I fight the urge to check the new message. My stomach churns, and I clench my fists, willing myself to stay strong. My phone buzzes again, and all my strength is gone. I want words I’ll never hear from him, but it doesn’t seem to stop me from looking for them.
I’m leaving for New York at the end of next week. Can I see you before I go?
I drop to the floor, wishing I could throw my phone, wishing I had words and that backbone of steel I need when it comes to Griffin. But I don’t. I want to see him so badly. My heart aches, my body aches. Even my soul aches. I miss him so much. “Nev!” I yell. “I need you!”
My sister has never been the most reliable person. She can’t hold a job or a boyfriend for more than a few months, and she always plays it off like she doesn’t give a shit, but she does. She’s broken, and I don’t know why. But now, when I’m falling apart, she steps up in a way she never has before.
The patter of her feet down the hall is soothing. I know she’ll save me from myself. I stare at the words on the screen, but I don’t make a move to respond. Instead, when Nev appears at the door, I hold out the phone. “He wants to see me before he goes.”
“Motherfucker.” She snatches the phone from my hand. “What do you want?”
“I need him to stop. It hurts too much. Why won’t he let me go?” My heart feels like it’s turned to sawdust in my chest. My emotions are raw, and I can’t even take a full breath. I wonder if this is what dying feels like.
Nev drops into a crouch and wraps her arms around me. “Don’t worry, Cosy, I’ll take care of it.”
She presses her lips against my crown like a mother would do to a sick child then stalks out of my room. I hear the door slam a few seconds later, cutting off Nev’s greeting, which starts with, “Fuck you, you fucker.”
I war with the desire to hear his voice and the self-preservation instinct to avoid him. A few minutes later, Nev drops down beside me and folds me in her arms. “He’s sorry and he won’t call again.”
I should be relieved, but all I feel is desolate and lost.
* * *
“This is going to be so awesome for you. Especially since you’ve already handed in the V-Card, so now you can screw for fun and you don’t need to deal with emotional attachment and all that bullshit,” Nev says as she puffs on her e-cigarette. Today it smells like watermelon.
“Not helpful, but thanks.”
She gives my shoulder a squeeze. “I know it’s hard, but this is good. You can get away from all the reminders. I’ll hold down your job at STW while you’re gone and make sure your apartment is taken care of.”
“Try to vacuum once a week.”
“Will do. This is good, Cosy. You’re doing all the right things,” she assures me.
Aside from the watermelon vape scent, I’m glad my sister came on the over five-hour drive all the way to the port in Long Beach; otherwise, it would’ve been a sucky trip on my own. I pull into the parking lot and find a spot. The ship is massive, bigger than anything I’ve ever seen before. It’s quite literally a floating hotel. And I’m going to spend the next six weeks on it, devoid of all contact with the outside world apart from the stops at port.
“When will it feel less like I’m dying?”
Nev fingers my braid and won’t look me in the eye. This is the moment I know my heart is broken beyond repair. Nev always has a snappy comeback.
“I don’t know.”
“What happened to you?” It’s a loaded question to drop before I leave for six weeks, but my sister is the kind of person to usher you out the door and tell you she has a bounty on her head thanks to the mob—true or not, it’s some freaky shit.
“I fell in love with someone who couldn’t ever love me back. Don’t be stupid like me, Cosy. Take this time away to get over him and move on. There’s someone better out there for you.”
“What if there isn’t?”
“There has to be. You’re too good not to be loved.”
“So are you.”
She smiles sadly and unclips her seat belt. “Come on, let’s get your new adventure started.”
I miss her already.
And I miss Griffin even more.
Chapter Nineteen: Company Meet Misery
Griffin
My cousin slides another glass in front of me. It’s only noon, but he just got into town. I picked him up from the airport so I could fill him in on my shitty life. “You’re a fucking mess, Griff.”
“I was in love with her. I’m in love with her.”
“With her perky tits and tight p—” He doesn’t even have time to finish the sentence and I already have him by the collar. He looks a lot like my brother Lex, so he also looks a little like me, but with more intense features, dark hair, vibrant blue eyes, and he’s built like a professional athlete. “Simmer down, dickbag. That was a test. I’d like to not get kicked out of this bar.”
I release him and placate the bartender with a hundred-dollar bill. Cosy would be appalled. I miss her so much, I want to burn down the world.
If we were the only two people left on the planet, she wouldn’t have a choice but to deal with me.
Lincoln’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder, and his expression is pained. “I’m so sorry, Griff. I didn’t realize how serious it was. Is.”
I run a hand down my face. “Was. It’s done. She’s done with me.”
“You’re sure the dates line up?”
He’s referring to how far along Imogen is. “I’ve gone over the numbers. Everything makes sense. She got pregnant during the two weeks I was back in NYC, but I’ll have a paternity test done once the baby’s born to be sure.”
“Can’t you have it done now?”
“Yeah, but it’s invasive and not the best for the baby. Imogen’s had a pretty high-risk pregnancy, and too much stress isn’t good for her or the baby, so I have to wait it out.”
“Please tell me you’re not getting back together with her.”
