Mine To Keep (Love By Design 7) - Page 5

“Hey, maybe you sh

ould tell him I’m not the one who popped your cherry so he’ll get over it.” I crossed my arms, smirking, waiting for her to close her mouth, which was currently making fish faces at me.

Chastising was easy for Kristen to do instead of acknowledging that for once I might actually be right in regards to her issues with Damien Hart. If she only fessed up to him, I might not have to keep up my Demon Radar when he was around.

“You’re bad.” She said, slapping my chest.

I grabbed her hand. No need for anyone to think something was going on when clearly it wasn’t.

“And you’re worse, which is probably why you two deserve each other,” I honestly assessed.

I scanned the crowd behind her and saw bright red hair dip in between the crowd. Pointing, I asked her, “Hey, isn’t that Remington?”

“Oh yeah.” Kristen turned to wave, shouting in Remi’s direction. “Remi!”

She paused, waving back and ducked back into the crowd, quickly walking away.

“I guess she’s got plans,” I mumbled, wondering where she was off to, not that it was any of my business. Remi was gone as quickly as we saw her, heading down the street toward the main campus and offsite student housing. I knew she didn’t live in that direction, and I was a tad curious what she was doing. Not that I was going to chase after her. I had no reason to, so I let the passing worry go.

Kristen shrugged. “Maybe.

I continued scanning around, observing the student body and parents attending tonight. Everything looked copacetic, but you never knew when an idiot wanted to throw the first punch because their team lost.

“I just wanted to say hi and see if you’re coming out later?” I didn’t know if Kristen was feeling bad and trying to navigate our breakup by inviting me to group outings. I knew in time we’d be okay and back to being friends. This just wasn’t something I wanted to deal with then. She could be needy and I had other things to take care of while she worked out telling her new boyfriend the truth.

I shook my head. “Work,” I said by way of explanation.

“Obviously, Evan.” Kristen huffed, leaving me to my duties, and I wished I was anywhere but work right then. Oddly, my mind drifted back to a red-headed girl I hoped was okay because I couldn’t shake the feeling she wasn’t.

Remi

Back to the present…

Screw Braxton Hicks; these had to be the real deal. I had weeks of false starts to know the difference or think I knew the difference. A mother would know, wouldn’t she? Was I a bad mom because I wasn’t sure of the difference? My back felt like it was on fire, and my stomach bowled me over with cramping pain.

“Shit, baby, this hurts mommy, and I need to stop cursing.” My swear jar had fifty-three dollars in it, and that was from the last month alone. I hadn’t had time to take the change to the bank, but I figured it would supply me with enough diapers the first month. Counting change was the least of my worries when I was certain I tore something important I would need someday much later. This was the shit those fancy baby books with the glossy covers and happy, perfect-looking J Crew model mothers didn’t tell you about.

The abject fear that your insides were falling out or that the pain was so debilitating you lost your breath before throwing up or peeing yourself. I mean really, the choices were spectacular when coupled with that absolute helplessness. My childless girlfriends, the few I had, would have argued that painting their nails left them helpless—screw that, I felt like a tiger was trying to claw its way out of my body. It felt like staring death in the face while bringing life into the world and wondering how close you’re standing to the line in between.

I wasn’t being dramatic, practicing the Lamaze class breathing in between cursing that asshole football player who knocked me up the first time I gave in to my baser nature. So much for losing my virginity with a guy I thought actually cared about me. How wrong I had been. Apparently wining and dining me with a craft beer after a big win was the trick to forgetting my morals. There I was eight months later about to bring a child into the world, alone.

I should have known Ryder West was using me while he waited to hear back from the big sports agents and NFL draft. It wasn’t every day a small college town kid makes it big. I knew that and I rooted for him to follow his dreams. Maybe I had hoped he’d take me along with him; he’d made a lot of empty promises, but I was fooled once. Never again.

The pain focused me on the present dilemma I now had. Getting to the hospital. Not to give Ryder any credit, but he must have had super sperm to create the fire-breathing dragon that wanted out of my body right this second. Pain made me buckle to my knees, grabbing for the wall. I banged my elbow on the edge of my sofa bed, falling down, and the funny bone pain made this all the more comical, eight plus months along and rolling on the floor like a beached whale in tears.

“Oh please, little baby, just give momma like ten minutes to drive over to Poughkeepsie. Please, I swear.” I clutched the sofa, holding my big belly, which stuck out from under my cotton T-shirt, and staggered down the steps from my walk-up studio apartment. Grunting followed shallow breaths and “hee–hee–hee–hoo–hoo–hoo” came from my mouth but did little to abate the pain.

My recently purchased car was in the back parking lot, looking as sad as I felt. I bought her from a kid who wasn’t returning to school this semester, and while she needed a little work, I was proud when I handed over my hard-earned twelve hundred dollars in cash. I could do this. I just needed to get there.

Rubbing my belly helped but not enough when the ripple of pain felt like a lance of lightning through my body. I looked up and said a quick prayer to Lord Jesus, thanking my mother. I hadn’t seen or heard from her in years, but if her labor with me was anything like this, then I was due for some gratitude. I counted the steps down and a bead of sweat popped on my skin for each one during the entire flight down.

Luckily, my studio was on the second floor. My boss David lived across the hall from me while Andy lived on the third floor above us with the bar on the main level below us. I was grateful the Easton brothers took me in when I got off the bus, looking for a job. No more trekking back and forth to the student housing hostel across the river. I lived in a nice town with nice people, and I was desperate to fit in, even if I felt like the thing the cat dragged home some days.

Finally, I made it to the car and leaned over the driver’s side door. Again I practiced my hee–hee–hee–hoo–hoo–hoo to a deaf audience consisting of a mangy-looking, orange ally cat with a torn ear I named Genie. The humidity of the night air was sticky and sapped my energy almost as much as the next contraction that hit me. “I really hope you can hold out a little longer, please, baby, please.”

Genie came up to my legs and purred as he stepped between them and let his tail wrap around my ankle. “Damn it, cat…” I’d forgotten to leave the little bowl I put out on the fire escape for him.

He looked up at me with his assessing golden eyes. “I’m sorry, buddy. You’ll have to wait until I come back and hope David doesn’t call animal control on you.” He meowed loudly as if he knew David wasn’t a pet much less a people person. David was a decorated Marine who served several tours in Afghanistan and Iraq. He was physically scarred like Genie but emotionally wrecked. At least the cat hadn’t given up on humanity.

Tags: M.C. Cerny Love By Design Romance
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