pinpoint the time of your disappearance. I will hate myself forever if you’re lying in a ditch somewhere. Okay. I love you. Bye.”

  It was a terrible message, and not half of what I wanted to say. And if I could be sure the next one I recorded would be an improvement, I’d have deleted it. But hopefully he’d call me soon and we’d just be able to talk. We could laugh about how stupid I was for being paranoid, and how he absolutely wasn’t freaking out about the key. Then he’d come over after whatever he had to do and we’d spend the night together. After all, it’s not like I was headed back to work in the next few days, and he was off for forty-eight hours.

  So I waited.

  And waited.

  Annnnnnnnnnnnd waited.

  But after two hours with zero response, I was beyond sitting around and pretending like I wasn’t worried. While I hadn’t left any more messages, I had attempted to call his phone a couple—fine, six—times and every single one went straight to voicemail. It didn’t even ring, which suggested his phone was off rather than him deliberately avoiding me. But that didn’t give me much comfort, which was why I got into my car and drove to Manhattan.

  Technically I wasn’t supposed to get behind the wheel. I still had some blurry vision and spontaneous headaches, which was the reason I’d yet to be cleared to go back to work. But it was the middle of the afternoon and I’d be careful, and I was starting to reach a level of concern that made me uncomfortable. I just had to know he was fine. Willing to postpone my wrath for making me worry like an idiot for later, if everything checked out.

  I didn’t even have my stereo on, letting my phone connect to the in-car system so if he called or texted, I’d be able to answer it immediately. But he didn’t, my arrival at his Midtown apartment happening with zero communication.

  Finding parking in the lot at the rear of his building, I walked back around to the main doors and buzzed. There was no answer, just like the other three times I pressed the damn thing.

  Where the hell was he?

  His Impala hadn’t been parked in the usual spot, but it was fucking Manhattan and even resident parking had a tendency to be sketchy. Maybe whatever it was that had kept him had happened at work? My feet already walking the short distance to the stationhouse before I could change my mind.

  “Ricci!” James—one of the other guys who worked alternating shifts—greeted me at the door. “How’s the head? When are they going to let you go back? We saw Miller the other day and the dude looked like someone kicked his puppy. Safe to say, you’re missed.”

  “Hi, James.” I tried to sound normal, considering we were supposed to be having a normal conversation. If someone could tell that to my adrenal glands that would be great too. “Yeah, I’m still on medical leave. I’m fine, but you know what doctors are like. Got to be sure.” I rolled my eyes, pretending to look annoyed. “Hey, any chance Tibbs is still around? I got a weird message from him earlier. Like weirder than usual,” I clarified, since Tibbs and weird weren’t exactly mutually exclusive.

  James laughed. “Nah, he left hours ago. He was talking to some girl at the front last time I saw, but I had to get to the briefing before Cap chewed me a new one, so I didn’t see much after that.”

  “Some girl? His sister, Presley?” I asked hopefully, refusing to accept the clichéd overreaction that he was cheating.

  “Ricci, come on, we all know what Presley looks like. Leighton is one lucky bastard.” His lips spread into a grin. “This was someone else. Haven’t seen her around so can’t say I know who she was.”

  “Okay, okay,” I nodded, remembering I was a cop and jumping to conclusions wasn’t helpful. “Blond? Brunette? Estimation of height and weight?”

  James shrugged, scratching his chin. “Blond, about five-four, five-five? Maybe one hundred and fifty? She was wearing a running suit so I didn’t get a really good look. She wasn’t smiling if that helps.”

  Not really, but it was more than I’d had an hour ago. “And Tibbs? Anything about the conversation that looked unusual? Did he seem upset? Or agitated?”

  “Jesus, Ricci, you launching an investigation?” James laughed. “He seemed . . .” He paused, hopefully trying to recall. “Normal, I guess. There wasn’t any hostility or anything. And before you ask—because I know you two are dating—they weren’t kissing, or hugging, or anything like that. They were just talking.”

  The relief I felt he wasn’t kis
sing or hugging some random girl was instant, the tension in my shoulders easing as I took the information and decided what to do with it. “Thanks, James. I appreciate it. Any chance I can grab Leighton’s number before I go? I know I’m probably being over cautious, but Tibbs isn’t answering his phone. Hard to turn off being a cop.”

  He nodded, giving me a sympathetic smile. “Oh, I get it. I’m the same way. Can’t go to a family BBQ without checking the connections on the gas tank and making sure everyone is the required distance away from the flame. And yeah, I can give you Leighton’s number. Let me just grab my phone.”

  James went back inside, returning with his cell and the number I needed. Then after thanking him and promising they’d be seeing me in uniform soon, I walked around the corner to a nearby coffee shop and called Leighton.

  “Hello,” Leighton answered as I swallowed a silent thank you I didn’t have to leave another awkward message.

  “Hey, Leighton, it’s Ricci. I got your number from James, I hope you don’t mind,” I explained trying to not sound like a bumbling moron.

  “Ricci! Of course I don’t mind, but you probably could’ve just asked Tibbs instead of James. How’s the head?”

  “The head is fine,” I lied, already sick of talking about my recovery. “And Tibbs is the reason I’m calling.” I took a deep breath, reassuring myself that I wasn’t behaving like a jealous bitch.

  The message was odd, and it would have given me pause if it had been any one of my friends. Hell, if it had been Miller, I’d have done exactly the same thing. The fact that it was Tibbs—and I was more emotionally invested—didn’t mean I wasn’t right to be concerned.

  “He was supposed to meet me, but he canceled with a weird text. And I know he’s going to have a field day with this later, but I checked his apartment, and work, and he isn’t at either of those places. His phone keeps going to voicemail as well. He was also last seen talking to a blond, around five-four, five-five that weighs approximately one hundred and fifty pounds just outside your stationhouse.”