Chapter 18
Titus
Inarrow my eyes at the trio of doctors in front of me, trying to discern which one of them I can trust with Mariah and her baby.
I’ve spent days compiling a list of every obstetrician within a twenty-mile radius. I’ve gone through their backgrounds. Their education. I’ve picked apart every review and investigated every reference.
I might have also dug through some information most people can’t—and probably shouldn’t—access. But I want to be sure Mariah and the baby are in the best and most capable hands.
Which is why I might have gotten a head start on a list of pediatricians while I was at it.
Sending the list I've compiled to my tablet, I grab the device and head downstairs. Mariah is talking to her friend from Montana, and while I want to give them privacy, staying upstairs in my rooms alone no longer holds any appeal.
Not unless Mariah is there with me, and she hasn't stepped foot inside my space since the morning after the breach at the company.
I'm trying not to be disappointed by it, but I am. Mostly in myself for not knowing how in the hell to get her back in here. It's been a long damn time since I've interacted with a woman—let alone one I find fascinating—and it shows.
So I've focused on what I do know how to do—analyzing data.
When I reach the kitchen, I'm relieved to see Mariah's no longer on her phone call.
When she turns to me and smiles, I relax a little.
Part of me was worried her friend would tell her to leave Wyoming.
That having the guy who signs your digital paychecks practically beg to go down on you is unforgivable.
I was fully prepared to offer Mariah anything she wanted to stay, but I'm glad it doesn't seem like I'm going to have to go that route.
Not that I won't give her anything she wants anyway.
Mariah's brows pinch together as I walk to the island. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." It's an honest answer, thank God.
"It's time to pick a doctor." I set the tablet down on the counter beside her.
"I've gone through everyone in the area and narrowed it down to these three.
They have the best patient reviews, the best educations, and the most experience.
I think any of them would be a good choice. "
I know which one I think would be the best choice, but I don't have much of a leg to stand on here. I'm not Mariah's husband. Not the father of her child. I'm not anything but her employer. All I can do is present the information and—
"Which one do you think is best?" Her eyes haven't even gone to the screen. "I know you've inspected all of them. Probably know where they live, how many children they have, and their cholesterol levels. So tell me which one is the best. That's who I’ll pick."
The trust she's putting in me is almost as sobering as her accurate analysis of my personality. I don't leave anything to chance. I research. I study. I analyze. I make decisions based on risk.
I know I can't control everything, but I try. It’s the only thing that keeps me putting one foot in front of the other.
"I think Dr. Bledsoe is the best choice.
" I take a deep breath, prepared to explain to Mariah that not only does Dr. Bledsoe complete additional training at a pace that is twice what her peers do, she also has a warm and compassionate bedside manner, which I think will suit Mariah better than someone more clinical and detached.
But Mariah doesn't give me the chance.
"Okay. That's who I pick." She takes a deep breath, blowing it back out. “I guess now all I have to do is call to make the appointment, huh?”
I’ve tried to act like nothing has changed between us—since that’s what she seems to be doing—but I don't like the look on her face right now. Like she thinks she's on her own in this. Like the weight of all that’s to come is resting on her shoulders alone.
I move closer, unable to stay away. Incapable of letting her think she's got no one.
Because right or wrong, she's got me.
Bringing my hands to her face, I lean down until our eyes meet.
"What's wrong?" I want to know what she's thinking.
I want to hear her voice all the fears she has, so I can tell her what I'm thinking.
How I'm feeling. I won't lay it at her feet unprompted, but if she gives me an opening, I'm going to take it.
Mariah gives me a wobbly smile, one so different from the wide expression I'm starting to learn is a reflex and not a genuine reaction.
"It's just a lot." She leans into my touch.
"I thought I was smarter than this. That I'd learned my lesson and would make better choices. But now, I'm alone and pregnant and—"
"You're not alone." I stroke my thumbs over the soft skin of her cheeks. "Never alone."
When Mariah walked into my house four weeks ago, I thought it was the end of the world. Believed I wanted her to walk right back out again. But now…
Now I would do anything to make her stay.
