Chapter Nineteen #2
“Can we get out of here?” I asked, feeling uncomfortable trying to make huge, life-altering decisions in a cold, sterile exam room.
“Yeah, let’s go,” he agreed, hopping down and reaching for my hand, folding it into his and squeezing tight as we walked out of the exam room, through the building, to the car.
He even held my hand while he drove home and up the stairs to the building, only dropping it when I said I needed to go throw up again.
Though that time, I was convinced it was more because of literally making myself sick with worry and not anything to do with the morning sickness that, for me, seemed to last all damn day.
I walked back out about half an hour later, teeth brushed, belly washed because there was still some sticky jelly there, and found Sawyer sitting on a chair against the counter. The second he saw me, he patted his knee.
“You alright?”
Then I said something that I never thought I would say.
“I think I want to have the baby.”
See, in between bursts of dry heaving because my stomach was already empty, I had sat there on the cold tile floor and realized that, while I didn’t know how I felt about what kind of higher power there might be or order to the universe or whatever, it was impossible to deny that waking up from some kind of coma or something where I had unwittingly had my tubes untied and falling into the arms of a hot private investigator who took me in and cared for me and that friendship slowly became more than that and turned romantic while I was sure there was no chance of pregnancy and getting pregnant? Yeah, that was fate.
I still stuck by my original decision—I was not going to keep having babies.
I didn’t believe in that. I wanted to adopt.
I wanted to give love to kids who had never known even a drop of it before in their lives.
I wanted to give them a sense of family where they had none.
I wanted to give them a support system and a leg up in the world.
So once I had the baby, I was getting tied again.
But I was going to have the baby.
I was going to have Sawyer’s baby.
Somehow, though things were new and it was crazy to think it, somehow it felt right.
Because, the fact of the matter was, since we got together, things had just clicked.
The night after Famiglia and the comedy show, we had dinner at Marg’s, who was bursting at the seams seeing us at her table.
The next couple of days, we each went to work, then he would pick me up or meet me at home.
One night I cooked; the next he cooked. We ordered in.
We went out. We saw a movie. He filled me in on some of the major world events I missed while unconscious.
We made love. We had sex. We fucked. We slept in each other’s arms. We woke in the same bed. Some days, we hit the gym together.
In all reality, our week and a half of being together was more than a lot of parents ended up having when one-night stands went reckless or contraceptives failed.
Plenty of people decided to have babies with men who they had literally known for hours, who they barely knew the last name of, let alone if they were good people.
I knew Sawyer.
He was a good man. He had his life together. He was responsible. And he treated me better than any other man I had ever met.
So it was okay.
It would all be okay.
He squeezed me tight at that and kissed my temple. “I’m gonna be a dad, huh? Marg is going to piss herself with enjoyment.”
“Did you want kids?” I asked, realizing it was a little too late to ask.
“Yeah, babe. Always wanted one or two or whatever my woman wanted to give me.”
“I think you’ll be a good dad. Though, you have about nine months to learn how to watch your language.”
“My dad and ma cussed like sailors. This baby will be fine if I can’t mind my fucks and shits.”
I laughed at that, resting my head back on his shoulder.
“You’re gonna be a great mom, Riya. I know this isn’t how you planned it and things are crazy right now, but they will all fall into place.
I’m not saying it will be perfect. We’re new and this is a lot of pressure, and there will be growing pains, but I’m committed to making this work.
And not just because of the baby, Riya. I’m committed to making this work because I think you’re the most incredible fucking woman I’ve ever met, and I want to explore that. And I know I’m not an easy man…”
“Don’t,” I cut him off, shaking my head, not liking the idea that he would think any less of himself than I thought of him. “You’re the best man I’ve ever met. I mean, you’re a pain in the ass too, but I like your particular brand of pain in the ass, so it’s okay.”
“So we’re doing this.”
“We’re doing this,” I agreed.
“Then all that shit you still have piled in the guest room needs to find its way to our room now.”
Our.
Could it really be that easy?
Maybe with Sawyer, it could.
The fact of the matter was, I had been clinging a bit to my independence still. I was sleeping in his bed, but I kept my clothes in the guest closet. I left all my old stuff in their boxes, not feeling like the place was mine to spread my things throughout.
“I can do that.”
“I got some shit to handle,” he said after a minute.
“I know.”
“Don’t want you to worry about me. I know what I’m doing.”
“I know that too.”
“When I head out tonight, do you want to be alone, or do you want Marg or Barrett to come keep you company?”
“Marg would pick up on me being pregnant, wouldn’t she?”
“Swear she’s psychic.”
“Maybe Barrett then?” I said, genuinely not wanting to be alone with my worries while he was out chasing down Michael.
“He’s going to claim the remote control and make you watch some documentaries or shit like that, just so you know.”
“But he will insist we eat junk food while we do it,” I said with a smile. Since I needed a drink and couldn’t have one, I would have to settle for one last big junk food binge before I did that whole ‘going healthy for the baby’ thing.
“Alright,” he said, squeezing my leg, then sliding out from under me. “I am going to go call him then.”
As I watched him make the call, I got the distinct impression that he was holding it together for me.
He was itching to find Michael, to get answers.
And, as much as I was freaked out, uncertain, and overwhelmed, I knew I needed that as well. So I had to let him go.
Besides, I liked Barrett.
And his strange company might be able to keep me off my own worries for a while.
“Alright, he’ll be here in ten. I’m just gonna go get changed.”
He changed.
Barrett arrived. With two laptops, because, well, he was weird like that, and a handful of take-away menus for which I pretty much wanted to kiss him.
We ordered from three places that had Sawyer shaking his head because neither of us had ordered anything green.
The buzzer down below rang, and I watched as Sawyer slowly slipped from calm, sweet, amazing lover to controlled, determined private investigator.
“That’s Brock and Tig. I gotta get going, babe,” he told me, walking up and folding his arms around my lower back, pulling my hips to his but keeping me arched back so he could look at my face. “Eat your junk food. Try to enjoy that weirdo’s company. Don’t worry about me.”
“I’ll try not to,” I agreed.
“If I’m not back by then, I expect your ass in my bed waiting for me.”
“Got it,” I said with a smile.
He kissed my forehead, running his nose down the side of mine, then claiming my lips for a long second before pulling away.
“Try not to bore her to death with your documentaries,” he said to his brother while giving my chin a squeeze and moving away.
As if Slim knew some serious shit was going down and he needed to be a good watchdog, instead of lying down at my feet, he plopped down right in front of the door, blocking anyone from getting in or out.
Barrett actually had to slide his massive form with the door when he needed to open it to go downstairs to greet the delivery guys.
I told Sawyer I wouldn’t worry.
And I tried not to as we ate dinner, watched two documentaries, and I threw up a third of the food I ate, effectively putting me off grease and cheese for a good long while, until I finally had to go off to bed because it was two in the morning.
But I lay awake in our bed.
And I worried.