Closing Costs: Stewart Realty, Book Three Page 2

  “Who’s the father?” He glanced at Craig then back at her. “I assume we’re both here so you can fill us in on that minor detail.”

  Craig leaned forward on his knees. “How’re you feeling?”

  God these guys were so predictable.

  She directed her first response to Jack, fighting back to urge to throw herself at him, to be enveloped in his arms, turn the whole thing over to him and let him take care of her.

  “I don’t know which of you is the father.” She turned to Craig, let the sunny warmth of his concern give her strength and kept her voice firm. “I feel like warmed over shit most days, thanks. On the other days, I want to sleep twenty-four seven. Being pregnant sucks so far.”

  Jack got up and started pacing the room. She tried to keep the anger out of her voice.

  “Look, I didn’t want this either but…”

  “You aren’t doing anything…permanent about that are you?” He stared out the window as he spoke.

  “If you’re asking me if I’m considering an abortion, Jack, the answer is no. Not anymore anyway.” He whirled to face her. His gaze held something she refused to acknowledge—something that bordered on relief. She forced herself to look away. “The bottom line is, as you have likely sorted out by now, either of you could have…could be…” She gulped back a surge of nausea so strong she had to rush from the room.

  A few minutes later, she leaned on the doorjamb of her bathroom and tried to will away the creeping exhaustion gripping her again.

  How in the hell did I get here? All those times without condoms? Fucking careless and stupid.

  Her self-flagellation ended when she heard Craig’s voice.

  “Sara?” She tried not to cry at the expression on his face. “Oh honey, I’m, sorry. Or whatever. I don’t know what to say, really.” He pulled her into his arms. She sucked in a breath of him – chlorine, cotton, a whiff of the clean linen of his cologne. He led her back to the kitchen table.

  “It’s okay Sara. It’ll all be fine,” he declared. She tried to dry up the waterworks, forced herself out of the comforting circle of Craig’s arms and wiped her hand across her eyes. After taking a breath, she looked at them both.

  “I’m doing this on my own.”

  Craig stepped back. Jack crossed his arms. “And you mean what by that exactly?”

  “I mean that I won’t be getting a paternity test. I don’t care who did this.” She stopped and attempted to sound less strident. “Which one of you knocked me up is irrelevant. It’s my body and my baby. I’m telling you both now that we can be friends, all of us, but that’s it. I will handle this from here on out. Period.”

  Suddenly thirsty, she brushed past them, heading for the kitchen. After gulping down a large glass of water, she turned to face them again. Her men. The light and dark. The yin and yang of her entire existence.

  Was she doing the right thing? Was it fair to them? Or was she letting her family railroad her into taking this stand? She suddenly had no idea what she was doing anymore. But the words were out of her mouth now, and they continued to stare at her, a similar incredulity lining their faces.

  “You realize how ridiculous that sounds, right?” Jack stood, feet apart, arms crossed, the posture she remembered well from their brief and ill-fated foray into life as an engaged and living-together couple. It was his fighting stance. She tried not to rise to the bait. She looked at Craig, hoping he would defuse it, but he stayed silent. “Right?” Jack repeated, his voice dipping low, making her scalp tingle.

  She shook herself. This was not some sex game. This was her new reality. And as her brother said, she had to woman up and take responsibility for it. All of it. Despite the temptation to point to one of the men staring at her from across the kitchen and say “It’s you. Now, do the right thing by me,” she knew better. This had to be her moment to break clean from them both. It was the only way she could cope with how she felt about them both.

  “Honestly, Sara, Jack may be right.” Both she and the tall man in the suit looked at Craig. He ignored Jack and kept his gaze trained on her. “You can’t pretend that we don’t care. I mean I know if it’s my, um, child, I would…you know, take some responsibility.”

  “Yeah,” Jack sputtered, his face turning red. Sara frowned. “I have, I mean, we, well, one of us has some rights here.”

