Sweet Trouble (10 page)

Bailey

I wake up in Nick’s bed. Alone. The room is filled with what looks like late-morning sunshine. When I roll over and look at my phone I see that it’s only nine thirty. There are three messages from Sydney. None from my mother.

The morning light catches the ring Nick gave me. Was that just yesterday?

Pulling up to a sitting position I’m amazed to find that I’m not nauseated. In fact, I can smell bacon that Nick must have cooked this morning and my stomach doesn’t object. It rumbles. God, I’m starving.

Nick fed me last night. We picked up some Italian food but I could barely eat. All I could think about was what would happen when we went to bed. I was sure he wouldn’t hurt me. At least I didn’t think so, but he might not treat me gently either. He didn’t even touch me though and spent the night on the couch.

I wander to the kitchen and find a note. It’s a list of instructions. Call Dr. Weiss, the obstetrician Olivia works with. Eat breakfast. There’s something on the stove. Order maternity clothes on line with the credit card on the counter.

I have to laugh at his suggestion I order clothes. How quickly does he think I’m going to get a tummy? I giggle and imagine greeting him at the door this evening with a pillow stuffed under my shirt. Nick knows nothing about babies. Except for how to make them. My amusement fades and I pick at the bacon on the stove. It’s still warm. He must have left less than an hour ago.

My phone buzzes.
Also – quit your job. I want u home.

“Sure Nick. Who’s going to pay off my loan. The tooth fairy?”

I’ve taken two weeks off work. Actually, they told me I was taking two weeks off. Once administrators found out I was pregnant and having morning sickness around the clock, they acted like I had MRSA or typhoid. I won’t be able to travel anymore, obviously. I can’t go into a disaster zone if I’m pregnant, but I’ll find some nursing job in Fulton. I have a five-hundred-dollar loan payment due the tenth of every month. I have to work.

My phone buzzes again.
I’ll pay tuition loan.

What the hell? Is the guy
spying
on me? Hidden cameras or something? A weird feeling comes over me and my skin prickles. What sort of controlling bastard puts surveillance inside his own house? I spin, doing a three-sixty, shooting the finger to any device that might be recording me. I wait to see if he’ll respond. Nothing happens. I eat two more slices of bacon watching my phone, but there’s nothing.

Now I feel sort of silly. Actually, very silly.

I eat the rest of the bacon and head to the shower. What am I going to do with a whole day to myself? It feels lonesome. I strip out of my pajamas and freeze when I see the streak of blood. It’s on my panties.

“Nick…” I whimper. I grab my phone and I want to dial but I can’t. I’m frozen with fear. I wrack my brain for a possible cause of the blood. I can’t remember anything. Is spotting early on in pregnancy okay or a tragedy? It’s like I don’t remember anything from nursing school.

I rush back to the kitchen and dial the obstetrician’s number that Nick left for me. I tell them I’m only a month along but I’m bleeding. Instantly, I’m patched through to a nurse.

“This is Olivia. I hear you’re having some bleeding. Tell me your name, hon. I’ll bring up your file.”

Olivia… I close my eyes and clutch the counter for support. I’m standing in the middle of Nick’s kitchen stark naked, totally panic-stricken. If he actually has cameras on me and he’s watching me, he’ll have to wonder what the hell’s going on.

“Hello?” she says. “Can you hear me?”

I can’t believe it’s Olivia answering, but Fulton is small. There probably aren’t that many OB’s. Knowing the person helps me calm down. I shake off my panic. This is a medical situation so there’s a medical solution. That’s all.

“I’m not an established patient, Olivia. This is Bailey…”

Olivia recovers from her surprise quickly. I can tell she’s pleased I’m coming to see Dr. Weiss. She talks to me for a long time about how plenty of women experience bleeding. She says not to worry unless I have cramping too and tells me to abstain.

Abstain. Yeah. Not a problem there.

By the time I hang up, I love this woman. She’s kind and patient and I feel my heart rate return to normal. I don’t tell her the baby in question is her niece or nephew. Seems like a bad idea to break that sort of news over the phone. She gives me an appointment for the Monday after next.

After I shower, I find Nick’s study, a door opposite the garage door. It’s a big room. Masculine with big, over-stuffed leather furniture. The cathedral ceiling soars overhead and the entire space is filled with light from the windows. Shelves line the wall. The books fall into two categories. Carpentry and Motorcycle Repair.

His computer is on and I don’t even need a password to get online. I guess he trusts me not to snoop. Or he doesn’t care. I don’t snoop. Much. There’s nothing incriminating. No emails to women. His shopping history on retail sites is boring. I spend the day reading about the first trimester, refreshing my memory. And I nap. Twice.

