Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
DRIFTER
Iknock gently on Hell’s bedroom door. The room once belonged to us both, but now, I’m out here like a damn stranger. It’s just another reminder of what we had. What I lost.
There’s no answer, so I poke my head round the door in search of her. The room is empty, and my frown deepens.
“Hell?” I call out.
I’m met with the sound of retching and I follow it into the en suite where I find her curled around the toilet bowl, emptying the contents of her stomach.
I kneel beside her, sweeping her hair back into my hand whilst using the other to gently stroke her back. She doesn’t push me away, so I take the time to just be here with her.
Eventually, she lays her arm along the toilet seat and drops her forehead against it, breathing deeply.
“It’s okay,” I whisper softly, continuing to rub her back.
“Ugh, how can I still be vomiting when I haven’t even eaten this morning?” she complains.
She wretches again, her entire body jerking as she scrambles to her knees and vomits into the bowl.
“Do you need me to call the doctor?” I ask.
“No,” she mumbles between gasps.
“Water?” I ask, not quite sure what the fuck I should be doing right now. She nods, and I grab the empty bottle sitting on the vanity unit and fill it with water. I kneel back down beside her, offering her the bottle, and she takes it with shaky hands.
“Sorry,” she murmurs, taking a sip.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” I reply, tucking her hair behind her ear without thinking about it. I pull my hand away, offering a small smile. “Sorry.”
Things had been good over the recent weeks since the barbeque, and the last thing I want is to jeopardise that by overstepping. I’m careful not to push, even though I spend most nights sitting on the floor right outside this room, listening to her sleep, just in case she needs me.
“Can I get you anything else?” I ask, getting to my feet.
She shakes her head but offers me her hand so I can help her up. The swell of her stomach is obvious now, and it feels like it’s growing each day.
Our fingers are still entwined, and I realise too late that I’m just staring. I release her immediately, wondering if she still feels the spark dancing between us like I do.
She smooths her hands over her bump, avoiding my eyes.
I clear my throat. “I’ve brought the car around front,” I tell her, ignoring how my body craves to touch her again. “I’ll wait outside.”
I head downstairs, taking deep breaths to calm the anxiety I feel.
The scan we’re about to head to is exciting yet scary, because Hell confessed she’s had to have a few extra ones to monitor the baby’s growth.
It’s measuring small, but she assures me the doctors have told her everything looks normal and the scans are purely for monitoring purposes.
And her letting me attend my first one is a win. I can’t fuck it up by being a nervous wreck.
We drive to the hospital in silence. The enormity of our situation is hitting me full-on. This would have been a happy time, something we’d prayed for, something we were excited to share. It’s meant to be a joyous occasion, but that was before I went and fucked it all up.
As we head inside, I stuff my hands in my pockets to avoid reaching for her. The need to place my hand at the bottom of her back is overwhelming. I’ve never been so close to her yet felt so distant.
And I know deep down she doesn’t want me here. I can feel it. And I totally understand why.
She hands over her notes to the receptionist, smiling broadly. I miss that smile. I never get to witness it anymore. Instead, I get pain.
The receptionist leads us to another waiting area, and they chat animatedly, as if I’m not even here.
I focus on Hell and how beautiful she looks carrying our child.
Her body is hot. It always was, but now that she’s growing my child .
. . fuck. She walks in front of me, her body taunting me as her hips sway.
I lower myself into the seat next to her.
“Some ground rules,” she whispers, and I glance at her. Her smile is gone now. Instead, irritation is back. “You don’t touch me,” she says, her tone laced with venom. “I don’t even want to hear you in there. You are purely here to see our child, nothing more.”
I nod, but it’s like a knife twisting in my heart. Every time I think we’re making progress, she reminds me where I stand. On the outside looking in.
I remind myself that I need to take every moment she offers, and if I’m only to be here to see my child and nothing more, then so be it. She needs to see that I mean it, that I’m here no matter what.
I make a silent vow to keep putting this right, no matter how many times she reminds me I can’t. I’d already stopped drinking, though I doubt she’s noticed. And I refuse to sleep with anyone else. After all, that’s how I got into this mess.
