Young Revelations (Young Series) (7 page)

“What are you thinking about?” I ask quietly once I’ve changed into a hospital gown and hopped up on the examination table.

He seems startled at the question and I can see the internal war he’s waging behind his eyes about whether he wants to bring his concerns to the surface. “Nothing surprising,” he says, sitting in the wooden chair beside my table and taking my hand. “I just want to know the baby is okay.”

I smile in what I hope is a reassuring way as I run my thumb over his knuckles, but don’t reply. During my pregnancy with Tyler, there had been absolutely no indication that anything might go wrong, or at least nothing that triggered the doctor’s concern. Yet our son was born nearly three months early and spent the first couple months of his life in an incubator at the hospital, and we never knew on any given day whether we’d ever get to take him home. Aside from his small stature, he’s perfectly healthy and unless you were aware of it, you’d never know he was born so prematurely. Of course I share Matthew’s concerns. Those first couple months with Tyler were absolute hell; I couldn’t even hold him for weeks.

There’s a brisk knock on the door before it opens, revealing our OB/GYN, the same one who delivered Tyler. Dr. Miller is in her mid-forties with shoulder-length blonde hair, green eyes, and an expression that suggests a person would have to be a mental patient to cross her. She always speaks plainly to us rather than sugarcoating everything like a lot of doctors tend to do. Even Matthew, who despises all doctors and hospitals on the general principle that he spent so long recovering from the bombing, took an immediate liking to her.

“And how are we today?” Dr. Miller says, shooting us a brief smile as she looks over my chart.

We go through the normal routine of taking my blood pressure, listening to my heartbeat, and running through a list of questions about how I’m feeling. She doesn’t seem concerned over the sporadic morning sickness I’ve had. With Tyler, I spent the first two months of my pregnancy huddled over the toilet whereas this time it comes and goes with no rhyme or reason to it. There is a brief discussion about my slightly higher than normal blood pressure, though Dr. Miller quickly puts our concerns to rest by telling us it’s an absolutely normal condition and prescribes something to keep it in check.

Now we’re getting to the really interesting part of the visit. I lie back on the table and raise the hospital gown I changed into to just below my breasts while Dr. Miller turns on the ultrasound machine and coats my belly with an almost ice cold jelly, chuckling at my reaction to it. Next she warms up the wand and sits beside me on a stool, placing the business end on my belly. Automatically, my eyes snap up to the computer monitor and I know without having to look that Matthew is just as riveted. I’m pretty sure we both stop breathing as Dr. Miller locates our baby. My eyes water at the sight, seeing the little fingers and toes and nose.

Matthew lets out a small laugh and I look at him questioningly. He’s pointing at the monitor. “It’s sucking its thumb,” he points out.

I grin realizing he’s right, then scowl slightly at him calling our baby an “it,” however accurate that might be since we don’t yet know the sex. And at that thought, my eyes drift across the picture, hoping for some sort of hint. Unfortunately our baby seems to be very modest; a bent knee is blocking our view.

As though she is reading our minds, Dr. Miller begins gently prodding my belly, trying to urge the baby to roll over a bit. The baby is incredibly reluctant, but finally does as directed. “Do we want to know the sex?” Dr. Miller asks as the baby turns to face the monitor, still sucking on a tiny thumb.

Matthew looks at me hopefully and I smile back, nodding to the doctor. “Yes, please,” I say eagerly, feeling Matthew squeeze my hand.

It takes a few minutes for our apparently very stubborn baby to cooperate, but finally we get a result. “Well, as I told you with Tyler, this isn’t always 100% accurate, but it looks to me as though you’re going to have a little girl.”

I hear Matthew suck in a sharp breath and I’m frozen in place, still staring at the monitor where the doctor is pointing out different parts of the baby’s body. “A girl,” Matthew breathes into my ear, resting his forehead against my hair. “We’re going to have a daughter.”

Turning my head, I think his eyes might be watery, though I’m not entirely sure, since I’m looking through my own watery eyes. He presses a soft kiss to my lips, then we tune Dr. Miller back in as she writes out my prescriptions and gives me a list of pregnancy do’s and don’ts. I think Matthew pays more attention to the instructions than I do, and eventually we’re on our way back to the car, his arm around my waist as though he has no intention of letting go.

“Where to now, Mr. Young?” I ask him as he settles into the driver’s seat beside me.

He grins widely. “Now I’m taking my two girls home.”