Nick comes home at dark, appearing in the bedroom doorway, silhouetted by the light in the hallway.

“I picked up dinner. I already ate. I left yours on the counter.”

And then he’s gone. I listen for his truck but instead I hear noises from his workshop. Saws. Hammers. I eat by myself, not tasting anything. After a few bites I feel warmth. It’s more blood, I’m sure. When I go to the bathroom I find it’s true.

I sit on the couch, listen to the clatter and pounding coming from the workshop. Olivia eased my fears this morning but now they’re back, scarier than ever. My gynecologist swore I’d never have children. I’d grown accustomed to the idea, but now that I might be able to, it’s all I want. I realize this as I sit on the couch and stare into the cold, empty fireplace.

A door opens and slams. Nick crosses the room, stopping abruptly when he sees me.

“What’s wrong?” he snaps.

“I’m bleeding. I talked to Olivia about it. It might not mean anything.”

His lips thin and his gaze travels down my body as if he’s looking for some sign of what might be wrong.

“Did you do something today? Something you shouldn’t have?”

“No.” I let out a soft huff of indignation. “I didn’t cause this.”

I can tell he’s not buying it. Like he thinks it’s my fault, that I accidentally hurt the baby. Shit, maybe he thinks I would put myself at risk so… I can’t even go where that thought leads.

“I’m taking you to the Emergency Room,” he says. “Get your bag.”

“They’ll just send me home.”

He squints, like he’s trying to decide if I’m being truthful.

“Call Olivia if you like. She promised me it would be okay. I’m not cramping.”

Wincing, he shakes his head.

“I’m being careful, but there’s always a chance that a pregnancy ends in the first trimester. I could be pregnant one day and not a few days later.” I explain in a cold, clinical tone. His eyes are hard and I can’t resist a biting remark. “And wouldn’t
that
be the answer to your prayers?”

The instant I say the words, I regret them.

His expression doesn’t change but it feels like the temperature in the cabin just fell about twenty degrees. He turns away, stalks down the hallway to our bedroom. A few moments later he emerges dressed in his leather pants and jacket. He leaves through the front door, slamming it so hard the windows rattle.

For the next couple of hours, I hear the snarl of the bike’s engine. Sometimes it’s near and other times it’s far off. It can’t be a good idea to ride your dirt bike in the dark, but I don’t think he’s interested in my opinion. Just before bed, I wander to the front porch. The countryside is bathed in moonlight. At least he has some extra visibility.

“Come back,” I say. A breeze carries my words away.

I shouldn’t have said losing the baby would be an answer to his prayers. Guilt twists around my heart. What an awful thing to say. To anyone.

“I’m sorry. So sorry. For everything.”

Exhausted I go to bed alone, for the second night. I wake to the sound of his footsteps nearby. His hand cups my shoulder and he nudges me back. Panic flares. Olivia told me I can’t have sex. Surely he wouldn’t ask. Not when he’s furious with me. I’m so startled I can hardly find the words to say. I try to push his hand from me, but he captures both wrists and pins them to the bed.

He lowers and brushes his lips against my ear. “Don’t ever say that to me again. Do you understand?”

My mouth is dry but I manage a reply. “Okay.”

I wait, wondering how this is going to go, but he makes no move. He doesn’t come closer, but he doesn’t move away. His scent surrounds me. It’s sexy. Strong. Masculine. Everything about him feels threatening, and yet I want more of him. More of his touch. More.

“You might know a lot of things.” His voice is a deep rumble. “But you have no idea
what
I’m praying for.”

Nick

After a week on the couch, I’m about as pleasant as a bear with a toothache. Mornings, I’m gone before she gets up. Nights, if I eat with Bailey, it’s mostly in silence. I ask her about the blood. She tells me it’s stopped and that makes me breathe easier.

I ask her how she’s feeling. She always says the same.
Fine
. After, I go to my workshop and work on my new project. Even though I’m still beyond pissed at her.

In spite of that I can’t stop thinking about Bailey, carrying our baby. At first, I wanted to make a rocker. I loved thinking about her rocking our kid to sleep at night, or before bedtime, or whenever you rock a baby. I had all the plans sketched out and had even cut a few of the pieces, but one night I came into my workshop, cleared the workspace and started on a whole new plan.

I was going to give her something special, something that meant a lot to me, even though I was still mad as hell. I was still pissed she didn’t tell me about the baby, but then for her to suggest I would be happy if we lost the baby. The thought felt like being kicked by a mule.