We might not be together, but there’s no one else for me on this earth. And if she never takes me back, I’ll be alone forever. It’s what I deserve.
My phone pings, and I remove it from my pocket. I feel her looking over my shoulder.
Gears: Want me to get the bike down the garage whilst you got the car and make the repairs?
I can almost feel her grin even though I’m not looking at her.
Me: No, it doesn’t get repaired until Hell says it does.
She laughs beside me. “You’re lucky I didn’t torch the fucker.”
But I’m serious. I won’t get the bike sorted until she says so. And if it stays a mess forever, then it will serve as a good reminder of all the ways I’ve hurt her.
“Rochelle Mitchell?”
My head snaps up as the nurse looks around the room and Hell pushes to her feet.
“You used your maiden name?” I ask before I can stop myself.
She glances back, a smirk pulling on her lips. “You honestly thought I should use my married one?”
My heart twists again as I follow her into the dimly-lit room.
“Pop up onto the bed for me,” the sonographer says.
Hell heaves herself onto the bed, rolling up her top to expose the neatest little bump I’ve ever seen.
“You can take a seat here, sir,” the sonographer says, pointing to a chair next to the bed. “Are you the father?” she asks.
I nod, opening my mouth to reply, but Hell interrupts.
“Yes, but we aren’t together,” she spits, and the lady looks around the room sheepishly.
“Okay, let’s get started,” she rushes out, tucking tissue in Hell’s waistband. “So, today is just to check the baby’s growth?” Hell nods. “Are you feeling any movements yet?”
“Yeah,” Hell replies, smiling from ear to ear.
I hate that I didn’t know this information, that she didn’t share it.
“So, do we want to know the sex?”
“Yes, please, if that’s possible. She hasn’t been very forthcoming at the other scans,” Hell says without even a sideward glance in my direction.
The sonographer squirts gel on Hell’s stomach and rubs a wand over it.
I watch as the screen lights up and a flickering image flashes over it. She presses some buttons, and the picture clears slightly.
She points out various parts of my child, and I stare in awe. Head. Arms. Spine. And then she presses more buttons and a low thudding sound fills the room.
“Your baby’s heartbeat is really strong,” she says with a smile. She focuses on the screen as she pushes the wand around. “Well, let me just say, she is a feisty one.”
I inhale sharply. Daughter. I’m having a baby girl. My heart swells, and I glance at Hell, whose eyes are filled with emotion.
I grin. “Feisty, just like her mumma.” I instinctively reach for her hand, but she pulls it away.
I choke on my emotion, the last few months playing like a movie in my head. It all hits me like a freight train.
I swallow hard. Shit, Drifter, pull yourself together.
I clear my throat and stand. “I’ll just be outside.”
Hell looks up, and as if she can read me, she gives a slight nod. There’s no argument, nothing.
If anyone treats my little girl the way I have Hell, I’ll kill the bastard.
ROCHELLE
I step from the room to find Drifter sitting in the waiting area.
He stands instantly. “Everything okay?”
I nod. “All good and healthy.”
“Sorry,” he whispers, running his hand over the back of his neck. “It’s just . . . a daughter. Wow.” It was obvious back in the room that he was struggling to hold his shit together. “Hell, I—” he begins, suddenly looking serious.
“Don’t,” I interrupt. “Let’s not spoil this. She’s healthy and growing well. We have our daughter to put first now.”
He nods in agreement, but I can recognise the conflict in his eyes.
The second we arrive back, I go straight to my room and change into my comfiest leggings. Everything else I own is starting to feel tight, and even though I love being pregnant—especially my bump—I hate being uncomfortable.
And now, as I flick through the TV channels, I relax. My own space and time to process is just what I need after the scan. All the questions and having Drifter there was overwhelming, to say the least.
My phone buzzes beside me on the bed, Andy’s name flashing on the screen.
We’ve been texting for the last couple of weeks. I spotted him on Tinder and dropped him a message just to reconnect. We used to hang around in the same group back in secondary school, but we lost touch after we left. He went off to college, then university in London, and life just . . . moved on.
It’s been nice talking to him again.
He was completely gobsmacked when I told him what had happened between me and Drifter. He said we were always meant to be together, that it never made sense any other way.