I never intended to be in this position again. Never planned to let myself have something to lose. And I know Mariah’s not mine, but if she left, I would sure as hell be lost.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you when I first got here." Mariah's eyes are pleading as they move over my face. "I was just so afraid you would send me back to Montana, and this job was so perfect, and—”
"You're not going back to Montana." I don't know why the words are so sharp when I say them. "You're staying here. In Wyoming." I try to stop myself from saying more, but fail. "With me."
Mariah's smile brightens the tiniest bit. "Are you sure you won't mind having a baby here crying all night?"
“I have soundproof rooms, remember?" Not that I intend to close my door once Mariah has the baby. "And no, I won't mind."
If I'm honest, a tiny part of me has longed for it. Held onto what could have been. Imagined what it would have been like if I'd been able to save Kara and our baby that day.
That same little part of me wonders if this might be my chance to find out.
But the rest of me wonders if it would be a betrayal. If I’d be only using Mariah as a substitute. One that would cheapen what Kara and I had. Would that be fair to her memory?
Fair to Mariah?
My hands slide from her face and I take a step back, torn between the two parts of me. "You should make the call now. Hopefully they can get you in soon."
Mariah winces. "Yeah. I know I should have done this weeks ago, but facing reality is a bitch."
She can say that again.
I force myself around the island and into one of the stools as she pulls out her cell phone and dials the number listed on my tablet. As it rings, she worries her lower lip between her teeth, and I fight the urge to reach for her and pull it free.
I don't want her to be afraid. I don't want her to be overwhelmed. There's no reason for it. Not when I can help.
I listen as she talks to the receptionist, and I'm pleasantly surprised when they seem to have an opening relatively soon. Mariah takes the appointment, looking a little pale after she hangs up, and adds it to the calendar on her phone.
"You look nervous." I want to reassure her. To help her over this hump. "But there's nothing to be nervous about. It's a pretty basic appointment. They’ll ask a bunch of questions and check your vitals. Take a quick look inside. Then schedule an appointment for you to come back the next month."
Mariah studies me as she slowly lowers her phone to the counter. "How do you know all that?"
I swallow hard, fighting with myself over so many things. What was. What is. What could be. What might've been.
And I'm tired. So fucking tired of carrying all of it all the time. Of beating myself up. Of worrying I'm not sad enough.
That's the only explanation I have for why I admit, "Because I've been to one before."
If Mariah is surprised by the revelation, she doesn't show it. Instead, she silently rounds the island, settling into the chair beside me before picking up my hand and holding it in hers. She doesn't ask any questions. Doesn't say anything at all. Just quietly waits.
And all that quiet leaves room. Too much room. Space that feels empty. And it makes me need to fill it.
"I was with the same girl all through high school. When we were twenty-one, she got pregnant." My eyes fall to where Mariah's fingers smooth over my skin, soothing me.
My next words are still painful as they work free. "And then she died."
Again, Mariah doesn't react the way I expect—the way so many people would. She doesn't say she’s sorry. She doesn't make noises of sympathy or break into tears that I would be responsible for managing.
Instead, she scoots closer, bringing her body all the way into my space. It's not sympathy. It's not pity. It's not even sadness that I feel radiating from her.
It’s support. Understanding. The exact same things I want to give her, mirrored back at me. And like the greedy bastard I am, I take it.
Reaching for her, I scoop Mariah out of her chair and deposit her directly in my lap, grateful for my mother's love of generously sized barstools as I pull her close.
I lift one foot to the seat of her chair so I can angle her closer with a raised knee.
And she comes easily. Curling her body up against my chest and letting her head fall to my shoulder.
Everything is quiet for a minute. But this time that space I felt earlier is filled with something comfortable I can’t explain. And still I can't stop myself from telling her the story I haven't fully explained to another soul. Not my brothers. Not my parents. It was too much. Too painful.
But here now, in the quiet of my once empty house, I offer it to Mariah.
