Chapter Forty-One
FORTY-ONE
Phoebe
Hailey and I sit side by side on a hospital bed, the paper crinkling underneath our butts. Neither of us are wearing those flimsy patterned gowns, but in solidarity, I got a physical and blood work done with her.
Color has returned to her fair cheeks, which might just be blush, granted. She brushed mascara on her lashes and even did a smoky eye.
“Do you have any family history of insomnia?” Dr. Kent asks Hails. She was nice enough to let us stay in the same room together.
“Not that I know of. I was in foster care.”
My lungs inflate. I love that she can offer this info and feel that it’s true. Especially at Victoria Internal Medicine. Going somewhere local cements the notion that we’re remaining here.
We’re staying and choosing to weather the Varrick storm. Whatever that may be.
Running away isn’t in me anymore, and I think for my brothers and Rocky’s siblings, the idea of planting roots together has taken hold, too. Finding out your parents weren’t completely honest with you can make for Gorilla Glue bonding.
And we were already pretty tight to begin with.
Dr. Kent scribbles on her notepad while seated on a stool. “Are you taking any medicine to help you sleep?”
“No.”
“How’s your caffeine intake?”
“I might have a couple cups of coffee a day. It’s not a ton.”
More jotting. “Have you found that anything helps you sleep now?”
“Uh…sex. I sometimes have sex to the point where everything shuts off and I can fall asleep.”
I did not know this, and maybe I shouldn’t know, because now I’m wondering if it’s Jake or Oliver who rocks her world to sleep. Dr. Kent takes a note, not criticizing Hailey’s sleep tactic.
She asks a few more questions, then says she’ll be back with our blood-work results.
“Do you think you’ll reconcile with them?” Hailey asks me, chains on her black cargo pants jingling as she shifts a little. “Our moms?”
I stare down at my strawberry sundress and my strappy pink heels. Those are so cute on you, bug. I thought about Elizabeth…my mom, this morning when I chose the outfit.
My heart pangs. “Maybe…I’m not as angry anymore. I guess…I get why they did what they did. But maybe it’s more than that.” I hold her gaze. “I would’ve never known Rocky. I would’ve never had you as my best friend. If it weren’t for them. And I love you both more than humanly comprehensible—it’s impossible to hold that kind of anger in my heart when you two fill it.”
Hailey rests her temple on my shoulder. “I know exactly what you mean.” I wonder if she’s also thinking of Trevor.
It reminds me of Easter weekend, and I thumb the scab on my palm where Claudia burned me. All for nothing. That riles me a little…a lot, if I’m being super honest. The rope was never really pulled. There was never a high of triumph.
I don’t take pleasure in Claudia’s death.
The amount of crocodile tears at the country club could sail a fleet of Viking ships. The lack of Jake’s mom doesn’t resolve things. It complicates them.
Five more minutes pass. We get bored and start meandering around the room. I flip through a Celebrity Crush tabloid left on top of a Health magazine. Then Hailey blasts music from her phone. I recognize the old Avril Lavigne song from our youth.
We exchange a giddy grin before we burst out scream-singing the angsty lyrics, jumping up and down like we’re in a concert pit. I grab her hands as we bounce, and then we spin in a circle at high speed.
Which is how Dr. Kent finds us.
We slow to a halt, crashing into each other, and the music hits a little different seeing Dr. Kent’s flattened lips and serious eyes.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
She motions to the hospital bed, and Hailey and I reclaim our seats side by side, paper crunching under us. The noise adds to the tension and makes my heart pound.
“Hailey, I’m going to prescribe you some medication for your insomnia and refer you to a psychiatrist.”
She nods nervously.
Dr. Kent flips through papers on our charts. “Good news. You’re both negative for all STDs and STIs.”
Okay, great, not that either of us thought we had an issue with one. “That’s positive—well, it’s negative,” I say, “but you know what I mean.” I laugh unsteadily. Why am I so anxious? It’s her face. Something is clearly wrong.
She offers me a pity smile.
Lovely.
“I realize you didn’t come in here for this, so it might come as a shock.” I can’t tell who she’s talking to. Her attention descends to her charts. “It looks like you’re pregnant.”
I choke on air. “Excuse me?”
“No, no ,” Hailey says adamantly. “I’ve always worn condoms.”
“Same.” I don’t mention the times Rocky has pulled out and come on me.
“Oh, sorry…” Dr. Kent is flustered, embarrassed as she switches charts. “It looks like only one of you is pregnant. And condoms aren’t one hundred percent effective in preventing pregnancy.”
I shake out the unhelpful fact floating in my face. “Um, ma’am, Dr. Kent, which one of us is pregnant?” I sound hostile. Is that a pregnancy symptom? Irritability—because I am feeling really fucking irritable right now!
“It can’t be me.” Hailey crinkles her face. “I’ve barely slept. I’ve been stressed. What can grow in that condition?”
Am I pregnant?
Rocky. I feel myself trying to call out for him. The powerful need for him to be next to me—it slams into me like a head-on collision.
I feel sick.
Morning sickness? It’s not even the morning. I’m battling with the desire for him and the fear of telling him. We’ve never had these talks. We’ve never discussed what a year looks like together, because I haven’t created a vision board of our life. Okay, I need to go to Staples. I need to get cardboard. Tape. Some construction paper and cute strawberry stickers.
