Ghost Dance (Tulsa Thunderbirds Book 3) (30 page)

“Wasn’t a fucking mistake,” he ground out.

“It was. I think you know—”

“It wasn’t just drink. You wanted me as much as I wanted you.”

“I did. I
do
. But I shouldn’t.” There was a part of me that wished he would take me over his knee and spank me, make me forget all the reasons I was doing what I knew I had to, give him a means of releasing some of that anger…but I also knew that wouldn’t be a lasting solution. Not for either of us. Not for anything.

“Don’t start crying. You asked me to stay.”

I didn’t remember that, but I wouldn’t argue it. Arguing wouldn’t solve anything. “Maybe I did, but now I’m asking you to go,” I said, fighting back the tears that were stinging the backs of my eyes. Another thing he was right about, damn him. “I told you before that we couldn’t have a physical relationship until you dealt with your past, and you haven’t done a darned thing about that yet. You’re still running away, Dima. I shouldn’t have asked you to stay. I shouldn’t have taken you into my bed. But I did, and I’m sorry if I’m sending you mixed messages. That’s not fair of me. But I mean it this time. I can’t be with you if you’re not willing to make changes.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Does it honestly matter at this point?”

He glared at me so hard I thought I might melt beneath the heat of it. But finally, he released my jaw and backed off. “Maybe you should be with Miller.” Then he stalked out of my bedroom, grabbed his jacket, and left, slamming the door behind him.

In order to stop myself from chasing him and trying to get him to forgive me, I bolted the door. He had every right to be angry with me, and his forgiveness wouldn’t do anything to make me feel better about what I’d just done. It was something I’d have to work through on my own, along with a thousand other things that I thought I’d already solved in the past, but which seemed to be cropping up again in the present.

Then I got into the shower and let myself fall apart.

I SHOULD HAVE
realized that my nausea that morning wasn’t just from a combination of the hangover from hell and a double dose of regret, but it hadn’t crossed my mind.

Because we’d been careful every time we’d had sex, except for that one time.

And because I’d taken the morning-after pill as soon as I’d been able to go to the pharmacy to buy it. True, I had been pushing the time limit for efficacy, but the pharmacist had assured me it was almost as effective after three days as it was after two.

And because it had only been one time.

And because I didn’t think it would happen to me, even though science had proven time and time again there was no reason to think I was any different than any other woman, beyond my inability to walk.

But for some reason, the thought hadn’t ever crossed my mind.

If I’d been thinking clearly, I should have bought a pregnancy test a week or two later to clear my mind, but I hadn’t. I’d been too caught up in the drama with Wade and Dima to worry about my own potential issues. Maybe I’d been too caught up in thinking myself invincible, too. Who could know?

When the nausea had continued every day for a week, it still hadn’t struck me that I might be pregnant. Instead, I chalked it up to being so upset over possibly losing Wade as a friend, not to mention the fact that I hadn’t seen or heard from Dima at all since the moment he’d walked out my front door that morning. Losing one of them was bad enough, but it appeared I’d run them both out of my life, all in the span of twenty-four hours. That had to be a record, and not one I was proud to own, even if I knew it was for the best for all of us. I couldn’t continue to be Wade’s crutch, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I became one for Dima.

When I moved into a second week of feeling sick to my stomach every day, I’d started to get nervous. Not nervous enough to go to the doctor—I had always been one to avoid doctors if I could manage it, because they tended to tell me all the things I
couldn’t
do instead of focusing on those I
could
do—but nervous enough that I let it affect me at work. I was spending hours searching WebMD to find the possible causes for persistent nausea, and all of the answers the Internet provided were horrifying.

As a result of both my general distraction and the way I had to race to the bathroom to puke up my breakfast every day for a week, Terri confronted me on my way back to my desk one morning.

She planted her hands on her hips and blocked my path. “Tell me you’re knocked up and that’s what this is all about, because if it’s something more serious than that and you haven’t gone to the doctor about it, I’m going to strangle you.”

Knocked up
. Her words hit me like a ton of bricks, startling me so much I nearly fell out of my chair in relief. Being pregnant actually made a ton of sense in terms of explaining so many of the things I’d been feeling, and it was a much better answer than cancer
or something wrong with my internal organs that might require surgery. And why the heck hadn’t WebMD mentioned pregnancy? They’d given me a thousand other worst-case scenarios, but that should have topped the list of possibilities.

