“You’re what…twelve weeks along? Thirteen?” I’m too shocked to compute the actual due date, and I can’t pinpoint the night she came over, but all it will take is a quick look at my call log to see. It was early in June. The fifth maybe? Sixth? “Hopefully it’ll fade soon.”
Stacey takes a drink of coffee. “Hopefully. It’s making it hard to work.”
“Your OB didn’t prescribe you anything to help with it?”
She shakes her head. “I haven’t seen her yet.”
“Really?” I plow my hand through my hair. “I’ll, uh, I’ll go with you to the first appointment, if you want.”
“No,” she says quickly. “You don’t have to.”
“If this baby is mine—”
“It is.”
“Then I do want to be involved. I’ll go with you if I can.”
She smiles and puts her coffee down. “I can go to the first appointment by myself. It’s just blood work and probably that Pap smear I’m overdue for.”
I nod, again at a loss for words. “Well, if you, uh, need anything…”
“I’ll let you know.” She throws her arms around me, crushing her breasts against my chest. It feels wrong. “I know this wasn’t planned, Sam, but I can’t help but feel like it was meant to be. Maybe shouldn’t have broken up so many times.”
“No,” I say, more harshly than I mean.
She breaks away. “No?”
“Stacey…” I shake my head and let out a deep sigh. “I thought we settled things the last time we saw each other.”
“Yeah, but now I’m knocked up.”
“That doesn’t change how I feel about you,” I say slowly. This is uncharted territory for me. I have no fucking clue what to say or do. Stacey having my child doesn’t change how I feel about her. If she was a random hookup—which I’ve had plenty of before—and she showed up saying she was carrying my child, I wouldn’t drop everything and fall to one knee. I will take care of my child no questions asked, but I don’t love Stacey.
I have and always will love Chloe.
And—fuck—I’m going to have to tell her, and the thought actually causes vomit to rise in my throat. I close my eyes again and swallow hard, still not wanting to accept this as the truth.
“I need to get to work,” Stacey says, slowly backing away. “I only stopped by because I was on my way. I didn’t want to bug you so early, but you weren’t answering my calls.” She playfully pokes me in the ribs. “And I didn’t want to leave this in a message.”
“Yeah, I, uh, appreciate that.” And I’m fucking grateful she didn’t show up yesterday when Chloe was here. Though at least then she’d know, and I wouldn’t have to go through the pain of telling her myself. “I don’t know what to do,” I confess.
“I don’t either.” Stacey takes my hand again and inches closer. “We’ll figure it out together, though.”
“Yeah. Let me, uh, know when you get that OB appointment.”
She presses a smile. “I will.” She picks up my mug of coffee and takes a big drink, and then hurries to the door. “I’ll call later, and answer this time, okay?”
“Okay.”
I open the door for her, and close it the second she’s out, wishing I could close everything out of my life. This isn’t happening. It can’t be. Getting a chick pregnant was always a fear of mine, and the reason I never had unprotected sex, as much as I wanted to.
Until Chloe, though I’ve always wanted Chloe to have all my babies.
And now I did get someone pregnant and it couldn’t have happened at a worse time, though I suppose there is no ideal time to accidentally knock someone up. Locking the door, I turn and go into the living room, sinking down on the couch. I sit there, unmoving, and then force myself up. I have enough time to go back to sleep, but there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to fall asleep.
Instead, I go into my bedroom and take my phone off the charger. My heart starts to hammer in my ears, and I squeeze my eyes closed, doing little to drown it out. Sinking onto the foot of my bed, I call the one person I trust enough to confide in—who’s also been through the shock of an unplanned pregnancy.
“Hello?” Archer answers, sounding like he just woke up. And fuck, it’s early. I didn’t realize how early until just now. “Did you butt dial me?”
“Hey,” I reply. “And no. Did I wake you up?”
“No,” Archer says. “It’s my turn to get up with the twins. They’re your goddaughters. You should come deal with them every once in a while, you know.”
“I might need the practice.”
“Yeah, you—what the fuck?” he asks and a baby—either Evelyn or Camilla—fusses in the background.
“Yeah.”
“The fuck?” Archer repeats. “You’re serious?”
“Yep. I think…I mean…she says it’s mine.”