What if one of us doesn’t want to stick babies on the board? What if I don’t want a minivan ever? These are things I don’t have answers for. I’m not ready—I’m not ready.
We’re not ready.
“You’d be surprised”—Dr. Kent peers up from the charts she’s reorganized—“how strong new life can be.” Her smile tries to console us. “Hailey is the one pregnant. It looks like you’re about seven weeks along.”
She squeaks out a shocked breath.
I hold her hand tight. Then I suddenly remember how she was ill outside the grocery, how she’s been more emotional lately, and I just attributed all these signs to exhaustion.
“And Phoebe’s not…?” she asks.
“No, Phoebe isn’t pregnant.”
I release a breath, but it’s staggered because I also remember, “I gave you my condoms. You were using my box of condoms.” Guilt piles up on my rib cage. Did I…did I cause this? Should that have been me?
That was supposed to be me? If Rocky wasn’t particular about condom preferences, we’d be the ones expecting.
Is that how it works?
“I don’t have the stats,” Hailey says softly, “but a defective condom is probably like one in a million, Phebs. You didn’t know.”
When Dr. Kent gives us a minute alone, I rotate to my best friend. “I’m here. I’m here for whatever you need or want to do, Hails. You don’t have to figure this all out today.”
She’s biting her thumbnail.
“Do you know who…?” I start to ask.
She shakes her head wildly. “It has to be…either Oliver’s or Jake’s baby. Neither one wants a serious relationship with me, Phoebe.” She wipes at her watery eyes. With more words of affirmation and reassurance from me, Hailey calms a little.
But I tell her, “I’ll cancel my date night. Let’s just eat pints of Rocky Road and stay in.” She loves ice cream when she’s sad.
“No…no, you go,” she says. “It’ll make me feel better knowing I’m not bringing you down.”
“Hailey Thornhall. I enjoy my time on the floor with you. How dare you say otherwise.”
Her smile turns into a laugh, and it’s the sound that carries us out of the doctor’s office. It also carries me into my date at ten p.m.—a horror-movie screening.
—
Months into fake dating Jake, I learned that the Konings own the eight-screen theater in town. A bit of a shocker, considering Jake rarely ventured there, but I suppose in his childhood, the public theater was seen as a bit dingy compared to his lavish private home theater.
When I brought up how it’d suck if Trent obtained the movie theater in the division of assets—because chances are, he’d turn it into some gentleman’s club—Jake said we should go more often.
He, very sweetly, requested they start screening horror movies at night.
So A Nightmare on Elm Street plays in the dark theater, and I get comfy in my seat among many, many rows of empty chairs. Nightly horror showings might not be the most lucrative idea, since Jake and I are literally the only ones here.
But I bought popcorn.
He even purchased Sour Patch Kids.
“Freddy!” I shout in a crunch of popcorn. “Don’t do it!”
Jake laughs.
And then my pulse goes from about twenty to one hundred miles per hour—as I sense Rocky. I brave a quick glance behind me. He sinks in his chair, his brooding face lit from the bright glow of the screen. Before his dark gaze shifts to mine, I face forward.
I smother a smile.
He’s never abandoned me. Not a single moment when we challenged ourselves through this job. Not even when I have to slowly cut off my fake relationship with Jake. He’s always, always going to be here.
This is our date. And I wonder what it’ll look like ten days from now. I wonder if the intensity will amplify until we both just explode. Become particles floating in the air. Merge as atoms.
The chair creaks behind me. Rocky careens forward, and his dominating, dangerous presence closes in on me. I do my best to concentrate on the screen.
My breathing catches, but I shout, “FREDDY! Come on!”
His jaw skims my cheek as he whispers, “Shut the fuck up. I’m watching a movie.”
A smile tries to burst through me, but I push it all down to retort, “No one is in here, so no, I will not shut the fuck up.” I pop another kernel in my mouth, chewing slower as anticipation shifts me to full throttle.
He’s not moving backward.
Rocky slides an arm down my shoulder, past my collarbone. The force of his clutch pulls me back into the seat. I catch a needy noise in my throat, especially as he grabs a fistful of my breast. Jake is right there. My eyes dart to my left.
Jake sips his fountain drink. Not paying attention to the devil behind my chair. I bite the corner of my lip.
“You’re smiling,” Rocky whispers.
“Am not,” I retort. “And I thought you were watching the movie, not me.”
“I can watch two nightmares at once.” His other arm slinks down my other shoulder. It feels like he’s right up against me. He steals a handful of my popcorn.
“Thief,” I accuse. “I will call the theater attendant.”
“Try me.” He even drinks my soda. “I have a pretty good feeling they’ll believe I’m innocent.”
I tighten my eyes at the screen. Do not turn and look at him. Do fucking not. My heart swells at a vicious rate, making it harder and harder to breathe. “I know what you are.”
His whisper hits my ear. “And what’s that?” A bolt of electricity courses through me as Rocky holds me against the chair from behind.
I’m gripping the armrests like I’m going to plunge and free-fall. Then I let go and touch his arms, which strengthen against my body.
“You’re the same as me,” I breathe.
I imagine his eyes flitting from the screen, back to me, and his lips graze my cheek. “Then we must want the same things.”
“And what exactly do you want?”
I feel him looking forward. “You,” he says deeply. “And revenge.”
My smile takes wicked shape.