Keep Her (37 page)

And just as I was about to rant and rave about this so-called OB wonder named Betsy, in she walked.

“Well, congratulations Mommy and Daddy. Riley you must be over the fucking moon.”

Her tone, her language, the long hippie skirt she wore under her white coat—thank you Betsy for calming my jumping nerves.

“Yes. That’s an understatement. I’m so happy I could cry.”

“Nope. No crying yet. Let’s save that for the twenty fourth hour of shitty labor, shall we?” Typing into the machine connected to the condom wrapped wand, Betsy turned and wiped her hands, walking toward me. “This baby is going to be drop dead gorgeous. You are some sight, Daddy. Riley?” she asked, never taking her eyes off me. “Introduce me to this delicious specimen.”

Laughing so hard her gown started to creep open, Riley gestured her hands between Betsy and me. “Betsy, this is Beck Matthews, my boyfriend. Beck this is the well-renowned OB of Brooklyn Heights. We’re in the best hands ever.”

“Why? Did you doubt me, Mr. Matthews?” At first, Betsy’s vicious looking glare could burn a hole through me, but when she smiled and winked I knew she was only joking.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Betsy. Riley can’t stop raving about you.” She shook my hand and held it a little too long, then dropped it and plopped into the stool between Riley’s legs. Watching her movements, the way she hummed around as she went about her doctorly duties, she reminded me of Barbara Streisand in
Meet the Fockers,
only younger.
I prayed to Jesus she wasn’t as unconventional as the character she portrayed in the movie. I couldn’t handle that. I was a hippie lover, but not when it came to delivering my baby. Betsy had something to prove, whether Riley thought so or not.

“Now that we got that intro out of the way, let’s meet this little one. I’m going to squirt this cold crap on your belly. Sorry about the chilliness, babe.” She did as she said she would and then spread it around Riley’s smooth belly with a wider wand than the one shaped like a skinny dildo. I inched over to Riley’s side to observe and when I was close enough she grabbed my hand and pulled me even closer.

The room filled with an echo-type whooshing. Riley’s eyes watered. Betsy’s smile spread wide across her jovial face. And me—I looked around the room to see where the odd sound was coming from.

“That’s your baby’s heartbeat, gorgeous. It’s coming from the monitor.” She snapped the fingers of her free hand, grabbing my attention.

“That’s the heartbeat?” I asked, stunned. Why had I never watched any of those TLC programs or paid attention in sex-ed. I felt like such an amateur.

“Oh my god, B. That’s her.” Riley smiled through her tears and grasped my hand even tighter. “Betsy, does everything sound good?”

“It sounds wonderful, doll. But what’s this
she
stuff?” Betsy asked, smirking. “You’re too early for me to tell you the sex.”

Wiping the rest of the goo from her stomach with a napkin Betsy handed her, Riley answered, “I don’t need you to tell me the sex. I
know
it’s a girl. From the moment we found out, from the second we decided to keep her. I just knew.”

Betsy glanced over to me and rolled her eyes. I simply shrugged. “She’s a real know it all. I just go along with it to avoid the backlash.”

Chuckling, Betsy pinched me on the cheek. “Smart move, gorgeous. Her hormones are gonna be all kinds of whacked out… yes her to death.”

Riley was right, I loved Betsy. She no longer had anything to prove. She was good people.

Staring at the black and white sonogram photo plastered to my fridge, I now knew what a kumquat was. In fact, I knew that next week the baby would be the size of a fig. Our goal, which seemed a long way off, was a nice ripe mini-watermelon. Fruits and veggies—the comparison creeped me out, but after doing my research I was starting to get a clear visual of things.

Over dinner Riley and I were all goo goo ga ga over our little girl. Yup. She’d convinced me we were having a little ballerina of our own. Claire Elyse Matthews was the name we’d chosen in memory of Mrs. G. She was a wonderful woman. Baby Claire had humungo shoes to fill. We didn’t want to jinx anything so starting the nursery was a no-no for Riley, but I could tell her design ideas were dying to burst out of her.

Once we were done eating, cleaning up and relaxing, Riley had decided to head back to her place for the night. She’d run out of clean clothes for the week and had an early morning meeting the next day. I hated spending a night apart—I didn’t like parting with my kumquat now either—but I kept reminding myself that this transition stage would all be over soon.

We were going to be a family. The thoughts that had me uneasy and anxious this afternoon now had the complete opposite effect. I was excited and eager. I wanted to fast forward the next seven months and start our dream come true. I wanted to do all the things with Riley that I always imagined I’d do with my wife and the mother of my children. I couldn’t pinpoint a time in my life that I’d been happier. This was my silver lining, Riley’s fairytale.

There was only one thing left to do.

Since Luca’s party I’d thought long and hard about what Mr. G had offered me. Claire Grayson’s ring. I wanted to propose to Riley. Soon. But just like waiting to tell her I loved her, I wanted this to be perfect. Then again, look how that turned out. Maybe it was stupid to wait. The end result would be the same no matter when I decided to ask her. Riley would be my wife. And the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to do it before the baby got here in May.