  A crisp, clean and likely irrational fury made her vision blur. “Really. And what right would that be, Jack? The right to hold my hair while I puke my ever-loving guts out a dozen times a day? The right to help me waddle to the bathroom and back later? To learn how to Lamaze breathe with me? The right to change shitty diapers and do midnight feeding duty? The right to buy the kid a car? Pay for college?”

  She sensed how unreasonable she sounded but had completely lost the ability to be logical, or polite, or give a shit what they thought anymore. The past year and a half of her life had been such a turmoil, she felt buffeted by it, sore from it, and it had to stop. She was the only one with the ability to do that—to end the madness, the competition, their ongoing, never-ceasing need to fight over her, win her, whatever. Some women might be flattered but the hard reality of it, considering how different the two men where and how strongly she felt about at least one of them, was not fun or sexy or flattering. It was shitty.

  Jack took a step towards her but she held out her hand, and he kept his distance. She kept her voice steady despite how shaky she was inside. Despite how hard she had to keep a grip on herself to not fall into Jack’s suited arms and let him handle everything for her.

  “I am doing this on my own. I’m giving you notice so when I get huge in the coming weeks you don’t panic. Or get territorial. This is my baby. The end.” She turned from them, gripped the edge of the kitchen counter. “You can go now.” In her head, she begged one of them to stay.

  The sound of the slamming door made her wince.

  * * *

  As was typical of many Michigan winters, this one seemingly had no end. By the time Ann Arbor hit mid-March people were cautiously optimistic. But St. Patrick’s Day dawned cold, gray and threatening snow. Sara sighed and sat on the side of her bed, marveling at the glorious lack of nausea she’d been experiencing for a few weeks. She ran her hand over the hard lump that had appeared under her shirt, tucked the whole mess in the back of her brain, and focused on the busy day ahead.

  Jack was considering taking the job as general manger of the Stewart Realty Company and had become distant and moody. That suited Sara fine and kept her from the temptation to let him back into her life. But that morning she had a meeting with him—one he’d called with a bunch of agents. For the first time in weeks, she wanted to go work. The crazed hormones roiling through her system were going to let her pretend she was normal again.

  By the time she’d made it to her downtown office, snow was falling. Pretty. But not in March. She stomped her feet at the back door, smiling when Craig poked his head out of his cubicle.

  “Hi,” she said.”

  “Hi, yourself.” He ambled over to her, his dark eyes taking her in from head to toe. “You look like a million bucks. Got a closing?” She brushed the dampness from her hair.

  “No, a meeting at admin. But thanks. I feel pretty good for a change. A minor miracle.” She grabbed a coffee cup, remembered her vow to cut back on the caffeine and filled it with water instead. A strange energy surged through her making her anxious and unable to settle. It was like she had reverted to her old self. The before preggers Sara she wished like hell she had back most days.

  How could you get anyway? Knocked up. Jesus. How lame. It was the twenty-first century. You are a modern, independent woman. No one forced you to not use a condom.

  She really had no excuse.

  She stood, then dropped back into her chair, her mouth hanging open.

  “Oh my God.”

  Craig barreled into the break room.

  “What,” he demanded, his voice low. “Are you okay?” His dark eyes flitted over her b
ody a minute, then back up to her face. She gaped at him, not sure it had actually happened. Then she felt it again. A bizarre, fluttery sensation inside her. Like an eyelash, swiping against the inside of her stomach. An impossible feeling to describe but one she immediately identified.

  “Wow.” She put her hand on the hard bump under her shirt. It seemed to have shifted, changed shape. She stared at Craig.

  “Seriously Sara, you’re freaking me out. What is it?” He pulled a chair up to hers. “Do you need to throw up? What? Talk to me.”

  The fear on his face made her giggle. Then as the laughter took hold she snorted, guffawed, did the proverbial laugh out loud, so loud a few of their colleagues glanced over the short divider at them.

  Finally, she calmed, hiccupped, and took his hand, pressing it to her stomach. The butterfly wing fluttered again. Craig’s eyes widened. “Wow.” He stared at his hand, then at her. “I want to kiss you so much right now.” His voice stayed soft and low.