"Kara was halfway through her pregnancy. She’d had a difficult time.” I tuck Mariah closer. “She had issues with nausea like you have. She had to have IV fluids a couple times because she got so dehydrated. That’s why I try to make sure you drink enough.”
I pull in a deep breath, trying to steady myself as I reach the part of the story I still have nightmares about.
“We were on our way to the ultrasound appointment.” I swallow hard, unsure if I can go on.
But then I take another deep breath, closing my eyes as I let the scent of Mariah’s skin soothe me.
"We were deciding whether or not to find out if the baby was a girl or boy, and I noticed she didn't look quite right.
I thought she was about to be sick, so I reached into the back seat looking for a bag or something she could throw up in.
We always had them back there because it happened so regularly.
It never occurred to me that it could be something else. "
My hands flex against Mariah's body as fear from then and now drives a need to pull her tighter to me.
"But instead of being sick, she lost consciousness.
The weight of her leg pressed down on the gas and we picked up speed as the car went off the road.
" I bury my nose in Mariah's sunshine colored hair as I try to breathe through the pain.
"I was stuck between the seats, and by the time I could reach the wheel, it was too late.
We hit a tree and I was knocked unconscious.
A group of people who witnessed the crash pulled me out, but they couldn't get to Kara. "
I swallow hard before admitting the part of this I will never be able to move past. "When I came to, I went back and tried to pull her out…” Fuck this is hard. So painful it’s hard to breathe as I continue. “But the car had caught fire, and her belt was stuck."
One of Mariah’s hands slides up to my face, resting against the scarred skin of my right cheek. Like she has since the story started, she stays silent, but I know she's putting the pieces together. Assembling the broken bits she's found and fitting them together.
"I would've stayed in the car, but they pulled me back out." I’m quiet for a minute, caught in the past. "For a long time I wished they'd left me in there."
It’s something I’ve never admitted to anyone. That for years I wished I was dead. Went through the motions of existing because I didn't have another option. The choice was taken from me by people who thought they were doing the right thing. People I resented for a very long time.
I don't know when that resentment stopped, but it did.
And I don't know what to do with that. I haven't wanted to have a life in so long, I don't think I know how to have one.
All the more reason I have no business trying to be anything more than helpful to Mariah.
She deserves someone who can live with purpose and intent.
Not someone who lost himself a long time ago.
The story finished, I don't know what else to say. Don't know what else to do. So I just sit here. Holding her. Letting her presence keep me grounded. Letting her warmth melt the chill of pain and loss I thought froze me over from the inside out.
I don't know how much time passes. It could be minutes. It could be an hour. It's long enough I'm startled when Mariah finally speaks.
"Did you ever find out?"
"Find out what?" My voice is hoarse and rough from fighting through the worst moment of my life.
"Your baby with Kara." Mariah tips her head back, eyes coming to my face. "Were you able to find out if it was a girl or boy?"
I don't know how I take my next breath. It doesn't feel possible to pull air into my chest. "The medical examiner wrote it down for me.
Put it in an envelope because I couldn't decide.
" It was the last decision Kara and I made about our child, and I couldn't bring myself to find out on my own.
The envelope is locked away, safe—the way I couldn't keep Kara and our child.
Mariah continues looking up at me, one hand coming to rest right over my aching heart. "Did you pick out names?"
My nod is jerky, and my words are broken when I say, "Elizabeth if it was a girl and Ethan if it was a boy."
Mariah’s lips curve in a soft smile. "Were you going to use all E names for your kids?"
"We were." So much of my life had been planned out. At twenty-one I thought I knew everything. Expected things to be the way I intended. Nothing could have been further from the truth.
Mariah smooths out the front of my shirt, her touch bringing me back from the edge. "I think I want to find out what I'm having."
My chest gives a little squeeze at the thought. At knowing a little more about who I'll be watching grow. "Yeah?"
She nods, her head rocking against my chest. "Green is my favorite color, but I feel like it would be easy to have too much of a good thing."
I lift a hand, tracing along her pretty face. "True." And then for some reason I add on, "Plus, it will be easier for you to pick what color you want me to paint the baby's room."