Chapter 46 #3
One by one, the guys make their way over to say goodbye, promising to stay close to the firehouse in case I need anything.
Lastly, I give Hudson lots of kisses and cuddles and ask Briggs to send me pictures of their time at the playground.
Royce looks like he’s ready to come out of his skin, so I let them make their escape and focus my attention on Mia and Rita.
The latter is in the kitchen, pulling out plates and silverware, and Mia looks like she started indulging in alcohol several hours ago.
I raise an eyebrow at the drink she tries to hand me, though her coordination is slightly off and she ends up teetering back and forth.
“Don’t worry,” she slurs. “Yours is non-alcoholic.” I glance at Rita for confirmation, to which she nods her head.
“Thanks,” I tell her, taking the glass from her shaky hold.
Mia flops down on the couch, a drawn-out sigh escaping her.
I follow suit, albeit at a much slower descent, then take a moment to observe the woman next to me.
There’s a heaviness to her usually bubbly aura, so I hesitantly ask, “Is something the matter?”
“Only everything,” she admits, downing the rest of her drink.
As she goes to stand, likely wanting a refill, Rita enters the living room and slaps her hand to Mia’s forehead, shoving her back to a seated position.
“Ow, damnit. My head was already pounding, so thanks for that,” she gripes, giving Rita some seriously hostile side-eye.
“You’re welcome,” Rita retorts, a smug grin teasing her lips. “You’ve been drinking since the sun came up. Probably before that, if we’re being truthful. Tomorrow’s going to be unpleasant as it is, so be thankful there’s someone who cares enough to cut you off.”
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” Mia states, opting to close her eyes and drop her head to the back of the couch when deciding which Rita to focus on becomes too much of a challenge.
“Tomorrow can’t be unpleasant if it never comes.
Hence my determination to drink myself to an early grave, or at the very least, I’ll take a dose of alcohol poisoning that lands me in the hospital for a minimum of three days. ”
“Not funny,” I deadpan. Grabbing her hand, I give it a firm squeeze and wait until her glassy eyes are focused on me. “What’s going on?”
“Bel is coming to town. He said we need to talk,” Mia groans, the pitch of her voice full of dread and denial.
“Okaaayyy,” I hedge, using my limited experience with relationships to talk her through this. “I thought the two of you came to an agreement and decided you’re better off as friends? So if he’s just a friend, what’s the problem?”
“Oh, you sweet summer child,” Mia mumbles.
“Being friends with Bel only works if there are several hundred miles between us. The second he’s within touching distance, I’ll cave, and just one time will turn into two.
Then three. And before I know it, I’ll be right back at square one, trying to get over a man who doesn’t want to be kept. ”
“I’m sorry.” I grimace, knowing it’s an empty platitude because I have no basis for understanding the emotional rollercoaster that Mia is experiencing.
“Ughh, enough about me!” She waves her hand around, as if that alone can dissipate the somber energy.
“Today’s supposed to be about you.” Mia grabs one of the gift bags and shoves it towards me, bouncing in her seat with excitement.
“Open this one first!” Rita and I share a look of amusement, her abrupt shift giving us whiplash.
“Sure,” I concede, feeling slightly uncomfortable from being the center of attention.
Carefully extracting the tissue paper, I glance inside the bag to find a cream colored sleep set.
Across the front, Aunt Mia is my favorite is embroidered in dark brown.
A rush of warmth washes over me, that sense of belonging stronger than ever.
To think back a year ago, I never could’ve imagined this is where my life would be.
“I love it, Mia.” I hug her tightly, thanking whoever decided I’d experienced enough pain for one lifetime and gifted me the family I’ve always dreamed of having.
“No tears just yet!” Rita instructs, placing several more bags beside me.
“We still have quite a bit for you to open.” Mia and I pretend to be oblivious to the sheen reflecting in her eyes, but we both know that statement was mostly for Rita’s sake.
She has the biggest heart, and anything remotely emotional will have her a blubbering mess in no time.
For the next hour, I open present after present, completely overwhelmed by their generosity.
A part of me feels inept, realizing how much a baby requires and how ill-prepared I would’ve been.
I hadn’t even thought of bottles or a pump, assuming I’d exclusively breastfeed.
