Chapter 8 The Universe is Definitely a Man
THE UNIVERSE IS DEFINITELY A MAN
LEXI
The streets are pitch black this time of night.
I miss the longer days of summer, when I’d get home by seven-twenty and still have a good hour of daylight left.
But late January doesn’t give the same pleasures.
I can’t even cozy up with a nice fire yet, because it’s still damn near seventy degrees outside. Thank you, Texas.
Today was a whirlwind at work. We’re picking up since everyone has holiday money to spend. Meanwhile, I was reeling about the doctor’s news. It makes more sense now why the nausea hasn’t waned, and I spent half my day trying not to throw up on the sales floor.
That’s only half the battle. I can’t stop replaying Pierce’s face as he hightailed it out of the exam room when the doctor dropped the news.
Not that I expected him to stay and play the dotting boyfriend, because he’s not.
He won’t ever be because of what I did to us.
But we didn’t even get a chance to discuss what we’re going to do about this.
Bright lights glare in my review mirror. It’s so close I can’t make out the make or model because its high beams blind me. Have they been following me?
My stomach dances with anxious energy, the same nausea I’ve been combating all day rears its ugly head, but it’s not baby-related this time.
What if that’s him? What if he’s finally tired of hiding?
My palms grow clammy as I grip the steering wheel and push my foot into the gas pedal. My house is only a couple more minutes away, but if it’s him, he’ll know exactly where I’m going. I don’t want to pull into an empty townhouse, leaving myself open for an attack.
Pushing the call button on the radio, I wait for the tone to give it my command.
“Call, Harlow.”
The system rings throughout the car, and I keep flicking my eyes from the road to my mirror, but the vehicle hasn’t eased off. If anything, it’s accelerated to match my speed. The phone rings and rings, but she doesn’t pick up.
“Dammit, Harlow.”
Ending the call, I pass my street and keep driving North. There’s another cross street I can take to double back if I haven’t lost them by then.
Hitting the dial button again, I try Silas this time.
But it’s no different than my first attempt.
They’re probably off doing happily married things.
That thought quickly fills my head with images I never want to think about again, and I stub the end call button so hard the screen does that weird discoloration thing.
“Fuck!”
Panic creeps up my spine, gripping tight to my limbs that are stiff with a sudden, unhelpful paralysis.
My eyes grow blurry as the tears take over, and my view of the street becomes disjointed.
I should not be behind the wheel right now, and I certainly shouldn’t be pushing my gas pedal down further to get away from the situation. But I don’t know what else to do.
I could just drive around for a bit. Maybe head for Silas and Harlow’s, but what if he runs me off the road before then? In my terrified state, I don’t check the caller ID when the piercing ring sounds through the car’s system.
“Hello!?” I answer louder than necessary.
“Where are you?”
“Who is this?” My eyes cast to the screen, but that shift in focus has me pulling the steering wheel to the right, and my tires hit the rough edge of the lane. “Shit!” I scream and jerk the car back into alignment.
“Lexi!” Pierce’s stern voice calls out over the speakers.
“Yeah, I’m here. Why are you calling me? Wait, how did you even get my number?”
This conversation is distracting, and when I look back up, the car’s no longer riding my ass. I see their turn signal pop on and within a second, they’ve turned down another street.
I let out a relieved breath and melt into my chair. Because of the internal chaos, I passed my street and now have to make a U-turn to head back home.
“Answer the question, Princess. Where are you?”
“Not that it’s any of your damn business, but I’m about to be home.”
“Good, see you soon.”
The line goes dead, and my heart pounds thunderously against my chest. What did he mean by that?
Pulling into the driveway, I don’t have to wait long for my answer. The frustrating man stands on my front porch, arms crossed tight against that strong chest.
Stop thinking about his body.
I told Silas he’s been everywhere lately. I just didn’t think he’d cross the boundary of my private residence. This was not what I wanted to deal with tonight. Though maybe he’s finally here to talk about the baby.
Throwing the car in park, I heave my weary body from behind the wheel and draw in a steadying breath. It’s probably best to get this over with. Then I’ll know where he stands.
I don’t even make it to the front door before he’s on me. Warm hands capture my shoulders to look me over.
“What happened?”
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb. It took you way too long to get home, and you’ve been crying.”