I must not have been searching the right combination of terms.

The fact was, I was a day or two late. That wasn’t unusual for me. I’d never been regular, so I didn’t worry if I was a few days late, or even a week or more.

Being pregnant wasn’t exactly ideal, particularly since Dima and I didn’t appear to be on speaking terms, but it
was
an answer.

“You are, aren’t you?” Terri said. “I thought you might be since this happens at the same time every day.” She waved her hand in my general direction, as if that were enough to explain what she meant.

Of course it was enough. I knew exactly what she was talking about.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll get a test and find out.” And then, once I knew, I could sort out a plan. Until I knew whether there was anything to worry about or not, though, there wasn’t any point in allowing myself to become too anxious about it.

She cocked a hip against the wall and took up a seemingly casual pose that was anything but casual. “So which one’s the baby daddy?”

This time, I nearly choked on the answer. “Wade and I haven’t been
Wade and I
in years.” These days, he wouldn’t even look at me when we were at Para-Pythons practices. He did everything he could to avoid me.

“So it’s the surly Russian.” She nodded appreciatively. “I can definitely see the appeal. When are you gonna tell him?”

“Right now, there’s nothing to tell anyone.” And yes, I was avoiding answering her question because I didn’t know what the answer should be for myself yet. This was all happening too fast. I needed time to sit down, make a list of pros and cons, weigh every aspect of any course of action, and come up with a plan.

Something told me I wouldn’t have that kind of time. At least not if she was right and I was truly pregnant. This might be one of those times I needed to ask my father for help. Not that he could do anything about the situation, whatever it might be, but he was always good for helping me figure out the course of action I needed to take. I wasn’t sure if he would keep his trap shut around Mom, though, and the last thing I wanted was to have her freaking out about something until there was a good reason for it.

More than ever before, I wished Dima had made an effort to meet me halfway. If he would see a counselor or go to a support group—I didn’t care if he did it at my facility, as long as he
did
it—then we could at least be getting to know each other. It would be easier to decide what to do if he could be part of the decision since he’d been involved in the origination of the problem.

But he was bound and determined to stay exactly as he was. Stuck in the past. Beating himself up for a mistake he’d made years ago. He wouldn’t budge.

How could I make a plan that involved him in any way if he had no intention of meeting me in the middle? But was it fair for me to keep him in the dark?

I’d only thought I was distracted before. Now, there could be no doubt.

EVEN THOUGH I’D
been driving my new car for a week, I still hadn’t gotten used to the differences in the hand controls.

I hadn’t been able to afford the same system I’d had before, when Dima and his teammates at the time had paid for it, so I’d been forced to put in a lesser model. It worked well enough, but the controls weren’t as intuitive. Instead of pushing or pulling on a stick to accelerate or break, I had to spin a knob to the right or the left. It worked, but my brain still wanted to do things the old way.

Since I was still getting used to the new hand control system, I thought it was better to take smaller roads instead of the high-traffic highways for the time being. It took me longer to get where I wanted to go, but I felt safer going at slower speeds with fewer other cars around.

That was how I ended up going past Wade’s house on my way from work to the pharmacy when I went to buy a pregnancy test. His truck was in his driveway, but I didn’t see him out in the yard or sitting on his porch like he did so often. Being indoors had never sat well with him. He needed to be moving. He needed open space and lots of fresh air. I was glad I didn’t see him this time. If he’d been outside, I might have stopped to try to get him to talk to me, and he needed to be the one to make the next move in our relationship, the same as Dima.

So I kept driving until I reached the pharmacy.

I could schedule an appointment with my doctor to find out if I was pregnant, of course, but I’d rather see what one of the over-the-counter tests had to say before taking that step. The last thing I needed right now was some doctor trying to tell me about how I couldn’t or shouldn’t have a baby because of my disability, which they were bound to do.
You can’t
was their favorite thing to tell me, and it was the one thing certain to have me digging in my heels, determined to prove
I can
. But was this something I should dig in my heels about? Should I bring a baby into the world when I wasn’t sure the father wanted to be with me, let alone whether he was ready to be a father? And lately, I wasn’t sure I had any business being the one to determine anyone’s level of readiness for anything.

Once I found the appropriate aisle in the pharmacy, I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of tests available. How was a person supposed to know which one was best? I stood there reading the labels for a long time, unable to make up my mind.