Logically, I know that not every woman is able to, and oftentimes you need to supplement with formula, so I’m grateful to have a backup plan now in case it doesn’t pan out for me.
When I peel the wrapping paper back on a massive box, it reveals a top-of-the-line baby swing.
“Royce is the one who picked it out, so if it’s not what you’re wanting, he’s happy to return it for something else.
He figured you’d have your hands full most days with a toddler and a newborn, and a safe place to set the baby down for a bit might be beneficial in helping you remain sane for the first few weeks,” Rita jokes, a warm smile lighting up her face.
“Though I’d be shocked if one of the guys isn’t there at any given time to help however they can. ”
“It’s perfect,” I reply, my fondness for the man who’s become a pseudo-father to me growing tenfold in the span of a few seconds.
“How about some lunch?” Rita stands, heading to the kitchen to prepare everything. Mia joins her, insisting I stay seated and off my feet.
As I’m waiting, I begin removing the tags from the baby clothes they gifted me, having learned they need to be washed with a special detergent first. They return a few moments later, handing me a plate with mini chicken sandwiches and a large helping of perfectly crispy fries.
I groan in delight, the scent alone making my stomach growl appreciatively.
We eat and chat, laughing at the stories Rita divulges about the guys.
As hungry as I was, I’m only able to manage a few bites.
With the baby having grown as much as they have, there’s little room for food these days.
It doesn’t take long for my lack of sleep to catch up with me, my eyes growing heavier the longer I try to keep them open.
Mia isn’t faring much better, the alcohol she consumed having the same effect.
The last thing I remember is Rita covering us with a blanket.
I wake to a sharp jolt of pain that radiates from my back to my lower abdomen.
I inhale sharply, my brain attempting to play catch-up with what my body is trying to tell it.
Some innate sense that women are gifted with flares to life, insisting this is more than your typical aches and pains that come with the territory of being so heavily pregnant.
Mia’s still passed out beside me, and the apartment is otherwise silent, so I use the arm of the couch to get myself into a standing position.
I’m breathing heavily by the time I reach the front door, hoping one of the guys is back by now.
I’ve barely made it outside when my stomach ripples with pain, forcing me to grip the rail to keep from doubling over.
The sound of footsteps and laughter finally penetrates the ringing in my ears, and I glance up to find Col, Briggs, and Hudson making their way through the courtyard.
I plaster on the best smile I can muster, not wanting to scare Hudson.
“Angel!” Briggs shouts, swinging Hudson between him and Col. My sweet boy is covered in a suspiciously sticky substance, and I glare at the two of them for overdoing it. Before I can open my mouth to scold Briggs, who I’m confident is the culprit, a tall blonde woman appears behind them.
“Briggs?” she calls out, her tone sounding far too familiar for my liking. The man in question goes stock-still, his brows drawing inward as his gaze turns stormy. Slowly, he spins around to face the newcomer. I’d worry she’s a reporter, but it’s pretty obvious they know one another.
“Charlotte,” he deadpans, looking anything but pleased to be having this conversation.
Col looks to me in question, but I’m just as clueless as he is.
Another contraction steals my breath, my grip on the metal rail growing punishing as I try my hardest to tamp down my reaction.
I’m having contractions; I finally admit to myself what this excruciating pain is.
“Charlie, Briggs,” she points to herself. “You call me Charlie.” Tears are pricking her eyes, and I suddenly feel like a voyeur for watching their interaction unfold.
“That was a different life, and I’m a different person,” he insists, the set of his jaw unforgiving.
“But you’re not,” she urges, taking a step closer.
The moment Briggs counters it to keep some space between them, she stops.
“We’ve been searching everywhere for you.
Your parents have kept tabs on your credit cards, and when purchases started to come through in some little nowhere town in Mississippi, I was convinced it was someone who’d stolen your identity.
But I couldn’t discredit the lead until I knew for certain.
So I packed a bag and booked the first available flight.
I’ve been here for a week, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.
Imagine my surprise when I’d all but given up hope, only to find you walking down the street.
Although I’ll admit, it took me a moment to recognize you.
You’ve certainly…changed,” she grimaces, looking none too pleased by that observation.