––––-o––––-

My high over finding out we are going to have a daughter lasts the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. I pick Tyler up from school while Samantha takes a well-earned nap. We order out for dinner so none of us has to do anything. And the only time I stepped away from my family was to get the rundown from Leo about what happened at work after I left, which was nothing important. On our drive home, Sam and I decided to keep the sex of the baby to ourselves for the time being. Though neither of us has said it, I think we’re both nervous about this pregnancy and unwilling to jinx it.

It’s not until after Tyler is in bed that I’m forced back to reality. As I’m heading down to meet Samantha in the basement where we decided to watch a movie before bed, my cell phone rings, and though I’m loath to answer it, I see the caller id and know I have to. And by the time I finish with the call, I wish I’d trusted my instinct and hadn’t answered it.

Suddenly I don’t want to be anywhere near Samantha. Not because I don’t want to be with her, but because I know one look at my face and she’ll know something is terribly wrong. The doctor warned us about keeping her stress levels down and this is not the sort of thing she’d be able to keep her stress low about. Hell, I can feel my own blood pressure skyrocketing at the thought of what this phone call means for us. I can’t keep this from Samantha, though; she needs to know. I just don’t want to ruin her good mood…

Before I realize where I am, I’m standing at the foot at the basement stairs watching Samantha select a movie for us to watch. She turns and asks my opinion on one she’s picked, and she immediately pales at the expression on my face. I rush across the basement in case she falls, but my panic is for nothing. She pulls away from me and fixes me with a stern expression.

“What’s wrong?” she demands quietly, backing away and crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Sighing, I guide her over to sit on the couch. “I just got a call from my legal team,” I tell her quietly. “And I’m going to have to leave for a few days.”

She’s quiet for several moments, letting my words sink in. I inwardly curse as I see her doing what I tend to do when I hear bad news: she’s closing herself off from me. “When?”

“A couple weeks,” I murmur, reaching over to rest my hand on her knee. She stiffens, but doesn’t push me away.

“Where?”

“Germany.”

Her eyes slowly close and I know she’s connected the dots. “For how long?” she whispers.

“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “Could be a couple days, could be longer. It just depends on how long it takes to convince them I had no concrete evidence the plane was going to crash. And it’s true; I didn’t know. I just had a bad feeling and went with my gut.”

Her eyes open again and she’s resolving herself to this news. “Can I ask you something I’ve been wondering about that?” she whispers.

Hesitantly, I nod, thinking I know what she’s about to ask.

“Why didn’t you tell anybody you thought there might be trouble?”

I sigh, leaning back, feeling relieved when she scoots over and curls into my side. “Because if I had, it wouldn’t have taken much before the people trying to kill me to realize I’d foiled their plans,” I tell her, resting my cheek on her head. “If I’d done that they would have been less subtle in their attempts and I might not be here right now. Sam, if I truly believed that plane would go down and kill those people, I would have figured out a way to change things. Until I saw the news coverage about the crash, part of me believed I was just paranoid. I can’t tell you how many sleepless nights I had after that day thinking about those people. People I’ve known for years—
friends
. Terry, the pilot, invited me to his kid’s birthday party last year. The security guys; they were good friends of Leo, fellow Marines. And the flight attendant, Sophie… She was supposed to get married three weeks ago. Now I’m sitting around wondering which of my supposed friends set me up with the intention to get me killed. I don’t even know exactly how close to me it’s gotten.”

I stop immediately at the sight of horror on Samantha’s face. While it’s true I told her about a possible leak, that was before the crash, and we haven’t really discussed it since; I don’t think she realized how severe the threat truly is. And I hate that I have to make her understand now, but we’ve ignored it until now, having much more pleasant things to think about.

“So what’s going to happen?” she asks.

“I honestly don’t know,” I respond. “I’ll go to Germany with my legal team and a support team of federal agents who were aware of the situation. I’ll tell them what I know. I didn’t do anything wrong, Samantha. They can’t indict me on charges for which they have no proof.”

“And if they do indict you?”

I remain quiet for several minutes, trying to think of how to answer. Truthfully, if I’m indicted, I could be sent to prison. I think she knows that, and if she doesn’t, I don’t want to tell her. The chances of that are, I honestly believe, very slim. But I have to tell her something. “If that happens, then we’ll deal with it,” I whisper into her hair. “But I have every intention of coming home to you and seeing the birth of my daughter.”