Reaching for my phone to put in a call to Mr. G about setting these wheels in motion, I noticed a missed call and an unanswered text from a half hour ago.

Both were from Marissa.

What the fuck was it now?

I ignored the voicemail, but swiped the screen to check my text messages.

The two sentences I saw on that screen turned everything Riley and I had experienced today into a tainted, sour mess.

Marissa:
How do you even know this baby is yours? Your girlfriend was fucking my brother before you two got back together.

Her message changed my entire outlook on this beautiful day, on my plans for our future, and planted a seed of doubt that I never imagined could be placed in my brain.

My early morning meeting turned into a late afternoon nightmare. I never had a chance to drink my only allotted cup of coffee for the day and the bagel I’d brought into the conference room to stuff my face with earlier was certainly not enough to tide me over until now. I was a starving animal. Everyone had better steer clear of me until I ravaged the cheeseburger deluxe I’d just ordered from the diner around the corner.

When I returned to my desk, I flopped down into my chair and headed straight for the red blinking light on my office phone. As I punched in the code to retrieve my messages, my cell phone buzzed. Multitasking was my bitch—even with baby brain. I scrolled through what looked like a million unanswered texts as I listened to the messages from various vendors and clients. After three similar business-related messages, Beck’s voice came through just as I was noticing that the majority of my missed calls and texts on my cell were from him too.

“Hey, Riles. Uh, we need to talk. I’ve been trying to get you, but I guess you’re still in that meeting. Call me back as soon as you get this.”

The rest of his texts said pretty much the same thing. Except for the last one that had a time stamp from only ten minutes ago.

Beck:
That’s it. I’m coming there.

I immediately dialed his number from my phone, worried that something might be wrong.

He didn’t pick up. Straight to voicemail.

Irrational thoughts popped into my mind about our baby, but duh—I was the one carrying it. I would know if anything was wrong. Unless—
shit.
Had Betsy called him, unable to reach me? Beck’s was the emergency contact number on my chart. Maybe she’d called him with results of some sort. What the hell else could he be rushing all the way over here to see me for?

“Fallon? Fallon? Where are you?” I screamed, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of me.

Darting out of the office kitchen with the creamer still in his hands, he jogged toward me and dropped everything on my desk. He could easily recognize my despair. He was a good friend and could read me well. When he wrapped his arms around me and asked, “What the hell’s the matter? You feeling okay?” I slumped against his chest and wilted in his embrace, sobbing. “I think something’s wrong with the baby, Fal. Something has to be wrong with my baby.”

“Don’t worry. There’s nothing wrong with
your
baby, Riley.” Beck’s voice startled the both of us, forcing me out of my friend’s embrace. I rushed over to hold on to Beck for dear life.

But when he stopped me an inch away from him and rejected my touch, I scowled at him, confused.

A cold, bitter resentment washed over his face. “Is this baby mine?”

The horror that eroded my veins with those words felt as if fire started at my core and spread through every single nerve ending. I could barely compose the proper words to answer him. Of course the answer was yes. Why was he even asking?

Fallon, noticing my state of utter shock and speechlessness, stepped in. “Are you serious, Beck?”

“Yes, I’m serious, Fallon.” He never took his eyes off me, even as he spit out his venom-like words to Fallon. “Is. This. Baby. Mine? Answer the question, Riley.”

“Hey,” Fallon raised an arm, getting between me and Beck. “Don’t talk to her like that. Whatever the hell is going on can be—”

“Shut him the fuck up before I do, Riley. We need to talk.
Now
.”

I’d never seen Beck this angry before. I’d never known him to have this side to him. He was always so calm and rational and loving. But he was right, whatever had prompted this should be spoken about without an audience.

“Fallon, we’re okay. Can you hold down the fort while I go talk to Beck?”

It was Fallon’s turn to stare Beck down. He continued his mental defensive, but nodded in answer to my question.

When he finally walked away, I pulled Beck by the arm and dragged him into the now empty conference room.

Slamming the glass door behind us, I got right to the point. “Yes. Of course this baby is yours. Where the hell do you get off accusing me that it isn’t?” The more time I had to think about it the more time I realized that I was pissed. This was insane. Where did he get off accusing me of such heinous nonsense?

“Why didn’t you tell me you were dating Griffin Dennison? Or that you’re
still
working for him? Let me guess, he doesn’t want the baby so you thought you’d stick it on me like I’m some sucker? Well, I’m not some sucker, Riley and I’m certainly not going to raise some other man’s bastard and marry his whore.”

Oh my god
. Oh my ever loving God!

He’d found out about Griffin.

How?

Who?

Why?

I had an idea for every one of those questions, but still—that wasn’t what had me in knots. The way he spoke to me. The things he just called our baby… “How fucking dare you.” I croaked. I was so angry that it overpowered my tears, dried them up and made me furious. “You’re going to be very sorry when I explain myself. Those are words you can never take back. Horrible, hateful, untrue words.”