Chapter 6 Abby
Abby
“Do you know what that sound is, Daddy?” the doctor asks, grinning at Rhett.
His eyes are wide like saucers. He swallows and shakes his head.
“That’s your little baby’s heartbeat. Very strong.”
Something akin to wondrous awe transforms Rhett’s usually frown-marred face. My own heart skips a few beats. Hearing that the baby truly does exist and is seemingly healthy is such a relief. But seeing Rhett’s reaction makes it all the better.
I’m really not alone in this.
I reach for him, needing connection, and am surprised when he takes my hand. He gives it a squeeze but doesn’t let go. It’s so wild being here with him and meeting our baby for the first time.
After the doctor goes over appointments, vitamins, and other information, we leave the facility and head for Rhett’s car.
He opens my door and heat creeps up my cheeks.
This isn’t the first time he’s done this.
Is he a gentleman to everyone? To Angela?
Or is it special to me because I’m carrying his baby?
Rather than reading too much into it, I talk his ear off about the nursery when he gets in the car.
“We need to get the crib. Stat. And probably need to start stocking up on diapers. I really want to buy clothes but until we’re sure it’s a him, I don’t want to.”
He chuckles and it warms me to my core. “He won’t be here for a while. I think we have time.”
“And names,” I say, grinning at him. “We have to start thinking up names. What about Buck?”
“I’m not naming my son Buck. We’re not rednecks.” He snorts. “What about William?”
“William came out of the womb with a country club membership,” I say in a snooty voice. “He can also discuss stock options with you.”
“Fair enough,” he mutters with a grunt. “What about Jackson?”
“Too common.”
“Finnick?”
“Not common enough.” I smirk at him. “You’re horrible at picking baby names.”
“Says the girl who likes the name Buck.”
I find my shoulders relaxing for the first time since I took my pregnancy test. Even though I have the townhouse Rhett’s renting for me, it still felt temporary. Being with him today and hearing our baby’s heartbeat gave my life some permanence.
Don’t get too used to it. You’re his dirty little secret.
The voice in the back of my head is a bitch who likes to remind me of reality. The truth is, he’s with Angela. After he drops me off, he’ll go to her.
Am I jealous?
I shouldn’t be. We hooked up and I took home a souvenir. That’s it.
Liar.
You’ve been pining for him long before she snatched him up…
“What’s wrong?” Rhett demands, worry threading his words. “You got quiet. Are you feeling nauseous? Do I need to stop somewhere to get you a Sprite?”
My eyes water. Stupid pregnancy emotions. “I’m fine.”
It takes everything in me not to cry as we ride back to Moonlit Gables.
When he parks, I don’t wait for him to help me with my door, and race inside.
Once upstairs, I change into some comfy stretchy pants that Rhett ordered for me and crawl into bed.
I hope he just leaves. This is hard enough as it is.
The door to my bedroom creaks open and I sigh. “Don’t you have to go see Angela?”
“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.”
I roll my eyes and turn away from him. He approaches and then the bed dips behind me. His warmth envelops me as he wraps an arm around me. I freeze at the unexpected affection.
“If you’re stressed, it’s not good for our son,” he murmurs, breath hot against my hair. “Talk to me, Abby. This doesn’t have to be dramatic. We can be friends through all this.”
I shiver when his thumb delicately rubs my stomach through my shirt.
Other women get to experience this all the time with their significant other when pregnant.
It’s a daily, probably even hourly, occurrence.
To me, it’s foreign but feels like such a gift.
Unfortunately, it’s setting me up for heartache. I can’t get attached to him like this.
“I’m so lonely,” I whisper, voice raw with emotion.
His arm tightens around my middle. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”
I stupidly relax against his embrace, inhaling his expensive masculine scent and reveling in his comfort. If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend this baby was planned and we’re an actual couple. This makes me burst into tears.
“Shhh, hey, Abs. It’s okay, honey.”
His words are so sweet and gentle. They wrap around me like a hug. Of course, this only upsets me more. My tears continue to stream out as if I’ve waited weeks to release this dam. Now that it’s been broken open, I don’t think it’ll ever stop flowing.
“I’ll come over every day after class,” he vows, “and as much as I can over the weekends.”
I know he’s just panicking because I’m losing my shit right now, but it’s oddly comforting to hear the words whether he means them or not.
“Hey,” he says as he strokes my stomach. “Tell me something about you. I realize I don’t know a lot. What are your goals? Your dreams? Your favorite movie or snack or day of the week?”
A smile tugs at my lips, and I laugh through my tears. “My goal is to make it through the week without throwing up.” I pause and my chest aches. “I dream of what it’ll feel like to hold our son in my arms.”
He’s quiet, so I continue.
“My favorite movie is The Time Traveler’s Wife, favorite snack is maraschino cherries straight out of the jar, and Saturdays are my favorite.” I turn my head slightly, so his nose touches my cheek. “What about you?”
He doesn’t move away which sends a thrill down my spine. “I want to work somewhere I can make my own schedule. I dream of having a life others are envious of—coolest house, family, cars.”
I deflate because his answer is kind of generic. Like he’s said this a thousand times before, if only to himself. Still, it doesn’t seem real.
“What does this superior family look like to you?” I ask, feeling like a glutton for punishment. “White picket fence? Two point five kids? Plastic wife named Barbie?”