“She thinks we are. She keeps reminding me that I’ll only get fifty percent custody at best if we’re not together, and my work schedule won’t win me any points in court.”
Lincoln spins his glass on the bar top. “I know this is a shit situation, but as someone who came from a family with parents who hate each other, I’m going to say the last thing you want to do is raise a kid in a house like that. My brother is a good example of how wrong that setup can go.”
“Armstrong is a sociopathic douche.”
“Agreed. And while I was in boarding school, not being exposed to my parents’ hate-fest, he was marinating in the crap. Don’t put this kid through that.”
“I don’t think Imogen is going to make any of this easy.” She stayed in Vegas and came home with me. After Nev chewed me out and told me to stop contacting Cosy, I felt the best plan was to leave Las Vegas, otherwise there was no way I could honor that request. Cosy asked me to do the right thing, and I needed to attempt to follow through.
It wasn’t easy though, especially not when Imogen decided she should move back into my penthouse while I was at work. When I asked her what the hell she thought she was doing, she informed me that if we were going to make this work, we should be living together. I told her there was a unit on the twentieth floor she could stay in and that was plenty close enough.
She’s found a reason to be at my place every day since we’ve been back in New York. She’s been waiting in the lobby since she doesn’t have a key, and she constantly has something to share with me—a baby magazine, or an article citing the importance of the family unit. And of course, there’s the insanely important task of decorating the nursery. Currently there are fifty paint swatches taped to the wall of my spare bedroom. I know what she’s doing. Imogen is inserting herself back into my life in the only way she can. I want to support her, but I resent her for putting yet another hole in my heart.
“You need to worry about the kid now, no one else.”
“Yeah. I know.”
I wish I could
stop thinking about Cosy. I wish I were young and shit didn’t matter. More than that, I wish I had her back.
But I promised her I’d try, so I will, even if it tears me apart inside. The bartender brings our lunches out. My appetite has been for shit, and I attribute it to the lack of Cosy.
I ordered a burger with extra onions and onion rings because I miss her. It’s pathetic, not to mention stupid, since onions and I have a love-hate relationship. The hate side coming from the aftermath of eating them.
I’m two bites in when my screen lights up with a call from Imogen. They happen all the time now; basically every hour there’s either a text about a new baby something or other she wants me to look at, or her ankles are swollen, or she’s hungry and craving a vegan burrito from a place across town. I consider ignoring it, but I know she’ll keep calling until I answer.
“I gotta get this.”
“You sound like you’re marching to your execution, Griff, not answering a phone call,” Lincoln observes.
“Pretty much the same where Imogen is concerned.” I answer the call. “Hello, Imogen.”
She hiccups into the phone.
“What’s wrong now?” Two days ago, she called me in tears over the lack of ice cream in her freezer, and then she cried later about how fat she’s getting.
“I’m in urgent care.”
“What? Why? Where?” I’m already out of my chair, gathering my things.
“I had cramps. I thought it was nothing, but there’s spotting. I’m scared, Griffin. They’re sending me to Lenox Hill Hospital for tests.” Her panic sounds real. “It’s too early for the baby to come.”
“It’ll be okay; everything is going to be fine. Are you in the urgent care center in the building? I’ll come and get you. I’ll take you to the hospital.” I feel horrible for the way I was talking about her, especially now.
“I’m already on my way to the hospital.”
“I’ll meet you there.” I cover the receiver and turn to Lincoln. “I gotta go. Imogen is spotting and cramping.”
“This isn’t your fault, Griff,” he says as if he’s inside my head and knows exactly what I’m thinking.
If something happens to that baby, I’m going to feel like I willed it. I hail a cab, grateful it’s not rush hour. Imogen ends the call when she arrives at the hospital, which means I have no idea what’s happening. I feel like shit for so many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that Imogen is having my baby, and I don’t want a relationship with her.
By the time I get there, Imogen has finished registering. “Thank God you’re here!” She throws herself into my arms, sobbing hysterically.
“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. Everything is going to be fine. The baby will be fine, Imogen.” I unwrap her shaking arms from around me and take her face in my hands. Her cheeks are tear-stained. I wipe away the fresh ones that fall, aware that this is stressful, and she doesn’t always handle it well. “I need you to take a deep breath.”
“I-I-I’m so scared. What if there’s something wrong with the baby? What if he comes early? The nursery isn’t ready.”
“We’ll manage it if he comes early, and don’t worry about the nursery, we can deal with that later. For now, just breathe.”
“I’m so glad you’re here. I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“The welfare of our child is at stake, of course I’ll be here.”
She hugs me again, sniffling. We’re ushered into a room and a nurse comes in to perform a series of tests which show that both her blood pressure and her heart rate are elevated. She buries her face against my shoulder and squeezes my hand when they take blood.
“We’re going to take you for an ultrasound so we can get a peek at what’s going on in there.”
Imogen puts a protective hand over her belly. “Is that necessary?”
“It won’t take long, and it won’t harm the baby.” The nurse helps her into a wheelchair, and I push her down the hall to the ultrasound clinic.
They give her a gown and room to change into. She looks up at me with wide, imploring eyes. “Could you help me, please?”