She sighs, pressing further into me. “You told me you were coming home last time,” she reminds me under her breath.

I flinch as though I’ve been hit, knowing she’s right. My instinct is to again set her mind at ease, but I really don’t think that’s what she wants to hear from me right now. I wrack my brain, trying to figure out how to fix this and maybe get us back to even part of the happiness we had less than an hour ago. Rearranging myself so I’m lying down on the couch long ways and Samantha’s back is against my stomach, I reach for the remote control for the television to start whatever movie is set to play. During the opening credits, I put my lips against her ear. “You know what I’m most looking forward to in the near future?” I ask her.

She turns slightly to look at me, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Only one thing?” she whispers in an attempt to match the lightness of my tone.

I smile softly at her. “Touché, my love,” I say teasingly. “First I’m looking forward to becoming your husband again. And then I’m looking forward to holding my daughter for the first time. And I fully intend for those two things to happen as scheduled. They’re already written in my schedule—in permanent ink—and anything I think you know that anything I write in that schedule book will happen no matter what.”

She giggles and I feel her relaxing against me. Grinning, I press a kiss to her temple and turn my attention to the movie. Our situation might not be perfect at the moment, and there is a frightening chance I might lose my family again, but for right now, I’m where I need to be, squished between the couch cushions and the love of my life. Anything else can wait for tomorrow.
 

With Claire in charge, an engagement party/baby shower is arranged for the weekend following finding out we’re having a daughter, giving Matthew and me a couple of days before he has to leave for Germany. I’m trying not to think too much about it and he hasn’t brought it up again, though every so often I’ve walked into a room to find him and Leo talking in low, urgent tones or Matthew on the phone with somebody in his office late at night. Every time this happens, Matthew makes it a point to distract my mind in some way, most of which involve the sudden loss of clothing. I’m certainly not going to complain about these instances, but I wish he’d just talk to me about what he’s about to face. The not knowing is worse than anything else.

Despite her needling, I haven’t told Claire the sex of the baby. She keeps trying to convince me it’s necessary information to have while preparing for the baby shower, but I’ve managed to ignore her. Needless to say, she’s not pleased with my newly found diversion tactics I picked up from watching Matthew do the same things to me.

Matthew and I would have been perfectly happy to celebrate our news about the wedding and baby privately, especially considering most of the people invited are ones I’ve never actually met. Obviously Claire and her family are here for the party, as are Bonnie and Leo and a few other people from town. The others seem to be people Matthew works with who are present for no other reason than to kiss his ass. Luckily, he’s smart enough to realize this; he smiles, thanks them for their gifts, and tells them to enjoy the party, then wanders off to talk to someone else. To my surprise, Matthew’s mother Diane arrived shortly after Claire. I waited nervously for Paul to walk in as well, but to my relief, he’s decided not to attend. I have a feeling Matthew and Claire extended the invitation to their mother, but not to their father or sisters. Fine by me…

Much like Claire’s other parties, there’s no structure to this one. The grill is on, the men are cooking, kids are playing in the yard, and the women are in little social clusters. I’ve stuck myself in a small group with Claire, Bonnie, and Diane, and I’m having a great time. Every so often, Matthew wanders off the deck for no other reason than to kiss me and there have been several moments that I’ve expected him to drag me away from the party and up to our bedroom. Someone always distracts him before it gets to that point and I can see the frustration building on his face and the glares directed at Claire, who seems determined to keep us at the party.

Later in the evening, yet more people are arriving, none of whom I know, but I do recognize one of the women. She’s the one I saw coming out of Matthew’s office the day of our doctor’s appointment. Unlike then, when she was dressed in more business appropriate attire, today she’s in tight blue jeans and a sweater that, if she were to bend over at the waist, would probably display to everyone much more of her chest area than necessary. I don’t miss all the men at the party giving her second or third glances, but she seems oblivious to the attention as she makes a beeline towards Matthew. I watch as he smiles at her and lets her hug and kiss him. My eyebrows rise at the sight; that’s more than business associate behavior, especially when she seems to attach herself to him at the shoulder, touching his arm repeatedly and far too long for my liking even as they turn their attention to other conversations.

Feeling jealousy build up, I’m about to approach my fiancé and let my displeasure be known when I hear Claire curse. I glance at her over my shoulder, finding her gaze locked on Matthew and the woman. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she says quietly. “Why the fuck did he invite her?”

