Chapter 11
Never had I been more grateful for that ugly orange hoodie—so bright, I could find it even at night.
Never had I been more grateful for Titus, who protected my babies and their mother.
Never had I felt more validated in installing sound-sensitive cameras that send alerts to my phone the instant Titus barks.
Or for hiring a pilot who was always sober so he was ready to fly at a moment’s notice.
Or for buying the fastest plane on the market so I could get back to the manor in just over an hour and a half.
And though I should have enjoyed the flood of euphoria from finally reaping the benefits of good fortune, I was too fucking angry to consider any of it.
I sat in the stiff gray chair next to Olivia’s bed in the emergency room, softly tapping the heel of my boot against the tile as I glared at the closed white curtain that separated us from the rest of the ward.
I was embarrassed enough to be back at the Elren hospital after what had happened last time, and I would only get angrier if anyone recognized me.
We had spent four hours in that curtained coffin of a room. First, the nurse checked on the babies. Olivia had reported no signs of internal bleeding or miscarriage, but the doppler on her belly reporting two perfect heartbeats was still music to my ears.
As Olivia got diagnosed, I had to chew on my tongue and stare at the tile to keep from exploding.
Light-headedness from lack of nutrition. Muscle cramps from dehydration.
She had completely neglected herself. Again.
I clutched her discharge papers in one fist when we finally left that hellhole. Olivia had already developed the damn pregnancy waddle, so I had her wait in front of the sliding glass doors while I brought the truck around.
The only sound in the truck was the heater blowing fog off the windshield. I hadn’t bothered to turn on my podcast when I had sped to the manor and I was too pissed off to listen to the Bored Bros yap about some bullshit on the drive home.
I gripped the leather steering wheel as Olivia struggled to get in the truck. Any other night, I would have gotten out and helped her. Any other night, I would have breathed a sigh of relief that the babies were just fine.
But it was three in the morning and she had made me go back to that damned hospital.
With a small grunt, she closed her door and clicked her seatbelt. I threw the gear shift into drive and left the parking lot faster than I was legally able to.
Once the Parkland Hospital sign disappeared from my rearview mirror, I spoke to Olivia for the first time since we were admitted to the emergency room.
“Five days,” I said, my voice gravelly and hoarse. “I’m gone for five days and you do this.”
“I just fell,” she said quietly. “It was an accident.”
“An accident that could have been completely prevented had you just eaten,” I argued. “Or if you had just drank your fucking water!”
My temple throbbed from the volume of my own voice. I took a deep breath and slowed the truck down, even though no one else was on the road.
“I thought we were past this,” I said calmly, but strained.
“You told me you could put aside your pride and accept help. I provided you with a roof over your head. A private gym. A limitless credit card so you don’t have to work a stressful job.
A fridge full of food that you barely eat.
Customized water that I bring to you four times a day. ”
My teeth ached and my skin stretched across my knuckles from how hard I gripped the steering wheel, but I kept driving at a steady pace.
“And all I ask in return is that you take care of the twins,” I stressed. “All I ask is that you try. You’re high-risk. Twin pregnancies aren’t just difficult, they’re dangerous, and you don’t even care!”
I held my breath as I waited for Olivia to respond, hopefully to apologize for how stupid and selfish she had been. I glanced over at her and found her staring out the passenger window with her arms folded. Even if she had her glasses, it was too dark out to actually fucking see anything.
Stay stubborn, Adams. Keep it up and you’ll like me even less.
I let out a short breath and turned onto the road to the manor. The silence was near strangling, but I still calmly pulled into the garage and parked next to the Mustang.
I left the car and went around to open the door for her. As gentlemanly as the gesture seemed, I was done waltzing to guide her in the right direction. Oh no, I would yank her across a metaphorical dance floor if it meant keeping my twins safe.
“Kitchen, now,” I ordered.
To Olivia’s credit, she awkwardly slid out of the truck and walked into the house without protest. Though if exhaustion had made me more irritable, it could also make her more compliant.
She probably wasn’t even sorry for the stress she caused me, or that I had to leave my work duties, or that she had put the babies in danger.
She used to be the most obnoxious over-achiever, but now she couldn’t even fucking try.
