My phone chirps.
Two minutes are up.
Fingers crossed there’s nothing for her to freak out about …
Pulling in a deep breath, I walk to the counter and glance down at the test, prepared to be greeted with my fate.
Pregnant.
I take a seat on the lidded toilet, the positive test in my hand.
Great.
If my parents didn’t hate Madden before, they’re definitely going to hate him now.
I have no idea how this happened … we were always so careful. I’ve always been religious about taking the pill. He always used a condom—except that one time in his shop. But he pulled out. And that was so recent …
I wrap the test in several layers of toilet paper and place it at the bottom of my trash can.
I have to tell him.
He needs to know.
I didn’t get pregnant alone, so I’m sure as hell not doing this alone.
Resting my elbows on the tops of my thighs, I bury my face in my hands and practice slow, grounding breaths. Eyes closed, I try to picture us as a family, which I know is ridiculous. It’s nothing that he wants and it’s nothing that I wanted at this point in my life. I’ve always wanted to be a mother … just not like this.
In my little fantasy, I picture a baby with my hazel eyes and his thick, dark hair, but that’s as far as I get. The logical half of my brain kicks in and puts a stop to the whole thing because the three of us being a family will never happen. If he doesn’t love me, if he doesn’t want to be with me, a baby’s not going to change that.
Sitting up, I gather my composure and accept the facts.
I’m pregnant.
And I’m pregnant with the baby of a man who doesn’t want to be with me.
I park outside his apartment shortly after ten o’clock Saturday night, hoping I can catch him after he closes up the shop and before he heads over to Pierce’s or wherever he plans to celebrate the fact that he’s no longer chained to one woman anymore.
The shop is dark, nothing but a neon “Closed” sign hanging on the door, but the light above is lit, so I know he’s home.
My heart starts and stops a few times before I so much as make it out of my car. I have no idea how he’s going to react or if he’s going to think I’m just some crazy, dramatic wannabe girlfriend pulling some stunt to try to salvage what we had.
I hope he knows me better than that.
I thought about texting him before coming over, but the way I left things yesterday, I didn’t want to seem like one of those girls who are all over the place emotionally. I didn’t want him to think I was playing games or trying to reel him back in.
This is serious.
And this isn’t about me.
I place my hand on my lower belly. I’m sure this baby’s no bigger than a poppy seed but in the few short hours I’ve known of its existence, it’s already become my entire world. I spent the better part of the day concocting some kind of way to make it on my own. As much as Madden adores his sister, you’d think he’d be even more involved in this baby’s life, but I don’t expect anything from him.
And I don’t want to get my hopes up all over again just to get burned.
I make my way to the side entrance of the building and then to the stairs that lead to his door on the second level. With each step, my pulse whooshes in my ears. My mouth is dry and my stomach is in knots, but as soon as I get this over with, I can be on my way.
I’m five steps from the top landing when I notice his door is ajar. Two voices trail from inside … one his … one definitely … not his.
It’s a woman’s voice.
Distinct. Babyish almost.
With a held breath, I peer through the three-inch opening in the door and see him standing near the kitchen table next to a woman with jet-black hair, tattooed arms, and bright red lips.
Veronica?
“God, I’ve missed you, baby. So much. You have no idea.” She cups his face in her hands. “Seeing you with that other girl was fucking torture. I’m glad you finally came to your senses.”
The woman throws her arms around Madden’s shoulders and my stomach twists, the threat of bile burning the back of my throat. I can’t watch another second of this. Dashing down the stairs, I flee the building and return to my car.
I’ll tell him another time. After I’ve calmed down.
Tears cloud my vision the entire way home and my chest tightens so hard it feels like it could burst, but this is exactly what I wanted, isn’t it?
The highs and the lows.
The ups and the downs.
I just didn’t know the lows and the downs would be the worst pain I could ever imagine.
Forty-Two
Madden
* * *
I slip Veronica’s arms off my shoulders and take a step back. I still don’t know what the hell she’s doing here. The only reason I got the door was because I’d ordered some takeout and she happened to show up at the same time.
I’m not sure if it was lucky timing on her part or what, but she barged her way in while the delivery guy was standing there and she hasn’t left since.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I say when I’ve had enough of her baby-voiced bullshit. She didn’t love me then, she sure as hell doesn’t love me after three years of no contact. I’m sure there’s an ulterior motive somewhere in there, knowing her it’s purely financial, but I don’t care enough to find out what that is because it’d require her sticking around and quite frankly, it’s been maybe five minutes and I’m already tired of looking at her.
“I have to say, I was shocked when I heard you were seeing somebody,” she says. “And then I saw the two of you once. You were driving somewhere on a Saturday, I think. She’s real pretty, Madd. Tell me … did you dump her or did she dump you? Because I’m curious. I know you can be a real pain in the ass sometimes, but she also looked high maintenance as hell and you’re not into that so—”
I almost begin to stick up for Brighton, to tell Veronica how fucking incredible she was, but then I stop myself because none of it is any of Veronica’s business.
“Leave.” The boom of my voice startles her.
“Madden …” she uses her whiny voice and puppy dog eyes and pouts her red lips. There’s nothing cute about a twenty-eight-year-old woman using infantile tactics to win back a guy who stopped wanting her a lifetime ago. “Don’t be like this …”
She slides her hands over my shoulders, but I step away.
“We always said we were soulmates. That no matter what happened, we were going to end up together in the end,” she reminds me.
I’m sure I said something like that—when I was a punch-drunk teenage kid mourning the loss of my brother and clinging onto anything that remotely felt like a safe place to land.
“People say things they don’t mean all the time. Now get the fuck out.” I point to the door. “Now. Or I’m calling the cops.”
“Did you ever think about me?” she asks, slinking to the door. “When you were fucking her?”
Never.
Not once.
“Out.” I raise my voice again.