If It Can’t Be Us (Chicago #1)

PROLOGUE

VIVIAN

January 21

18 Months Prior

“It’s been good seeing you, too.”

Ugh! Gag me.

I meet him halfway and give him an awkward side hug. I had almost avoided having to talk to Creepy the entire night, but as luck would have it, I bumped into him at the food and beverage table filling up my water. Seriously, I wish he wasn’t here. Creepy, aka Sean, is my best friend Sarah’s cousin. I don't understand why she invited him; they’ve never even been close. I guess having your cousin as your next-door neighbor your whole life warrants an invitation. Sean’s a year older than Sarah and me. In high school, he’d stare at my chest and flirt with me non-stop, despite knowing I had a boyfriend. He was like a fly that wouldn’t go away, always lingering and too touchy. After I caught him pervertedly staring at me earlier, he crept his way over to talk to me, and found a way to touch me again. Ugh. I shake him off. I’m not drunk enough for this. Actually, I’m not drunk at all—I’m probably the only sober person here.

I look around and notice almost everyone is on the dance floor. Realizing it’s getting late, I check my watch. It’s 10:30. If we leave soon, we can be home by 11:30. The music is too loud, and my feet hurt. I’m ready to go. Tonight has been a lot of fun celebrating Sarah’s twenty-eighth birthday, and there’s nobody in this world I’d rather celebrate than her. God, thirteen years of her by my side, inseparable since we were teenagers, is something worth celebrating! But damn, after a long and busy work week, I’m exhausted. I can’t resist kicking off my shoes to give my feet a rest.

Determined to leave the party as soon as possible, I scan the room for the best-looking guy. After a few minutes of searching, I spot him in a dark corner, talking to a couple of friends, laughing. He exudes swagger in his cream suit with a navy-blue shirt, a brown belt, and brown shoes.

Damn. He looks really good.

His medium-brown hair is perfectly styled with a short fade and hard part. I love a good head of hair, and I imagine myself running my fingers through that thick crop. The thought makes me smile. He takes a sip from his whiskey glass, and glances in my direction.

Busted.

Our eyes lock. I slowly and seductively run my tongue over my upper lip. He nods and mouths something that looks like “oh yeah”. I smile and laugh. His green eyes stay locked on me as he raises an eyebrow and mouths something else, which I can’t quite make out but am certain is naughty. A half-smile creeps onto his lips. I pull my long, dark waves forward over my shoulders, slip my shoes back on, and make my way across the room towards him. As I approach, he leaves his circle of friends to meet me halfway.

He takes my hand, smiling, and kisses me on the cheek.

“Hello gorgeous. Where have you been?”

“Hey, you… I’ve been stuck talking to creepy Sean.” I make a pouty face. “Where were you when I needed you to save me?”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I got caught up with the guys, reminiscing.”

“It’s okay… I survived.”

He leans forward and whispers in my ear, “I can’t wait to take you home and get you out of this dress.”

Shameless flir t

The dress was a last-minute find on ASOS, one of the cheapest cocktail dresses I’ve ever bought. After scrolling online for an hour, I found it on sale with free shipping, and it fit perfectly when it arrived. It’s a rosy-lavender mini dress, with spaghetti straps and a plunging neckline that accentuates my swelling breasts, giving me the confidence boost I need. I am definitely catching his eye—and everyone else’s.

I cock an eyebrow and scrunch up my face. “Oh, I bet!” I place my hand on my slightly bulging stomach and rub it seductively. “Is this sexy bod doing it for you?” I playfully shimmy my breasts at him.

Laughing, he wraps his arm around me and pulls me close. “You bet it is. You know I’ve got a thing for pregnant women, babe,” he says with a wink, leaning in to give me a quick kiss. With a more serious tone, he stares into my eyes and adds, “You always look incredible, Viv. Pregnancy looks good on you. You’re sexy as hell.”

God, he is the best.

This is why I love Ben. There has never been a dull moment with him in thirteen years.

Ben and I met in high school when I was a sophomore and he was a junior. I had just moved from Chicago to Park City, Utah, a charming and affluent mountain town, and didn’t know anyone. I was pissed at my parents for moving us across the country, but on my first day, I met Sarah in my algebra class. She introduced me to her friends at lunch, including Ben.