Talking to him feels different. Easy.
He listens to my rants without judgement. No questions, no taking sides. Even though he knows us both, there’s no pressure, no club politics wrapped around every word.
And while I love Bella and Red, I hate putting them in the middle of our mess. I know they stand by me, but it’s exhausting knowing their loyalties are split.
“Hey, Andy,” I answer, switching the television off to give the call my undivided attention.
“How’s my girl doing?” he asks. His words feel familiar. Safe. Like we haven’t spent years not speaking daily.
“I’m okay. I had the scan today. It’s a girl.”
“Aww, that’s amazing.” He pauses. “So, why do you sound so down?”
I hear a shuffle outside my door and roll my eyes. “Hold on, Andy.”
I make my way over to the door just as it swings open. Drifter fills the frame, his body tense, his jaw tight, and his nostrils flaring.
I groan impatiently. “Andy, I’ll have to call you back.”
I end the call.
“Yeah, she’ll ring you back, A-n-d-y,” he snarls.
His clear jealousy gets right under my skin. Why does he always have to fucking ruin any progress we make?
“What’s your fucking problem?” I demand.
“Andy? Fucking Toy Story, Andy? The little weasel from school?” he asks through clenched teeth.
“Who I talk to has nothing to do with you, remember?”
He steps closer, his jaw ticking, his pupils dilated. “But . . .” He hesitates, running a hand through his hair. He wants to say something, but he’s unsure, and I can see the inner turmoil playing out right in front of me. “You kept my letter. You still love me.”
I frown before I realise what he means, and I turn to the drawer beside my bed and pull out his letter.
“What, this letter?” I ask, holding it up.
Then I grip it with two hands and rip it right down the middle.
He glares, the pulse in his neck pumping with anger.
“I kept it to remind me of how pathetic you are to think doing the bare minimum is acceptable and will fix this.” I rip the paper again, throwing the pieces in his face.
“You fucking destroyed everything, and you think a few scribbled words will make up for that kind of heartache?” I step closer, seeing the pain in his eyes as I lean in. “You don’t deserve me.”
He scrubs a hand over his tired face. “Hell, I’m sorry.” His voice is laced with pain, but I’m too angry to care.
I pull my hand back and slap him full force. “Sorry?” I repeat and press my finger to his chest. “Sorry? Well, that’s okay then,” I grit out. “If the almighty Drifter is sorry, let’s roll out the red carpet and forgive him,” I yell angrily.
“Fuck, Hell.” he hisses, gripping his cheek. “It was one time, and she didn’t mean anything to me. How many times should I apologise for it?”
“There aren’t enough apologies in the world,” I snap. “And you honestly think I believe it only happened one time? All those instances I saw her leaving your office, and you expect me to believe it was only the one time I walked in? Do you think I’m fucking stupid?”
His frown deepens, and he groans. “Fuck. You think this was a long-term thing?” He pulls his phone out his pocket, thrusting it towards me. “Fucking check. Go through everything. I promise.”
I scoff. “Your promises mean shit, Drifter. You promised me you wouldn’t go near her and look at what happened.”
He reaches for me, but I step back. “Hell, I don’t know how to prove to you it was just one time. I was drunk, and I went to tell her to stop trying it on.”
I laugh. “Yeah, that worked.” I shake my head in annoyance. “Just fucking go.” I’m exhausted from this nightmare, and I lower back onto the bed.
He waits a moment, staring at me before sitting beside me.
“Look, I’ll do anything. I’ll never drink again.
I’ll be sober for life. I want to be what you and our daughter need.
” He looks down at my stomach. “I mean it, Hell. I’m prepared to give you whatever you need.
Want the club girls gone? Done. Want me to get rid of the strip club?
Done. Fuck, I’d even step down if you asked me to. ”
I swallow hard, realising the last thing I want is him giving up the club for me. He loves it, and it’s been his entire life for so long. I could never ask that of him.
“Just leave me alone, please,” I whisper.
He gives a stiff nod and rises to his feet, heading for the door. “I won’t give up without a fight.”
I run my hands over my face. That’s exactly what I’m worried about.