  They stared at each other for a full twenty seconds in silence. “No, thank you,” she whispered. She wouldn’t do that to him. Because Craig wasn’t the man she wanted kissing her. She was determined not to fall back into tempting scripts with him—where she let him take care of her for the wrong reasons.

  The satisfaction she felt for saying that that flooded through her for a brief moment, then quickly got hijacked by remorse. She put a hand to his face.

  “I’m glad you got to share that with me,” she said, then stood and made her way out into the main office. If she stayed, she wasn’t sure what she’d do.

  Being with either of the men in question was not in her plan.

  Not anymore.

  She’d proven herself to be a shitty girlfriend much less a wife. Her temper got the best of her too much. She had too much trouble trusting anyone. She’d only make either of their lives miserable.

  Jack had figured it out and was leaving her alone, after all.

  Which is why she’d decided to focus on herself. And her baby.

  Chapter Two

  “I’m a little worried about your blood pressure.” The doctor frowned at her handheld computer screen. Sara sat on the hard, too-small examination table. Her legs felt heavy, weighed down, and had for the last several days. Her mouth was constantly dry and at times, after the slightest exertion, her heartbeat would pound in her ears, making her dizzy. Ridiculous, considering her high level of fitness. She should have a flawless pregnancy. The concept that she’d screw this most basic of female jobs made her insane with worry and self-doubt.

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, actually, you aren’t. I’m going to have to report this to your dad. You came in here spotting, remember?”

  “Oh please, Lisa, don’t.” She stared at the woman who’d been such a great help to her so far, who’d come with her father’s professional blessing. She’d not been his first choice of obstetricians – which was one of the reasons Sara had chosen her from the list her father, the former head of obstetrics at the University hospital, had given her. She sat up, too fast it seemed.

  “Whoa.” She blinked, as the room got bright, then dimmed. “Damn.” Lisa eased her back onto the table.

  “That’s it. I’m admitting you. I’m not worried about the baby, really. Getting a strong heartbeat there. But you’re spilling proteins in your urine and…”

  Sara closed her eyes and tried to ignore how fast and loud her own heartbeat sounded. Nausea hovered on her horizon. “Ugh.”

  Lisa patted her leg.

  “I’m calling your dad now, under threat of death. I won’t cross Dr. Matthew Thornton, Sara, sorry. I don’t like the look of your BP, the edema in your legs, none of it. Who can you call to bring your stuff to the hospital?”

  “You mean I can’t go home first?” Panic hovered, but that made her face sweaty, which didn’t help the whole pounding heartbeat thing. She took a breath.

  “No. Ambulance is on its way.”

  “Ambulance! Isn’t that a bit reactionary?” Sara tried to sit, but the room spun. “Okay, never mind.”

  “Who am I calling for you Sara? Blake?”

  Sara tried to focus on the ceiling to keep from puking. Fear and a lick of anger erupted in her chest. She refused to be some kind of invalid pregnant lady. She gritted her teeth. “No. Call Jack.” She’d provided the requisite list of emergency phone numbers, including, in order, her brother, Jack, Craig, her parents, Rob.

  “Okay then.” Lisa patted her leg and turned to the phone. A weird blanket of exhaustion seemed to smother her. “Don’t go to sleep,” Her doctor demanded, pinching her toe.

  “Ow, dammit! I thought pregnant ladies got to sleep a lot.”

  “Not until I get you over to the U of M. I want monitors on you first. So stay with me, okay?” Sara nodded, but keeping her eyes opened proved harder than she imagined.

  By the time she awoke she was hooked up to an IV, and Jack stood at her bedside, giving the attending doc the third degree. His voice soothed her like no other. She smiled and drifted off again, content that he had it all in hand.

  Her dreams were a random, crazy mess of images. When she forced herself awake she was eyeball-to-eyeball with her father. He was glaring at her, but her mother elbowed him in the ribs so he finally smiled and put down the tablet computer he’d been clutching.

  “God, Mom, how long was I out?” Sara stretched, and was more relieved than she cared to admit at the energetic fluttering under her hospital gown. Thank God she hadn’t totally messed this up and lost the baby.

