Chapter 3
On nasty days, which were in abundance in November, it was a blessing that the police station had an in-house gym, a place where cops could go and work out before or after shift with top-notch machines and equipment without ever having to leave the comfort of work.
So when she couldn’t get a run in because Mother Nature was having a temper tantrum and thrashing the wind and rain around Fern Valley, Krista headed to work a few hours early and hit the gym.
Started the day off right, with a clear head. Got the endorphins pumping.
It was four thirty in the morning, and the station gym was dead quiet.
She’d woken up feeling queasy, but rather than think too hard about it, Krista just chalked it up to the idea of having to work with Myles all day.
That was enough to make anyone nauseous.
So instead, she went about her morning routine at home, ignoring her roiling stomach, and pounded back her raspberry and spinach smoothie as she made her way out the door.
A run always made her feel better. A run would set her day right before she had to deal with Myles.
But when she stepped onto the treadmill and started to run, she couldn’t.
Her boobs hurt. Like crazy hurt. An average C-cup and accustomed to wearing pretty tight sports bras for exercise, the girls were not normally an issue.
But today running was absolute torture. And her stomach was not feeling better at all. Could almond milk go bad?
Without giving it too much thought, she hopped onto the elliptical instead, only that made her boobs hurt too, and it also made her want to barf.
What was going on?
Not wanting to completely waste her morning, she lifted a few weights and did some squats, but every movement had her seeing spots. And whenever she’d lift her arms over her head, she felt like she was going to pass out.
Was she getting the flu?
Praying that this wasn’t an omen for a shitty day to come, she gave up and hit the showers, deciding instead to run out and grab a bite. Even though the thought of food made her ill, she had to eat before work.
A hangry cop was a scary cop.
She was just leaving the locker room to head to her car when Myles blocked her path.
“Hey, Matthews, ready to go?” He grinned, winking like he was God’s gift to women and she should be grateful he was her mentor.
“I guess.” She shrugged. “I’m going to run and grab some food and then I’ll be back.” And before he could insinuate himself into her errand, she reached for the nearest door, opened it and stepped inside.
Fuck, it was a bloody broom closet!
Perusing the produce section of the grocery store ten minutes later, the bin of bright green limes on sale quickly brought her thoughts to Brock.
She’d been thinking about him a lot over the weeks.
And yet, she deliberately avoided going back to that bar, so much so that when she went for a run or drove anywhere, she took the long way.
Just in case he was in the area, she avoided both his house—because now she knew where he lived—and the bar.
And he hadn’t bothered to get in touch with her, either, so apparently, they were both of the understanding that it had been one night of drunken fun, with no strings and no expectations.
So then why was she kind of disappointed that he hadn’t called?
Maybe because you didn’t give him your number and then snuck out the following morning, you dummy!
With time to kill before her shift, she continued to wander aimlessly around the grocery store.
But nothing looked good. Nothing even remotely made her salivate or caused her stomach to rumble.
In fact, everything, even the roasted red pepper soup in a tetra-pack, which she pretty much lived off, sounded disgusting.
But if she headed back to the station, she’d have to see Myles, so instead she strolled up and down the aisles until she found herself in the tampon section.
Did she need any?
She couldn’t remember.
Her period was never regular, and she wasn’t on the pill; she just got it when she got it. She’d tried going on the pill, but the hormones had made her crazy and gain weight. She’d always used condoms with boyfriends. A calendar flashed into her head and she began to do the math.
When was her last period?
How long had it been?
Was she late?
She felt off.
Out of sorts.
Was that PMS?
Was that why she felt sick and her boobs hurt? Her boobs had never hurt before when she was PMSing.
A gasp took her breath away when the calendar finally synced in her brain and she realized she hadn’t had her period since before that night with Brock.
Well before that night with Brock. Had they used protection?
They had to have, right? But she couldn’t remember.
They—particularly her—had been incredibly drunk and so caught up in the moment, in the passion.
