Under Contract (The GEG Series) (29 page)

“I’m not changing my mind about the baby,” I say, before I drop all my defenses. He tenses up.

“Let’s just stop discussing it for now,” he says with a sigh.

“There’s no discussion, Mitch. You bailed. I made a decision that I will not go back on.” I place my hand on his chest to give myself some distance.

“I didn’t bail.” His tone is biting.

“You did.”

“Give me time to see how I feel about it.” His voice lowers as he calms down.

“Take your time, but you will not waste Ava and Trent’s.” I try to push away from him, and he just pulls me closer.

“Charlotte, goddamn it.” He rests his forehead against mine. He lifts his away and lays a prolonged kiss on mine. “I’m going to go for a walk.”

Well. That’s it, then. He’s leaving me—again.
I knew that the chance of this happening was greater than it not happening.

“Can you at least leave me the half for this month to tide me over? It’ll give me time to figure out what I’m going to do.” I quietly mourn my pride as the words come out.

He looks at me strangely for a moment before I see a flicker of comprehension in his eyes, followed by disappointment and sadness.

“I’m not walking out, baby—just going for a walk. I need to sort my head out.” He palms my face and brushes my lips with his. “I promise.”

“I won’t change my mind.”

“You’ve said that.” He nods.

“And you’re okay with that?” I glance up from under my lashes.

“No. No, I’m not. You know I’m not. But I’m not okay with losing you either—hence the walk. I need to calm down.” He kisses me again and lets go. I watch him as he leaves the house.

“Pfbbt.” I blow some hair out of my face. The best way for my thinking to stay on a constructive path is for me to keep moving. I can’t sit and marinate in my thoughts; I need to feel the ground beneath my feet.

I’m noisy as hell. Clatter and chaos helps me to focus clearly. I know ... it’s odd.

Clank of the dishes in the sink.

Faucet on at its highest capacity.

Disposal chewing up unwanted food.

Each sound represents a “loud” thought in my mind. Slowly, I pull one thought at a time, lining them up in order.

The worst is over. I’ve told him. I was about ninety-five percent sure he would respond the way he did, though I wasn’t expecting the passion he backed it up with. I feel the guilt of my choice slowly rise as I realize the stubbornness behind it.

He’s right. Nothing medical has happened—yet. Well, I did stop my birth control (probably should’ve mentioned that to him). But I haven’t done anything else. I could hold off.

No!

Ava has been my best friend more than half of my life. I’ve watched her emotional suffering for years, all over trying to have something I could easily give her.

It’s nine months. If he’s being honest about his feelings (and I hope he is) about me, then nine months is not a big deal. Hell, he’ll probably be away for most of it! Besides, love or not, he’s only been in my life a few months. And because I’m a woman, I must mention again—he was M.I.A. for one of them. (Us women folk can’t help it!)

That aside, I’m sure this is going to play at his psyche a bit. Deep inside, he probably wants a baby. Not a replacement of Isabella, but a chance to have what was ripped from him so tragically. My being pregnant with some other couple’s kid may prove difficult for him.

Since I’ve gone and traveled down this road already—do I even want more kids? I take in a very deep breath and ponder the idea.

My three fill my cup so wonderfully that I would be perfectly fine with not having any more. Yet ... I can’t ignore the feeling that someone is missing. Maybe even two someones. I’ve always wanted five. My pregnancies weren’t the easiest, but man do I love being pregnant. Yes, I’m one of
those
girls.

What if Mitch actually doesn’t want his own kids? I think for a moment. No, he does. I got that much from his rant. I’m not waiting. It doesn’t matter what he wants now. What if I put this off for five months and Mitch leaves me again—permanently? That’s five months longer Ava and Trent may have to wait for their dream. No. I won’t delay them.

Mitch’s hand reaches past me and turns off the faucet, then the disposal. His arm encircles my waist and I feel his cheek press against mine.

