I chug the rest of my beer. “You’re nuts, dude.”
“Are you honestly going to lie and deny you want to be with her?”
My jaw clenches at his truth. “Oh, like you haven’t wanted a relationship with Lola for years and not done shit about it?”
He leans back in his chair, slouching some, and I know my words hit a nerve. “Lola and I would never work. We’re too much alike.”
“Grace and I are too different.”
“Keep lying to yourself, dude, and be fucking miserable for the rest of your life.” He holds his bottle of water in a cheers gesture before standing and walking away.
As I get in my car and leave, Silas’s comment sticks with me.
Chapter Seven
Grace
I’m not sure what’s worse.
Finding out your boyfriend is trash or morning sickness.
Screw you both.
You’re already going through enough during pregnancy—hormone changes, weight gain, peeing your pants on occasion. Why throw get sick every morning into the mix? Give us a break on something.
My sister complained about morning sickness during her pregnancy, and I passed it off, thinking it was normal. I sincerely apologize to anyone who’s ever had someone downplay the hell.
It’s brutal.
Disgusting.
Resting my head on the toilet, I groan.
This isn’t how my mid-twenties was supposed to go.
After rinsing my mouth and brushing my teeth three times, I shower and get ready for work. Another day of avoiding my baby daddy at every turn.
If I’m ever late, call the cops.
Nothing good comes out of tardiness.
Shoot, my late period proved that further.
Growing up, I was taught if you’re not early, you’re late. As the daughter of a judge, I grew up with manners that were expected to be on display and rules that were never to be broken. It’s not that my parents are jerks. It’s just that they’re strict, and they have had expectations of us since childhood.
College. Job. Marriage. Children.
In that order.
My sister performed well.
Me? Apparently, I’m rearranging those expectations.
I’m at my desk thirty minutes early, grading papers and sipping on seltzer water before my class starts. At times, especially now, I appreciate silence before the chaos that begins with children shuffling into the room.
“Wow, babe, you look gorgeous today.”
I straighten in my chair, a chill shooting up my spine.
That voice.
His presence now is so different than what it was when we met … when he was charming me. Gone is the phony compassion and sweetness, now replaced with arrogance. For someone whose life could change if I confessed the truth, he sure has some balls.
Knocking on the door with his knuckles, Gavin stands in the doorway. “Pregnancy shines on you.”
My head pounds as Gavin shuts the door and strolls toward me, a smirk on his face. Nausea thicker than my morning sickness creeps up my throat.
How’d I allow him to fool me?
Infatuation is blinding, ladies and gents.
“Screw you,” I hiss, dropping my pen.
He places his hand over his chest. “Aw, you used to appreciate my compliments.”
“Used to being the key words. Now, they make my skin crawl because I know they’re coming from a married man.” I scowl while pointing at the door. “Get out.”
“I’m the principal.” He scrubs a hand over his smooth jaw and smirks. “My job is to ensure you’re doing yours and there are no issues.”
“My only issue is you.”
“Now, now, is that any way to talk to your superior?” He stops in front of me, his palms falling to my desk, and bends so we’re eye level. A combination of his spearmint breath and strong cologne floats between us.
I snort—convinced if I don’t entertain him, he’ll leave.
“Or better yet, the father of your child?”
My face burns, and I hold myself back from slapping him in the face. “Don’t say that to taunt me.”
He draws nearer, our faces only inches apart. “The truth taunts you?”
“You taunt me.” It’s a struggle to stop my voice from wavering. “Your asshole attitude taunts me. Being around you taunts me.”
Typically, I don’t resort to insults, but he deserves it. Gavin lied, made me fall for him, all while knowing it’d all come crashing down. He didn’t care that I was playing victim to his lies while he was having fun.
He was a pro at it. The man excelled at hiding what he wanted, so my bet is, I’m not the first affair he’s had. I was stupid. In today’s day and age, you’re supposed to cyberstalk potential new love interests—look through every Instagram photo, see how cute their exes dress, and discover their political views.
The problem was that Gavin declared social media a waste of time, but I also trusted him. We worked together, and the school is strict on background checks. It wasn’t like I could ask around since we agreed to keep our relationship private for a while. I was scared of it ending before things got serious and there’d be talk around the school.
It ending too soon was my fear.
Not him being married.
I grip the edge of my desk, pushing my chair out, and stand. “Out of my room.”
His back straightens as he pulls away, standing tall and slender in front of me. “Oh, come on, Grace.” He approaches me. “I told you, I’m leaving my wife, but for now, let’s go back to the way it was. Remember how good we were?” He shuts his eyes as if the memories are so good, but all they do is haunt me.
I shove him away. “All I remember is that you’re a cheating jerk.”
“Forgive me.” He presses his hands into a praying motion. “I saw you, I wanted you, but I knew if you found out I was married, you’d want nothing to do with me.”
“You think?” I scoff.
He opens his mouth, most likely to spew more lies, but a group of children barreling into the classroom interrupts him. Pulling away, he says, “Have a great day, Miss Mitchell. Until next time.”
“You look like someone ran over Mr. Bubbles,” my sister, Faith, says when I enter her kitchen.
Her signature candle—honeydew melon—is lit in the center of the granite island, a relaxation to my anxiety. The irritation from Gavin’s morning visit stayed with me. All day, I stared at the door, waiting for him to make another pop-in.
Brian, her husband, chuckles. “Grace would probably kill someone if they ran over Mr. Bubbles.”
Mr. Bubbles is the stuffed rabbit I carried around until I was ten and still have to this day. There’s something about safekeeping childhood objects. My plan was to pass him down to my children. Looks like that time is coming sooner than I thought.
“I’m pregnant,” I blurt out, unable to hold my secret in any longer.
Faith and I share everything. Keeping information from her is hard.
“I’m sorry, but did you just say you’re pregnant?” Faith gapes at me as if waiting for me to tell her I’m joking.
I clear my throat. “I’m pregnant.”