Angela has a manufactured nose. I wonder if that fits into his perfect dream.
“I should go,” he says, pulling back. “Everything I say upsets you. It always has. If I’m so triggering and my wants out of life are so repulsive, why’d you let me fuck you? Could have said no and we’d have avoided this shit.”
His words are callous and cold. When he slips off the bed, a chill sweeps through me. I roll over and watch him head for the bedroom door. His shoulder muscles are tight with tension that’s visible through his fitted T-shirt.
“There was no telling you no,” I bite out, wanting to hurt him like he’s hurt me. “You pushed me into that pantry and took what you wanted.”
When I say it like that, it sounds nasty and wrong. Like another person who actually hurt me. It couldn’t be further from the truth, but I want him to feel some of my pain.
Rhett whips his head around to glower at me. “Take that shit back, Abby.”
My bottom lip wobbles but I stubbornly keep the words bottled up inside me.
“What the fuck ever,” he snarls as he storms off.
The front door slams and my heart feels like it’s shattering. Before I can second guess myself, I grab my phone and shoot him a text.
Me: I’m sorry. I say mean things when I’m upset. Please don’t hate me.
Rhett: I didn’t force you.
Me: Trust me. I know the difference.
Rhett: Call me if you need anything.
Me: Are we still friends?
Rhett: Unfortunately.
I smile despite my aching heart.
Me: Awww, you still love me even when I’m being a raging bitch.
Rhett: Let’s hope Gregory takes after his dad.
Me: Ew. We are not naming our son Gregory. Buck will be a little psycho like his momma. Best prepare yourself now.
Rhett: Buck is a horrible name, Abs.
Me: It’s growing on you, though. Am I right?
He sends me some middle finger emojis that make me laugh. Maybe things won’t be so bad after all.
I peek out the glass of the back sliding door, watching the people walk around the pond.
There’re two women—also moms—who are on their second lap.
The blonde one pushes a stroller, and the tiny brunette rubs her swollen belly.
I ache to go out and meet them, but I’m not brave enough.
They’re dressed nicely and clearly put together.
I’m nauseous, wearing the same clothes from yesterday, and my hair needs washing.
A flash of color darts across my back patio. When I lock in on the fact it’s a cat, I nearly shriek with delight. I open the door and then call to it.
“Come here, cutie pie.”
The cat stops, meows, and then trots over to me.
I scoop it up and bury my face in its fur.
Dad never let me get any cats growing up.
He said they pissed on furniture, and their litter boxes were disgusting.
I always swore I’d be the best cat owner, but it was never convincing enough. The answer was always no.
This cat isn’t wearing a collar. It makes me wonder if it’s alone like me. Seconds later, another cat shows up, this one gray, and circles my legs. I scoop this one up too and they both purr almost in unison.
The blonde lady leaves her stroller with the brunette and walks over to me. My heart sinks. These are obviously her cats or she knows the owner.
“That’s Rogue,” she says, pointing to the orange one. “The gray one is Runaway.”
“They’re yours?”
She laughs. “God no. We have enough chaos at our house to be adding more mouths to feed.”
“Strays?” I ask hopefully.
“They actually belong to Maggie, my neighbor, but they hate it there.”
“Maybe I could look after them for her,” I suggest, taking time to kiss each one of their heads.
“I think they’d like that.” She grins at me. “I’m Casey. My best friend over there is Clara. You’re new around here.”
“Abby,” I say, nodding.
“Rhett’s girlfriend?”
Thankfully, the baby starts crying, so it saves me from having to lie.
“Don’t be a stranger, Abby,” Casey says. “Next time we go to Clara’s for sweet treats, I’ll pop over and invite you.”
I thank her and then step inside with Rogue and Runaway. When I set them down, they both go exploring in different directions. The space doesn’t feel so lonely now. I shoot Rhett a text.
Me: I got two cats. At least until the old lady asks for them back. Can you bring supplies?
Rhett: Cats?? I didn’t pay a pet deposit.
Me: They’ll keep me company when you’re not here. Please, Daddy.
He sends me more middle finger emojis.
Rhett: Fine. But leave the litter changing to me. I read it’s bad for pregnant women.
My heart squeezes inside my chest.
Me: I made a friend, I think.
Rhett: Cats don’t count.
This time, I’m the one to send him middle finger emojis because cats absolutely do count.
Me: Her name is Casey. She seems nice.
Rhett: Did you tell her about me being the father?
I can sense the anxiety in his text. It’s a reminder that I’m his hidden secret that’s meant to stay hidden.
Me: No, Rhett. Your perfect life isn’t in jeopardy. No need to worry.
Rhett: You make me sound like such a dick. I’m not a dick.
Rogue rubs up against my leg and meows. I scoop him up and reply to Rhett.
Me: Give me some credit. I’m not out to ruin your life. None of this was because of some nefarious plan to get you.
That’s more my sister’s style.
Rhett: Fuck. I know. This is hard.
Me: We can screw up together. Poor Buck never stood a chance.
He leaves me a voice note, and I shiver at the sound of his deep timbre. “We are not calling him Buck, honey. Saying it a thousand times won’t make it stick.”
That sounds like a challenge, and I do love challenging the great Rhett Monahan.