We crushed on each other during that first month, and within eight weeks of moving, I had my first and last boyfriend. I broke up with him once in college for eleven weeks after a serious lapse in judgement on my part. A brief fling with someone I met on campus (don’t ask) made me realize how stupid I had been, and I called Ben, ready to get him back. Fortunately, he felt the same way, but hadn’t had the balls to call me. We knew we couldn’t live without each other and got married four years ago. Now, I’m almost seven months pregnant with our first baby, a girl.

Last month, I finally got past the “Are you pregnant… or do you just love donuts?” stage. My belly has firmed up and rounded out. I’m still pretty small, but I look pregnant, and my boobs have never been so big. Seriously, they’re massive. Ben’s loving them! I feel great, but ex haustion is real when you are growing another human inside you. Hence, the tapping out early tonight.

I look at Ben. “Would you hate it if we left now? I’m exhausted.”

“Of course not, babe. You’re the DD, so that makes you the boss.”

“I’m probably the boss whether I’m the DD or not,” I say teasingly.

“Accurate,” he says. “We have a long drive anyway. Let’s make our rounds to everyone and then head home.” He kisses me on the forehead and grabs my hand.

We circle the grand venue Sarah’s fiancé rented in downtown Salt Lake City. I don’t get why anyone needs such a lavish space for a twenty-eighth birthday, but I’m happy to be here celebrating Sarah. She’s found a great man—Ryan, a successful plastic surgeon who’s twelve years older than her. Though we don’t see them often due to our busy schedules and living in different cities, I like him. He’s charming, has a great laugh, and swept Sarah off her feet. She moved into his home down in the valley six months ago, and they’re getting married in May.

We make our way around the room, saying goodbye to a few friends, Sarah’s parents, and Ryan, saving Sarah for last.

I find her on the dance floor, “getting low” to Flo Rida. I call out for her and she comes running over, and I embrace my very drunken friend with the biggest hug I can muster.

“Happy Birthday to the best friend I could ever ask for,” I say with a cheesy grin, simultaneously trying to hold back the unexpected tears springing to my eyes.

Sigh… Pregnancy hormones.

“Thank you so much for coming! I’m excited for our lunch next week!” It’s loud in here, but Sarah’s voice is three notches louder than necessary.

I’m taking Sarah to lunch on Tuesday for her actual birthday.

“Me too,” I say. “I’ll call you tomorrow, and we can decide where to go, so I can make a resy.”

“Sounds great. Drive safe and text me when you get home.”

“I will,” I agree. We always text each other when we get home from driving through the canyon. I’m surprised she remembered to say something in her tipsy state .

“Happy Birthday, Sarah,” Ben says, hugging her.

“Thanks, Ben. Thank you both for coming. You guys are the best!” She stumbles backward and almost falls. “Whoa, Ben, are you okay?”

Ben stifles a laugh. “Yeah, Sarah… I’m good.”

She is sloshed.

“Viv.” She points to me and then to Ben. “Keep an eye on Ben, he’s really drunk. He took birthday shots with me all night!” She’s practically shouting now.

Ben looks at me with his hands up. “Guilty. I did take birthday shots with her, but not all night. I only had two.”

I laugh, looping my arm around Ben’s.

“Alright, friend, I’ll keep an eye on him. Wouldn’t want Ben getting too frisky with me.” I joke, elbowing him softly in the ribs and giving Sarah a wink. Ben shoots me a mischievous glance. “See you later, Sarah!”

After one final hug, Ben and I grab our coats and stroll towards the door, laughing together. I press the elevator button.

Ben struggles to contain his amusement. “She fell backward…and then asked if I was ok,” he manages between bursts of laughter.

I join him, unsure if I’m laughing at Sarah’s mishap or Ben’s inability to gain composure. Our laughter echoes the hallway as we wait for the elevator. We attempt to calm ourselves, taking deep breaths, but a single glance reignites our laughter. I cross my legs and crouch down, overwhelmed with the urge to pee.

“Oh my God, please stop,” I manage between tears. “I might pee.” The elevator doors slide open. We stumble inside, pressing the P1 button for the parking garage.

“No, seriously,” I gasp, “I’m pregnant. If you keep making me laugh like this, I’ll definitely pee myself.”

We rein in our laughter by the time we get to the garage, but as we near the car, the urgency grows.