Holy crap.
Locating the pregnancy test section, she grabbed a box off the shelf and read the back as her heart raced inside her chest and her sweaty hands slid across the shiny cardboard of the box.
It fell to the floor with a thunderous thunk, or at least it was thunderous to Krista.
Now the whole store probably knew what she was doing, what she was thinking.
She looked around. The aisle was thankfully empty, so hastily, she grabbed two boxes of different brands, a chocolate bar and a box of tampons—wishful thinking—and headed to the checkout.
It felt as if she were wandering around with two hot bricks in each of her coat pockets as she made her way to her car, having stupidly refused a plastic bag.
Could she wait until her shift was over to take the test at home?
Twelve hours was a long time to wait.
Should she go back to the bar and find Brock so they could take the test together?
Was she being a hypochondriac, fretting about nothing?
Probably.
But a baby wasn’t nothing. A baby was a huge something. A huge something with tiny feet and tiny hands that altered your life forever.
A million thoughts ran through her mind as she drove back to the station, the paranoia setting in and feeling like a bowling ball in her belly. Meanwhile something else, someone else could be growing in there, too.
She had to know.
Krista couldn’t go an entire shift, half a bloody day not knowing if there was a human inside her. At least then, if she knew, she would know.
Brilliant logic, Krista. You receive your invitation from Mensa yet?
Once back at the station, she locked herself in a bathroom stall in the women’s locker room.
The instructions said to pee on the stick midstream and then wait three to five minutes.
The longest goddamn three minutes of her life.
Six minutes later, she walked out of the bathroom stall, her heart beating rapidly inside her chest.
What was she going to do?
The word screwup was on repeat in her head as she splashed cold water on her face and stared into the mirror. She looked sickly. Did morning sickness happen that fast?
“All I wanted to do was prove myself,” she said to the woman staring back at her. “Prove that I’m not a screwup and that I can … that I am a good cop.” Her throat grew tight from the fight to keep her emotions in check.
No. Not now. She wasn’t going to cry now. She had a job to do. A job she was good at. She’d cry later when she was alone.
A banging on the bathroom door made her jump. “Come on, Matthews. Wipe and get a move on.”
God, Myles was a disgusting pig.
She bit the inside of her cheek until the pain replaced the ache in her throat, then she threw her shoulders back and pushed open the bathroom door.
“Ready to go?” Myles asked, skipping up behind her and winding up to try to slap her butt again.
Only this time, with ninja reflexes and fire in her belly, she turned around and faced him square on, baring her teeth like a mother bear. “Don’t you dare touch me!”
“Whoa,” he said, rearing back and putting his hands up in fake surrender.
All the while a sinister smile that said he wasn’t apologetic at all danced across his face like The Joker or Jack from The Shining.
“Jesus Christ, Matthews, what crawled up your ass and died today? You on the rag or something?”
Sexist prick.
Yes, because the moment a woman asserts herself and tells you to back the fuck off, she has her period.
Fuck. She did not need this right now.
“Just leave me alone, Slade,” she said quietly, venom in her tone but no longer in her heart. She had bigger fish to fry, bigger, more important, more life-altering things on her mind than that sexist pig.
He rolled his eyes and just flashed that same big, creepy, wily, wolfish grin, one that showed his canines like he was some kind of mangy, starving, would-chew-off-his-own-leg-if-he-had-to-but-would-rather-chew-off-yours hyena. “We’ve got a call on another domestic. You ready?”
She nodded, swallowed and pushed everything into the back of her mind for later. “In a minute. I just have to grab my badge.”
Krista’s gut was still in knots as she pulled into the parking lot of the bar later that night.
The domestic assault they’d been called out on early that morning had been disturbing, and in the last few weeks, she’d been to some doozies.
But this particular one had been worse than ever and forced her to focus intently on her gag reflex to suppress the hell out of it, while wrangling in every ounce of self-control and training she had.