“Okay. I’m on board. Not that I have a choice, but I thought about it and I came up with a very good reason for you to do this now.” His voice is steady and calm. I turn around to face him, encouraging him to continue. “At first, I thought maybe you could hold off. Let us have a baby, then do this for them,” he says. I feel my eyes widen with shock. “Then I realized that wouldn’t be good for us. Any of us, including your kids. It’s too much to throw at them, never mind us.” He takes a break and my expression, I’m sure, matches the warmth for him I feel in my heart. “I told you I want it all with you, Charlotte. That doesn’t mean we need to act with haste, possibly sabotaging ourselves. I want us settled with each other and our feelings, and to have a stable home for your kids. A baby now would just force the transition rather than properly nurture it. You know I’m already very fond of your kids. I want this to be smooth for them, too.” He pauses to take another breath.

I stand frozen, amazed ... flabbergasted. I may ask him to pinch me. I may pinch him!

“I realized this would be the best way to do things,” he continues. “You have a baby for them first. That’s it, though. Then you are mine. If you get pregnant again, it will be ours. If they want another, we will find someone else to carry it for them.” He stops.

“Are you real?” I ask.

His smile crooks sexily, as it always does. “What do you think?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” I smile and cup his cheek, then lean up and kiss him. “Uh ... there is something else I need to tell you. I should’ve mentioned it last night, but honestly, I didn’t think about it ‘til after the fact.”

“What is it, baby? Am I going to need to take another walk?” He chuckles nervously.

I wince. “You may.”

“What?”

“I’m not on birth control anymore. I didn’t get my shot. We may be in the clear, though, because I only just skipped it.”

“Grab your purse and whatever else you need.” He pats my ass.

“Why?”

“We’re going to BJ’s or wherever the hell you have a membership.”

“Okay. Why?” I ask again.

“Condoms.”

“But ...” I trail off and gesture with my hand. I’m about to mention the local CVS. But before I can finish, he shoots me the “are you kidding?” look.

“Bulk, Charlotte—we need to buy in bulk.”

“Right. Bulk,” I agree, then say a silent prayer for Kitty.

“So, where’s that dickless pussy?” CiCi bellows to me as I slice oranges for Brogan’s baseball team. I look over my shoulder to find her followed by the other super asswhores. I silently thank God the bleachers haven’t filled in this section yet.

“Maddie, I thought you were captain?” I ask playfully, then turn my focus back to my sister. “Ceese, aren’t all pussies dickless?”

“Cut the crap! I know you were with him last night!”

If anyone seeing us didn’t know us, this would be where the switchblades came out, if they had that sort of imagination.

“Sorry, Charley,” Jay pipes up from behind the girls.

“No surprise seeing you bringing up the rear, Jay!” I bark at him.

“What, Charley?” he shouts obnoxiously, “you want me to give it to you in your rear?” he asks. Everyone laughs except for CiCi and I, who snarl. Except not really—we’re just fighting ... fighting the urge to laugh along, that is.

I give in first. “Damn it!”

“Can I get a woot woot?” CiCi cheers in victory. Collective “woot woots” ensue. I start slicing oranges again. “Yes, he was with me last night. We’ve made up. We’re working things out, so please don’t be an asshole toward him.”

“I have to be an asshole toward him.”

“Why?” I wave the knife in irritation. Mitch and I are already on shaky ground; we don’t need any more crap blocking our path to happiness.

She points. “Watch it with the knife, killer! If I’m not an asshole to him, he’ll think I hate him. I don’t hate him. I’m just mad at him.” She shrugs.

“Well, that’s true.” I shrug along.

“Where is he?” Julie asks.

“He went to pick up Gram. They’ll be here soon. Don’t tell Brogan, though—he wants to surprise him.”

“Aw ...” A collective asswhore sigh, plus one Jason—the original and still reigning champion asswhore.

“I nominate Jay as our mascot,” I announce. The girls look in his direction.

“All those in favor, say aye,” Maddie states, then does so. Julie, Ava, CiCi, and I follow suit.

“I don’t know what you crazy bitches are up to, but I’m in! Aye!” Jay holds up his hand. We take turns congratulating him on his promotion, then follow it up with a slap on the ass from each of us.

