Page 72 of Fighting Fate
Everything is a distraction as I walk down the aisles, trying to ignore the anxiety bubbling beneath the surface. The more I think about telling Rory, the more nervous I become about the entire situation. Oddly, not the baby part or telling the family, Frank, or having to leave the show a lot sooner than my contract stipulates. I keep going back to Rory finding out and the way he reacted, and I’m petrified that he’s going to hate me for making the choice that’s right for me.
My phone rings, and when I check it, I find Rory smiling back at me.
I can’t do this right now.I take a deep breath and send him to voicemail with the silent promise that I’ll talk to him soon. I have to.
I’m having his baby. It’s fucking crazy. Insane. The apocalypse must be around the corner because the thought makes me smile.
When I leave the store with the essentials I came in for and only a grape lollipop that kept beckoning me, I feel pretty happy with myself as I walk back to my place.
I haven’t been back in a few days; I needed to get away from the constant reminders of Rory as I tried to think everything through. Not that it helped being at my parents’ either.
It’s a shit situation because as much as I’m hurt by his reaction—Rory could barely look at me, and the few things he said…they hit like a tonne of bricks—I miss him too. I miss him more than I can bear. He’s all I see everywhere I look. His touch is everything I need right now. As though my body knows that there is a piece of him inside me, it endlessly aches for more.
A baby isn’t something insignificant, so I understand why he was shocked. Especially with the way he found out. It was more like walking straight into a bloody massacre than ripping a plaster off. However, none of my understanding erases how alone I’ve felt in something that we both played a part in.
I really thought he was different.
But that’s on me, not on him. We agreed on no expectations or consequences. And now, here we are and—fuck!
Oh God.
It’s déjà vu. We’ve been here before. Me standing at this very spot with him at my door. Even from a distance, the sight of him makes my heart come alive and ache all at the same time. Again, a part of me wants to run—to turn around and go buy myself another lollipop—maybe find a park bench where I can sit and pretend that my life isn’t about to avalanche around me.
That would be the easy thing to do. The cowardly instinct to follow. And it would be pointless because eventually I’ll have to tell Rory that I’m keeping this baby. His baby. Our baby. My baby.
Sucking in a deep breath, I traipse to my front door, stopping at the bottom of the steps to steal another glimpse before I drive him away for good. I barely get a second before he turns to look at me, and my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. A part of me feels giddy while the other is anxious like never before. Then there’s also this smaller, insidious part. An invisible thread tying the other two together. It’s tiny, but it’s stronger and louder than the giddiness and anxiety.
Fear.I’m afraid to the marrow of my bones. Petrified that this really will be the last time I see Rory Knight look at me with his big brown eyes and those thick lips pressed into a firm, kissable line that has my heart gaping open just for the tiniest taste of him. The whisper of a touch. A breath of his scent. Anything. Everything…
Fuck, when did I get so lonely and needy? When did I become so dependent on his presence in my life? How did I fall so deeply in love with him that even when it hurts, it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt?
I can’t breathe, move, talk…I’m completely struck by his closeness.
“Where have you been?” he asks, taking each step down toward me measuredly. The expression on his face is wary, as though I’m a wild animal about to bolt or attack. “I called.” Rory pauses, taking me in. His gaze tracks down my body with an agonising slowness that makes my insides tremble. “I texted…I…I’ve been here every day…”
“Why?” I breathe when his stare meets mine, and I pull the lollipop from my mouth.
Rory always looks rough around the edges, but today, he just looks completely rough. His beard is longer, and his hair is a total mess. Everything about him looks haywire, ready to break. And even though I’m still bleeding from his cutting remarks the other night, every cell of my being wants to comfort him. So desperately, that it’s taking every ounce of my energy to hold my ground.
“To…apologise…”
“I see.” I shrug, edging past him to get to my front door, but not before I pause beside him to inhale his scent deep into my lungs. It’s a mistake because the second he moves to take my bag of shopping from me, our hands touch, and all that warm air that I was trying so hard to steal away with me pushes out of my lungs.
“I got it,” Rory tells me when I don’t let go.
“No, Rory…no. I’ve got it. I’ve got it all covered, all right?”
“I’m sorry, Lo,” he whispers raggedly, refusing to release my hand. “I was an asshole…but—”
“No buts. You were an arsehole. Full stop. That’s it. No buts.”
Twisting myself free of his touch, I take the last few steps up quickly. I can sense him following behind, and it only makes me shakier as I try to fish my keys out of my handbag quickly. I’m fumbling around, rummaging, when the handle on the shopping bag gives, and as I foolishly try to catch it, the contents of my handbag spill onto the ground.
It doesn’t matter how fast I make to pick up the ultrasound pictures because Rory is faster. Crouching in front of me, he stares at the images in his hands. It’s impossible to tell what he’s feeling. And all I want to do is snatch them back and keep them safe…mine.
“It looks…” he says with a deep gravel to his voice as he stands, still with his eyes glued to the images. “It looks like a real baby.”
Maybe it’s just me imagining things, but he sounds as bewildered by the sight as I felt. With his thumbs stroking over the black-and-white picture of our child, his glance meets mine.