I shake from his hold and give him my best withering stare with all the attitude I can currently muster.
“Can we talk about this inside. I’m exhausted and starving.”
Probably because it’s the first time today, the thought of eating something doesn’t automatically make me gag. I used to love working next to the bakery and across from the bistro, but now the commingling smells make it all the more difficult to take a break outside.
The house isn’t dark when I push the door open. The TV is on in the living room, and something shockingly delicious smelling wafts from the kitchen.
Spinning on my heels, I crash against Pierce’s chest; his quick reflexes steady my mistake. I need him not to be this close. I need those warm eyes to stop staring into my soul, easily seeing past my defenses.
“Have you been in my house?” I choke out.
His lips tick to the side, and that boyish dimple on his cheek pops into place. “I made dinner. Your favorite.”
He drops his warm hands from my shoulders and scoots past me into the kitchen like he lives here.
I’m so disoriented by his unexpected appearance that I follow right behind.
He motions to my small dining table that’s set for two, and the mouthwatering smell that hit me the moment the door opened makes perfect sense. The bubbling lasagna is still steaming from the oven, and garlic knots, ready for dipping, are paired on the side. He even made a heaping garden salad.
Who is this man?
Once I wipe the drool from my chin, my eyes bore into his back at the fridge.
“Wha...” I stutter. “What is all this?”
His big shoulders heave, and he turns back toward me with a couple of bottles of the sparkling water I keep around for when I’m craving a soda.
“I figured I should lighten the blow.”
“Uhm, what blow?”
“Si, came to see me today.”
“Okay, and?”
“You told him you’re worried about Evan coming back. From what I just saw on your face when you got home, something happened. Want to tell me what that was?”
This is the longest conversation we’ve had in years. Even a couple of weeks ago, when he dragged me to his room and I made a colossal mistake the next morning, we didn’t do this much talking. It hurts.
It hurts to see him so casual in my kitchen.
It hurts too much to have him showing up and doing nice things like making me dinner.
I don’t deserve it after what I did. My heart aches any time we’re in the same room, and the more I try to build up my bitchy facade and keep him at arm’s length, the more he seems to want to spar. It’s exhausting. I need space.
“Nothing, I just overreacted.”
“About?”
“Are you going to tell me why you broke into my house and cooked me dinner?”
“Harlow gave me the code, so I didn’t technically break in. Stop deflecting.”
“Why do you care?” I intended that to come out icy, but it just sounds defeated.
A flicker of something I can’t quite put my finger on passes through his eyes, but it’s gone in a flash. When his face turns cold and unreadable, I stumble back a step, shocked by the quick shift in his demeanor. The teasing warmth that was there a mere second ago has been swallowed whole.
“Si, decided I was moving in here with you since you refused to go stay with them. If there’s a threat out there, I need to know about it.”
“Uhh,” I sputter. “Excuse me? You’re not moving in here. I don’t care what my asshole of a brother said, this isn’t his house.”
“Well…”
“Well, what!?” I huff, irritation flashing to life—so much for eating this delicious dinner and going to bed.
“He does kind of own this place.”
“No, I rented it with Harlow years ago from a property management comp—That motherfucker!”
Pierce says something, but the ringing in my ears is too much to hear what it is. Fleeing his presence, I slam my bedroom door and dial up my brother. He’d better fucking answer this time.
“Hey, Lexi. How…”
“You own my townhouse, and you decided Pierce could live with me?!”
“Calm down. I just want to make sure you’re taken care of.”
I scoff at that. He took care of me, alright. Enough to knock my ass up when all I wanted was a fucking orgasm.
“I don’t need taking care of, Silas. I’m a big girl and can handle myself. You caught me on a bad night. I never should have told you two.”
He sighs, and I can hear the groan of his old leather couch through the phone. “Don’t be like that, sis. You know we’re here for you, whatever you need. If you don’t want Pierce living with you, come stay with us. Just for a little while.”
“No. I can’t.”
“Well, then Pierce stays. He took Harlow’s place on the lease, and that’s up to me. So, deal with it.”
The line goes dead, and a second later, a soft tap comes from the other side of my door.
“Come on, Princess, you need to eat. I’ll be in my room. You can have the kitchen and living room to yourself. Night.”
Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any worse. The universe has a fucked up sense of humor.