Surprised as I am that Claire seems to know her, I use what little explanation I have for the situation. “She’s a business associate or something,” I say, trying to keep my tone even to hide my unease.

Claire’s eyes widen in an almost amused sort of way. “Is that what he told you?” she whispers, closing a bit of the distance to keep our conversation private. I nod silently, knowing that she’s about to correct my belief. She shakes her head as though she feels a little sorry for me. “Sam, that’s Natalie.”

I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. The name is familiar and it only takes a moment for me to realize why: she’s the woman Matthew dated for around six months after he and I split up. None of Matthew’s family seems to know
why
they broke up; according to Claire, she thought they’d be together for quite a while. And while I knew he dated somewhat while we were apart, which was his right, he and I haven’t even been close to broaching the subject of any of his possible exes. I had enough information from Claire and Danny that anything else would probably make me crazy. I’m not sure whether I’m more pissed off that she’s here now, touching my fiancé the way she is, or that he lied about her identity. Granted I don’t think I’d be okay with inviting her here even if I had known who she is, but the fact that he didn’t think to mention it and didn’t think it wrong to invite her has me wondering what their relationship really is right now.

“Natalie?” I ask Claire, turning back to the deck where I can hear the woman’s laugh at something Matthew said and see her reaching out to press a hand to his chest. “As in his ex, Natalie?”

“That’s the one,” Claire confirms. “What does he think he’s doing, inviting her to the party?”

I’m wondering the same thing as I work out my next move. I could go up there, cause a scene and embarrass everyone involved. I could go up there and subtly remind Natalie that this party is for Matthew and me. I could keep to myself until the party is over, the house is cleared, and then have my moment to call Matthew out. Or I could just ignore it, trust Matthew, and move on with our lives. After all, he’s marrying me, not her.

“You going to say something to him?” Claire asks quietly. I’m sure if I say no, she’ll take it upon herself to say something to him on my behalf.

All of a sudden, though, I just want away from the party. “No,” I tell her softly. “I’m going to lie down for a bit, okay?”

Claire doesn’t seem to want to let me just walk away and she looks like she regrets telling me who Natalie is in the first place, but I don’t give her a chance to stop me. I walk around the side of the house to avoid having to stop and talk to Matthew or anybody else, and head straight to our bedroom before changing my mind and continuing down the hall to the guestroom.

––––-o––––-

What has to be hours later, I wake at the sound of the bedroom door being opened. It doesn’t take much to remind me where I am and why I’m here, curled up and fully dressed on top of the blankets of the guest bed. I immediately know who’s entering, recognizing his heavy sigh that seems to be a mixture of relief and something else I can’t quite identify and currently have no desire to figure out. The mattress dips as he sits on the edge of the bed. I make no move to look at him.

“I don’t suppose saying sorry will make up for this,” he says quietly. I don’t respond, which causes him to sigh again. Two thuds against the floor tell me he’s removed his shoes and he’s making himself more comfortable on the bed beside me. “Will you at least talk to me?”

“Why did you lie?” I ask hoarsely. “Why did you tell me she was a business associate?”

He stays quiet for a few moments before answering. “It wasn’t a lie,” he says. “She is a business associate. It’s how we met, how we became friends, how we—”

I really don’t need a summary of their relationship. “You didn’t tell me she was your ex that you dated for six months,” I accuse. “And you didn’t tell me you were inviting her to our engagement party. And then she was practically mauling you in front of our family and friends and you were doing nothing to stop her. How do you think that made me feel? Especially when I parroted your description of her to Claire who looked at me like I was an idiot for not knowing who she was.”

He shuffles around a bit until I can practically see him mirroring my position on the bed. I expect him to reach out for me, but he doesn’t, and I don’t know how I feel about that. Not that I want him touching me at the moment… “I fucked up,” he says softly. “I should have told you, I know. But I didn’t even know she was going to be here.” At my scoff, he backtracks slightly. “I mentioned the party and she said she’d like to meet you, but she wasn’t sure what she had going on today. Having her show up was a surprise and if you would have stuck around long enough, I would have introduced the two of you.”

Please tell me he did not just say that… “You actually wanted me to stick around after watching your ex-girlfriend crawling all over you?” I ask him incredulously.

“She wasn’t crawling all over me, Sam!” he says exasperatedly. “That’s just the way she is. And yes, I understand how it looked to you and everyone else, and I’m sorry I put you in that position, but she’s a friend and last I checked, I’m allowed to have friends.”