“Mom ... what are you guys doing?” Brogan asks, looking a little embarrassed.

“Oh, one of those silly things you do when you’re twelve,” I say, pushing the air around me away gently.

“You guys aren’t twelve, though.” He looks at us, confused.

“So we didn’t get the memo, yet,” CiCi says. “Sue us!”

“Hey, your team’s getting ready to do warm-ups!” I point past his shoulder.

“Oh, okay.” He smiles and shakes his head at us before jogging over to join the other kids.

“That kid’s going to commit me the minute he turns eighteen,” I say, watching him meet up with them.

“Well, they’ll have to get through us first,” Ava says.

I give them all another once-over and sigh. “Well ... that’s comforting.”

The five of them stand side by side in a “Care Bear Stare” stance. Though their signs demand presence, they aren’t pretty, and they aren’t meant to give me the warm fuzzies. But in the end, it always makes us all laugh—nobody else does, but that’s par for the course.

“Okay, take your warm fuzzies and go sit down.” I throw my knife into my bag.

“Oh, it’s warm,” Julie says. “Never fuzzy, though.”

“Oh my God, go!” I point.

“You know, I knew you were a twisted bitch the first day I met you,” CiCi says to Julie, dragging her away.

“It was on that playground right over there, Ceese.” She points. “And we’ve been in love ever since,” she adds in a dreamy fashion.

I giggle—
assholes.

I continue organizing the refreshment table for the boys. Just as I throw the last Gatorade in the ice, a pair of hands greets my hips.

“Damn, Charley—your ass looks hot in these yoga shorts,” Josh says next to my ear before kissing it. I fight through the sudden, overwhelming need to vomit and throw his hands off my hips as I turn. “Shh ... shh, sweetie ... don’t cry.” He touches my face, speaking softly.
Is he for real?
Apparently when he pictured this moment, I was crying, and his ego left no room for improvisation in case my weeping wasn’t in celebration.

Asshole!

“Get your hands off of me!” I snap and pull away.

“It’s going to be okay, Charley. I’m ready to give you a second chance.” He smiles. Not a regular smile. Not a happy “glad to see you” smile. No, it’s an “I forgive you” smile.

I stare at him blankly.

I blink.

Is he on something?

He tilts his head to kiss me. I know that in the future, when I replay this moment in my mind, it will be completely in slow motion. His head will ricochet backward with bionic sound effects from the slap I delivered to his face. However, we are in real time, and Josh is holding his cheek with a look of anger in his eyes I’ve never seen before. He steps toward me.

“You take one more step toward my daughter, you son of a bitch, and I’ll brain ya!” my father yells. We both turn our heads in his direction. “Happy” Jack O’Brien looks like a force to be reckoned with, and he’s got a Louisville Slugger as his sidekick.

My daddy. My hero.

God love him.

“Sit down, old man!” Josh says flippantly. “What do you think you’re going to do with that bat?” He chuckles.

“Same thing I’m gonna do with mine, asshole—just at a different angle,” Mitch says angrily from my right. We turn our heads toward him. He also has a bat in his hand.

“Mitch,” my dad says calmly, then nods.

“Mr. O’Brien.” He returns the gesture.

My future recollection of this memory may or may not involve some tumbleweed rolling around at this very moment. It should also be mentioned that it’s high noon. I don’t know what they meant by that back in the day, but for me, the time is noon and I believe Josh is definitely high.

“Okay, well, I think my wife and I can handle this conversation alone, since it pertains to us and neither of you.” Josh reaches for my hand.

“Ex-wife!” Mitch snaps, yanking me back a smidge quicker.

“I don’t know what she’s told you, man, but we are not divorced.”

“It was finalized last month, Josh,” I say, but am distracted by Brogan making his way over to us.

“As a lawyer, you should know that your signature and permission were not needed in the state of New Hampshire. You should also know that you have no rights to the house, car, or any custody of the kids. You chose to give everything up. We made sure it’s a permanent fix,” Mitch continues to inform him.