“You know what, babe? I’m going to run back upstairs to pee. I don’t think I can hold it another thirty minutes.”

“I bet you wish you had a penis right now,” Ben quips, thinking he’s hilarious .

“Yeah, for so many reasons,” I reply. “However, I’m not sure that I’d use it in a parking garage, even if I had one. I’ll hurry!” I say, turning on my heel.

“It’s ok, babe. I’ll go back up with you.”

We make our way back upstairs and locate the restroom before returning to the car. I glance at my watch… almost 11:15.

Thirty more minutes until I can sleep.

Ben and I discuss the evening as we enter Parley’s Canyon. He recounts a story told by his friend Greg, which provokes laughter from me. I tell him about my encounter with creepy Sean.

“Why does he always have to touch me?” I say, annoyed just thinking about it.

Ben reaches toward me. “Hmm, let me think,” he says, his hand sliding up my thigh. “I wonder why he would want to touch you.” His graze sends a shiver down my spine.

Smiling, I squirm in my seat, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. A mix of excitement and frustration courses through me, but I keep my eyes on the road.

“Stop that,” I say teasingly.

“Stop what?” He continues, gliding his hand farther up my leg until he slips a finger under my panty line, causing me to inhale sharply. A tingling sensation ignites between my thighs, making my pulse quicken. My breath hitches, and a wave of desire tugs at my concentration.

“Not now, babe,” I plead, conscious of the dark canyon road ahead. “I promise we can have fun when we get home.” Reluctantly, he withdraws his hand, and I exhale in relief, trying to steady my racing heart.

“Have you given more thought to baby names?” I ask, shifting the conversation to regain focus. We should’ve just taken an Uber or booked a hotel room downtown. Driving through this canyon at night terrifies me, even though I’m sober. It’s dangerous. Even on clear nights when the road conditions are good and the weather is nice—no snow, rain, or ice—like tonight, the darkness and the winding roads still make my heart race.

“I have,” he replies. “I’m leaning toward Evie.”

“Do you not like Eva?”

“I do, but Evie just feels right. ”

“But I prefer Eva!”

“We might have to settle this with rock, paper, scissors.”

“No way are we deciding like that!”

“Should we let our moms decide?”

“Ew. Absolutely not!”

Ben leans forward and turns on my 2012 playlist (senior year), cranking up the volume. A Gotye song starts playing. Ben grabs his air guitar, and I take the microphone. “You can get addicted...” We sing out together as Ben strums his air guitar. I glance his way and can’t help but giggle. He returns my gaze with my favorite grin of his—the one that captured my heart.

Ten minutes out from Park City, we’re in the middle of a full-blown jam session, belting out the song at the top of our lungs. While laughing and shout-singing, I notice a car approaching us quickly, swerving all over the road.

“Ben!” I scramble to switch lanes, desperate to put distance between us and the out-of-control car. My plea for help is lost over Ben’s oblivious singing. “Now you’re just somebody that I…” His singing is abruptly cut off as our car is violently jolted. I scream, the sound merging with the screech of metal on metal. Darkness envelops me as the impact throws me against my seatbelt.

I blink. Each movement sending waves of pain through my body. A piercing ringing in my ears deafens my senses. I hear sirens in the distance, and spiraling lights create a haze around me. I try to call out Ben’s name, but my voice fails me. The silence in the car is suffocating. Crushed against the airbag, every inch of my body aches. With great effort, I manage to twist my neck to where Ben sat, and panic consumes me.

“Ben,” my voice emerges as a hoarse whisper, cracking with desperation. “Ben.” Tears blur my vision as I repeat his name, but there’s no response. Blood and glass coincide, and as I gaze at my injured stomach, sobs overtake me, uncontrollable and insufferable. Somehow, amidst the confusion, I know that I am the only living soul in this car.

I start hyperventilating. “I can’t breathe.”

My raspy voice repeats, “I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. ”

I hear voices.

“Ma’am, I need you to stay calm.”

I can’t breathe.

My eyes are closed… I think.

“Rolled,” I hear them say. “Drunk Driver. Didn’t make it. Pregnant. The baby didn’t make it…your husband didn’t make it.”

I can’t breathe. Someone is telling me to hold on.

I can’t breathe.

”Do you want to hold her?”

I can’t breathe. I want to scream. I want to die.

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.