“Of course.” I follow her into the small change room and draw the curtain closed. I haven’t been this close to Imogen willingly since she broke off the engagement all those months ago. It’s awkward and uncomfortable as I help her out of her dress and into her hospital gown. I kneel in front of her, tying the too-short strings, and put a hand on her swollen belly. “You’re going to be okay, little man. Your mom and I are going to take such good care of you, so sit tight for a couple more months.”
Imogen runs her manicured nails through my hair and smiles down at me. “Thank you for being here with us. I know this hasn’t been easy.”
I stand, holding out a hand, which she takes. This intimacy feels unnatural now. We’re ushered quickly into the ultrasound room, where I help Imogen up onto the table. The technician comes in a few minutes later and squeezes gel onto Imogen’s belly. She has a soft voice and a maternal air, but the room is still full of tension, probably mostly mine.
When she moves the machine over Imogen’s rounded belly, the steady, rhythmic sound of a heartbeat fills the room. I glance at the screen, and suddenly my chest feels so full it hurts. I reach out and take Imogen’s hand. Because I can see my son and hear his tiny heart beating.
“Isn’t he amazing?” she asks.
I squeeze her hand. “He is.”
And I get it now, why Lincoln is so worried, why Cosy was so insistent I do the right thing, why two people who don’t love each other will band together to raise a child, even if it means sacrificing your own happiness.
“How does everything look?” I ask, awestruck by the image of my son with his thumb in his mouth, curled up inside Imogen’s body.
“So far everything looks okay. The spotting sometimes happens at this stage, particularly with cases of placenta previa.”
“So everything is okay, then? I can go home?” Imogen makes a move to sit up, but the technician puts a hand on her shoulder.
“At thirty-three weeks you could safely give birth anytime, but ideally we’d like to keep him in there for another month at least, to give him more time to develop.”
“Imogen is thirty weeks,” I correct.
The technician glances at me. “Based on the chart and her previous ultrasounds, growth and development puts her a few weeks ahead of that.”
“That can’t be right. You must have the wrong file.” Imogen’s voice is high and flustered.
A horrible sinking feeling takes over as I do the math and go back to when Imogen conceived. Three weeks earlier I was still in China with Linc. “How accurately can you predict a due date?” I ask.
“Usually within a day or two, give or take.”
“So it’s not possible to be three weeks off?”
“Occasionally we can be off by a week, but at this stage the markers are all there and I can confidentially say your baby will be here in about seven weeks, if he stays put. I’m sure the doctor will suggest bed rest until then to be safe, of course. I’ll send her in shortly.”
“Thank you.” I don’t feel like I’m attached to my body as the technician leaves the room.
“Griffin.” Imogen pulls my attention away from the image of the baby on the monitor that, based on this new information, isn’t mine. Her expression is panicked, and she grips my hand tightly.
I say nothing, letting this new reality set in. Not only was she planning to lock me into a loveless relationship, but she made me believe I was going to be a father, got me invested, and then tore it all away.
I make sure we’re alone before I speak. “You cheated on me and tried to pass the baby off as mine. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You were always away on business trips.”
“Which you could’ve come on with me. Your job is flexible. That was a choice, Imogen.”
“I work best at home, and you know that.”
“You know what, it doesn�
�t matter, does it? The why is irrelevant because I wasn’t in the country when you got pregnant, which means you were fucking someone else while we were still engaged. You knew that baby wasn’t mine, and still you made me believe I was the father. Do you get how much of a mind fuck that is? Do you have any idea the damage you’ve done? I broke up with someone I love so I could do the right thing by you, and I find out it’s one lie after another.”
“I made a mistake. I felt guilty afterward. That’s why I broke off the engagement. I was lonely and I needed someone—”
“Stop! I don’t want to hear it, Imogen. I’m going to call your mother and ask her to meet you here because I don’t think you should be alone, but I can’t stand to look at your face for another second.”
“Griffin, please don’t do this!”
She grabs for me, but I step away and hold up a hand. “I didn’t do anything, Imogen. That’s the problem. This mess is yours, and I feel sorry for that baby because his mother is a liar and a cheater and a manipulator. With you as a role model, you’re either going to raise a serial killer or the next president.” I leave her in the ultrasound room and call her mother, as promised.
Then I call Lincoln and ask him to meet me at a bar because we’re getting seriously wasted this afternoon.
Chapter Twenty: Get the Girl
Griffin
The hangover from finding out Imogen is not only a manipulator but also a cheating liar lasts two full days. My dad offers to give me some time to get my head sorted out considering the circumstances, but the Vegas hotel is a go, so I obviously jump at the chance to get the hell out of New York and back to Cosy. I’m probably setting myself up for even more disappointment by doing this. Being near Cosy but not having her is going to be an even worse torture than the entire Imogen fiasco rolled together, but I’m clearly a glutton for punishment. My flight leaves at eight tomorrow morning.
I’m currently sitting on my couch, drinking Grape Crush because that’s what Cosy likes, watching some ridiculous vampire teen drama—also something Cosy likes—flipping through pictures of her on my phone.
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