I don’t know whether to cry or scream, but I turn to face him, finding himself bracing himself for a fight. Well, if that’s what he wants… “No one said you’re not allowed friends,” I tell him quietly, shocked at how calm my voice is remaining. “But a little forewarning next time you want to invite your ex-girlfriend to a party celebrating not only your engagement to another woman, but the coming birth of your
child
would be great. And I’m really not in the mood to fight you, Matthew, so if that’s what you’re looking for, get the fuck out and leave me alone.”

He’s stunned as I stand from the bed, back against the wall, and cross my arms as I glare at him. “Sam,” he says in a soft tone that suggests we’re arguing over something ridiculous that we should be long past by now. “I’m sorry.”

Despite the fact that he actually looks and sounds apologetic for the first time since he came in here, I’m not backing down. “How would you have felt if I’d invited Tom to this party, Matt?” I whisper. “And yeah, I get your relationship with Natalie was only a fraction of what I had with Tom, but it’s the same thing. You brought her in our home without telling me exactly who she was—I had to hear it from your sister—and you didn’t seem to have any interest in pushing her away from you or introducing her to me in the ten minutes I watched you two together. And then it took you hours to come find me.”

His eyes widen. “Yeah, you know why? Because my mom, sister, and Bonnie all had something to say about why you disappeared.”

Normally I might smirk at the thought of him being ambushed by three overprotective women. Now I just want to sleep. “Can we talk about this later?” I ask him.

Brow furrowing as though he thought we’d just kiss, make up, and move on once he got a chance to explain, he stands. “Will you at least come to our bedroom?” I don’t miss his begging tone.

“Not right now,” I say, looking straight at him. “I just want to lie down.”

He spends another few minutes trying to urge me into our room, but he doesn’t come near me and I don’t give in; eventually he figures this out and, looking incredibly dejected, leaves me to my thoughts. Part of me wants to forget my stubbornness and chase after him so we can talk through this issue. The other part of me is incredibly hurt and pissed off that he would pull something like this on a day celebrating our family. And when it comes to keeping exes as friends, I’m not even sure how much room I have to talk; if he was still speaking to me, Tom and I would probably still be friends as well. Maybe it’s because Matthew knew all along whom I was with, while I had no idea about him. I never asked Claire until Tyler and I went to stay with her, and she never offered; not that I would have wanted to know anyway.

I spend another hour in solitude before the desire to see my son overrides my annoyance with my fiancé. The two boys are in the basement playing videogames and unless I’m mistaken, Matthew is losing miserably. Of course he’ll just claim he let Tyler win. I walk around the couch and sit down, Tyler in between Matthew and me, earning a bright smile from my boy.

“I’m winning, Mom!” he tells me, his eyes shooting back to the television again.

“I see that,” I tell him proudly, carefully keeping my own eyes on the screen, despite feeling the heat from Matthew’s gaze as he affixes it to me. He’s stopped playing altogether which apparently Tyler realizes, because he scolds his father about it, causing me to smirk and Matthew to narrow his eyes on Tyler. Obviously he hasn’t yet encountered Tyler’s bossy side.

Once their game is over—and Tyler has clearly won—he turns to Matthew. “Can we play again, Dad?” he asks eagerly.

Neither Matthew nor I have gotten used to hearing Tyler call him Dad, and I glance briefly at Matthew’s expression. It’s a mix of fatherly pride and love, reluctance to deny his son anything when he’s addressed in this manner, and also the desire to keep Tyler occupied so he and I can talk. I’m not ready for that, though, so I quickly offer to play Tyler’s game with him, which earns me two identical looks of male skepticism that a girl could ever play videogames. Knowing it’s better not to mess with me right now, Matthew wordlessly hands me the controller while Tyler resets the game and gives me a brief rundown on the game controls. I seriously have no idea how children get this good at these games. You’d think it would be too complicated for them, whereas an adult shouldn’t have any trouble whatsoever. Clearly that’s not the case. After three rounds of the racing game, Tyler decides to play by himself because it’s too easy to beat me and Matthew is claiming his fingers are too sore to continue.

We sit on opposite sides of the couch, watching our son play and stealing glances at one another when we think the other isn’t looking. I hate fighting with Matthew and if I thought there was a way to put aside my pride on this, I would. Unfortunately, I don’t see myself backing down.