I walked into the kitchen to find her climbing onto her usual stool at the island.
I filled her yellow cup with her wake-up water and set it in front of her.
I wasn’t about to make pancakes at three in the fucking morning, so I grabbed one of my plastic shake cups and started scooping protein powder in it.
After pouring some oat milk into the cup, I shook the mixture way too vigorously, but I was too pissed off to give a shit.
“Here,” I said as I slammed the shake onto the countertop. “Won’t taste great, but it’ll keep you from ever going to Deathland Hospital again.”
She finished her sip of water before popping the cap off the shake cup. “What about when I give birth?”
I scoffed. “You aren’t giving birth there. It’s horrible.”
“I was born there.”
I gripped the edge of the counter and swallowed a comment I just knew she would take the wrong way. “You’re giving birth in the city so Dr. Ornelas can do a scheduled c-section.”
She furrowed her brows. “Scheduled c-section?”
I might have taken her more seriously if she didn’t have remnants of the protein shake on her upper lip, but I tried to stay calm nonetheless.
“Yes. Had you listened at your first doctor’s appointment, you would have heard Dr. Ornelas explain that caesarean deliveries are the safest way to give birth to twins. ”
“But vaginal deliveries are cheaper!”
I pushed myself off the counter and raked my hands through my hair. Why the fuck did she care about the cost? Was she trying to spite me? At the expense of the babies?
She was willing to risk bleeding out during delivery over something as frivolous as money?
I dragged my hands down my face and let out a breath. “Fine. You want to save money so badly?” I turned and gestured to the large bay window that overlooked the pasture. “I’ll call the ranch hands and get a set of chains. They’ll pull the babies out like it’s just another day in calving season!”
I caught a projectile in the corner of my vision and ducked. The protein shake hit the cabinet behind my head and exploded all over the kitchen.
I whipped around. “What the hell, Adams?”
Olivia jumped off her stool. “I’ve always just been a damn cow to you, haven’t I? Graduation was one thing, but even when I’m carrying your babies you still—!”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I gestured to the remnants of the protein shake grenade that dripped down the cabinets. “Have you gone insane?”
“You’re treating me like an animal!” she yelled. “Between the scheduled meals and the water—”
“You won’t take care of yourself!”
“YOU WON’T TALK TO ME!” she screamed. Her eyes turned glassy and her chest started to heave.
“I’ve lived in your house for three weeks and you still won’t speak to me like…
like I’m a person. You ignore me like I’m…
I’m just another weird piece of furniture in this God-forsaken manor!
You’ve always acted like I’m beneath you, but now—”
“When have I ever acted like you’re beneath me, Adams?” I challenged. “Have you considered that I don’t talk to you because when I do—”
“You treat me like I’m the biggest mistake of your life!” A tear rolled down her face. Then another. “When I’m sitting here, having lost everything! I lost my job, my car, my peace…the life that I worked for is gone and it all happened because you came back into the picture…and…and…”
She tightened her fists and intensified her glare. “This…this pregnancy is a prison sentence…and my only crime was you!”
Her rant broke down into incoherent sobbing. Her whole face turned red before she covered it with her hoodie sleeves and sank to the floor.
A fucking prison sentence.
I turned on my heel and walked out of the kitchen before anything else could explode.
My feet took me in any direction that would get me away from her fucking sobbing.
I found myself at the bar in the media room, gripping the edge of the marble counter like I was about to crack it.
Whatever movie was playing on the TV was nothing more than garbled noise in my ears.
Hissing out a breath, I grabbed the nearest bottle and took a pull. My face twisted in a grimace as the familiar taste slid down my throat—one of Dad’s old bottles of bourbon.
I abandoned the bottle on the counter and retreated to the center of the room. I sank onto the center cushion of the leather couch and let my head fall into my hands.
I massaged my temples as I listened to whatever was happening in the movie.
“Wowie, Mom!” cried a boy with an obnoxiously high-pitched voice. “How did Santa know I wanted the Cowboy Jones quick-draw pistol set?”
“Well, Timmy, Santa is Father Christmas,” cooed a woman with a mid-Atlantic accent, “and Father always knows best.”