Kit
I try to zip and button my jeans, but they’re not budging past my tiny pooch. “No more jeans for me.”
At least not in this size.
I’m almost twelve weeks pregnant and it feels like this baby is sending me on a roller coaster. One day I’m nauseous and tired. The next day I’m bursting with energy. One day I want to eat ten tacos. The next day I don’t want to eat anything.
Having a baby is awesome. Being pregnant sucks.
Especially when you’re not with the one person you want to be with the most.
When I spoke to the rehab, they told me Preston had to wait two weeks to earn phone privileges. However, he passed his two-week mark four days ago.
I’m trying to tell myself it’s not a big deal that he hasn’t called because he’s working on himself and we need the space.
But it hurts.
Fortunately, Breslin and Juan have been keeping me company.
“That’s because your uterus is expanding,” Juan says, jolting me from my thoughts. “You should probably stick to leggings and stretchy pants.”
Breslin nods. “You’ll be a lot more comfortable.”
Amen to that. I tug off my jeans and reach for a pair of sweatpants.
“According to this, your baby is the size of a plum.”
When I turn, I notice Juan’s lying upside down on my bed while flipping through one of my pregnancy books. “And at twelve weeks you’ll also be prone to headaches and—” He shudders. “More discharge. Gross.”
Yup. Having a baby is a big ol’ bag of fun.
Breslin plays with a piece of her hair. “It’s also the end of your first trimester. Which means you can officially tell people.”
I read her subtle undertone loud and clear.
Tell my husband.
And I will…eventually.
I just don’t think telling him while he’s in rehab is a good idea.
I also want to make sure he’s serious about getting help before I do since it’s my job to protect lovebug.
Juan places the book in the nightstand drawer. “Are you gonna tell your grandmother?”
I’d rather walk on glass barefoot.
She already has the satisfaction of knowing I’m married to and in love with a man. I’m not giving her the satisfaction of letting her know she’s going to be a great-grandmother, too.
Screw that.
I take off my sweatshirt because despite it being fall now it’s still hot as hell. “Nope.”
“Whoa,” Juan says as I dig around my dresser drawer for a tank top. “Those things are getting big.”
Don’t I know it. It’s the one plus side to pregnancy. In addition to having a baby, I also have tits.
“Pretty soon you’ll have bigger boobs than me,” Breslin says with a laugh.
Not likely. Breslin has watermelons. I’m just approaching the orange stage.
I slip my tank top past my head. “No—”
A knock on my bedroom door cuts me off.
“Everyone decent?” Landon says from the other side of my door.
“Yup. Come on in.”
Entering my bedroom, he looks at Breslin. “Our flight leaves in three hours.”
Asher’s football season has officially started. I told Breslin she should move back to their house in New Orleans because it would be much easier, but she refused. She wants to be here for every moment of my pregnancy.
Aside from when Asher has a game. Then she hops on a plane and visits him for a few days.
“Don’t worry. I’m already packed.”
Walking over to her, Landon gives her a kiss. “Just wanted to make sure.”
“Is Asher nervous?”
He’s playing against the same team he lost the playoffs to last season. Tonight’s game is going to be huge.
Landon starts to speak, but then his phone rings. “Speak of the devil.” He swipes the screen and Asher’s face appears. “You and Breslin getting your asses on a plane soon or what? You know I need my good luck charms.”
He smiles. “Don’t worry. We’ll be there.”
Asher looks around. “Where are you?”
“Kit’s bedroom.”
Asher’s face lights up. “Hand over the phone.”
“Hey,” I say after Landon passes it to me. “How—”
“Let me talk to the peanut.”
Oh, boy.
Asher might not be here physically, but he’s still very much involved. He demands to talk to his future niece or nephew almost daily.
I place the phone near my belly. “Have at it.”
“Hey, peanut. Uncle Asher loves you. Wish him luck on kicking New York’s ass tonight.”
“Don’t curse in front of the baby,” Breslin tells him.
“Babies don’t hear sounds until eighteen weeks,” Juan reminds her.
Asher laughs. “In that case. Wish Uncle Asher luck on kicking their motherfucking bitch asses tonight.”
“Okay, that’s enough.” I move the phone away from lovebug. “I don’t want my baby to be aggressive and hostile.”
“Have you met the baby’s father?” Breslin mutters.
At that, Asher’s expression turns grim. “Oh, she has. She just hasn’t told him he’s the father.”
Awkward.
Asher didn’t like it but given my reasons and the fact he lied to me for Preston, he agreed to keep the baby a secret from him. Temporarily.
However, it’s clear by his tone that my time is running out.
“I can’t tell him when he hasn’t called,” I point out.
Asher makes a face. “He still hasn’t called you yet?”
“No. Why? Has he called you?”
“Yeah. I spoke to him yesterday. And the day before that.”
Ouch. “Oh.” I swallow. “How is he?”
Asher cringes. “I mean he’s still there…but he’s having a problem with his therapist.”
“What kind of problem?”
“According to Preston, the guy is a fish sock douchebag with the personality of a used piece of toilet paper.”
I’m not sure what a fish sock is, but the rest doesn’t sound good. “Can he change therapists?”
“I suppose he could, but I don’t think the therapist is the problem. I think Preston not wanting to talk about what happened is the problem.”
My stomach drops. “Well, he has to—” The sound of my phone ringing cuts me off. “Hold on. I have to take this.”
I give Landon back his phone and pick up mine. I don’t recognize the number, but I answer it anyway because it might be a potential client.
“Kit Bishop—”
“Hi.”
His deep, rough voice wraps around my heart and tugs.
“Hey.”
After mouthing that Preston is on the phone to Breslin, I leave my bedroom so I can have some privacy.
“How are you? How’s everything going?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“What you think about them wanting to kick me out.”
My stomach bunches. “What? Why?”
“Because I refuse to participate in group therapy or any of the other stupid shit they keep asking me to do.” He grunts. “But mostly because my prick therapist refuses to take no for an answer.”