All the anger I hold inside vanishes in a heartbeat when she comes to me last night. She’s shaking and clammy and at first I thought something was going on with the baby. Or with her. She scared the hell out of me. But then she tells me it’s a dream she had. She wouldn’t tell me about the dream. Nothing, but she tells me she’s sorry. For everything.

I just took her hand and led her back to bed. I told her I was sorry too, and work it all out. Everything. I lay awake for a long time holding her while she drifted off to sleep. Holding Bailey was sweet, tender, and better than anything I know.

I open my eyes to bright sunshine and the sound of her showering. It’s Saturday. I gave my crews the day off. I’m taking Bailey to do a few things in town. I want her in a bigger car. And we need to shop too. As in grocery shop. Normally I just move through the grocery store and get what I need. I know where everything is, and I’m efficient. Today will be different, though. We’ll shop
together
, and we’ll debate about what she should be eating, and I hope we’ll start connecting again.

Every morning I wake up with a painfully hard erection and somehow the sound of the shower makes it worse. She can’t have sex. I understand. I want to ask her if that’s a pregnancy thing or a first trimester thing, but I don’t ask. I don’t want her to think that’s all I think about, and it’s not, but I do think about it a lot.

The water stops and I roll out of bed, wander to the kitchen and make coffee. I pour her a cup and head to the bathroom. She cracks the door and smiles at the coffee and up at me. The smile feels like clouds parting. I don’t want to fight anymore. I want to sleep beside her, hold her so she doesn’t get bad dreams. I want to dance in the den or take her out if she likes. I want to make her smile just like she is now.

She reaches through the doorway to take her coffee but I step back. “Let me bring it to you.”

Her smile falters but she opens the door. She’s wearing underwear that’s the color of a summer sky. Matching. I think she’s trying to torture me.

I set the coffee down. “I’m going to get my shower.”

“Fine.” She watches me in the mirror, her smile a little different now. I’m hoping she doesn’t want to fight anymore either.

Her lacy underwear clings to her body and her breasts are so full, they spill out over the top a little. I guess I’m staring a little because she flushes.

“I think they grew a little,” she mutters.

“I’d say they grew a lot.”

“Just take your shower.”

“What happened? Did you get a visit from the titty fairy or something?”

She snickers and blushes. God, I love that.

“Nick, please stop. You’re embarrassing me. I don’t know what happened. I think the bra shrank.”

I snort and laugh. “The bra huh? Just that one?”

“No.” She picks up a brush and starts brushing her hair. “All of them.”

“You’re bigger, baby.” I step behind her, skim my hands up her waist and cup her breasts. “Pretty sure.”

She sets her brush aside and turns to face me, a sweet, open expression on her face. I can’t resist flicking her bra open and cupping her bare breasts. I lower my voice. “You’re breasts are, in fact, bigger, Mrs. McKinley. You’re fucking gorgeous. Have I told you that?”

Her smile is shy and tentative. I’m sure I could find a hundred ways to tease her about this. How beautiful she is to me. How I can hardly stand to look at her sometimes because it tears at me. Makes me want to hide her away so I’m the only man who can look at her. Fucked? Yes, but there it is.

“Nick,” she says softly. “I don’t want our baby to think we got married because we had to.”

“Did you think I was going to put that on a plaque or something?”

She smiles. “No, but…”

“We got married because I’m crazy about you. And you are for me. We don’t have to tell him the details like you were in mismatched PJ’s. He doesn’t need to know that he was there for the ceremony.”

She smiles. It’s a tentative smile.

“You think it’s a he?”

“I don’t know, baby.”

What I want to tell her is that I’ll love a boy or a girl just the same, but anytime the conversation gets close to the subject of the pregnancy, she frets. The anxiety is always right there. So I don’t say another word.

After I shower and dress, I find her in the kitchen attempting to make breakfast, which, frankly, scares me a little. She’s wearing a Steeler’s jersey she found in my closet, another Harrison jersey, and she’s wearing it with jeans and boots. I think I’m going to sweet talk her into wearing jerseys on a regular basis. Harrison has got to weigh three hundred pounds and it’s sweet and sexy to see my delicate Bailey wearing something that’s inspired by some massive, beastly lineman.

There’s a tentative peace between us. Everything’s a debate but at least we’re talking. We argue over breakfast, and we argue about the shopping list and then we really argue about the new truck I’m buying her. I want her in something bigger than the matchbox car she has now and she’s griping that it’s almost paid off. We’re still going back and forth as we head into town. We don’t do anything other than grocery shop and run a few errands. But it’s great. It’s perfect.

Because Bailey’s by my side.