  “So, young lady, looks like you get take a little vacation.”

  “Dad, being pregnant is not a vacation. I sincerely hope you never used that lame line with your patients.” Her mother fussed around with her blankets, her lips twisting as she tried not to laugh.

  “Well, um, anyway…” He harrumphed some more, glared at what Sara assumed was her record on the small screen. “You have to stay off your feet for at least another week. Completely off your feet. Do you comprehend what that means?”

  “I think so, yeah. You did pay for four years of college. I’m not an imbecile.”

  “Sara,” her mother muttered, patting her shoulder. Sara shrugged her off, suddenly so angry she could spit nails.

  “When can I get out of here?” She slumped back on the pillows, feeling like a pissy adolescent, which made her even madder. “I’m hungry.” A nurse bustled in, followed by a trailing cloud of young doctors. They spent about twenty minutes being awestruck by her father’s August presence, made suggestions about her condition and treatment and left. “Can I not be a guinea pig please?”

  “This is a teaching hospital, Sara. Deal with it.” They glared at each other a minute before his phone buzzed. He turned away to answer it.

  “I’ll get some food. What’re you hungry for?” her mother asked, still hovering.

  “The hottest Mexican food on the planet.” She bit back the urge to tell her mother to call Jack, have him bring it over. “Where did Jack go? He was here wasn’t he?”

  “Yes, he was. He was obviously uncomfortable though so I sent him home.”

  “Uncomfortable?” Sara let a small finger of irritation tickle the back of her brain. Who was really more uncomfortable, for crying out loud?

  “He was as pale as a ghost. Told me he had a ‘thing’ about hospitals. Nothing logical, like most phobias. But he did a lovely job handling things until Blake got here. We drove down from Traverse as soon as we heard.” She patted Sara’s foot under the thin blanket. “Craig was here too, for a bit. Then he had to go.”

  “Hey!” Blake poked his head around the door. Sara’s face brightened at the sight of him. “Look what I found on the way in.” He held up a greasy bag. Sara’s mouth watered.

  “You read my mind, brother.”

  “One of my many parlor tricks. Here, eat this crap before I toss it in the incinerator. My car smells like a taco truck. Disgusting.”

  Chapter Three

  “Wh
at do you mean you can’t make it?” Sara struggled to heave herself out of the car and onto the too-hot asphalt. She glanced at her watch. Late for Lamaze again. She sighed, anticipating the long-suffering sighs of the crunchy granola woman who led the class.

  Her brother croaked into her ear. “I’m sick as a dog Sara. I gotta sleep. Doctor’s put me on antibiotics for Strep. I can’t do the Lamaze thing today. Sorry.”

  She repressed the need to yell at him.

  Don’t be selfish Sara. The whole world does not revolve around your sorry pregnant ass.

  “Okay. Take care of yourself. Is Rob there?”

  “He will be in about an hour.”

  She sighed, made more “take care of yourself” noises and hung up, leaning on the warm metal of her car, trying to catch her breath. Who would have thought she’d be one of those fragile pregnant ladies? She hated every breathless, worrying, feet-up moment of it. Her phone buzzed.

  Jack.

  She smiled and answered it. “Where are you right now?”

  “Headed home from a closing. Why? What do you need?”

  * * *

  Sara settled down on the floor, which was no mean feat, and smothered a grin when Jack appeared. He stuck out like a be-suited sore thumb, but she loved the sight of him. He was yammering into his phone as he walked, his deep laughter bouncing through the room drawing yet more attention to him. The class leader strode over and held out her hand. He stared at it.

  “I’ll have to call you back,” he said before ending the call. The woman kept her hand outstretched, a serene smile on her face. “Um, hello.” He shook her hand. The class tittered.

  “This is a device-free zone if you please. The radiation is a known carcinogen. Do you want your child subjected to that in the womb?” He frowned down at his suddenly dangerous device.

  “I’ll keep it in my pocket.” He saw Sara and started towards her.

  The woman side stepped with him, crossed her arms and tapped her Birkenstocks on the soft, yoga-matted floor. “No, actually, you won’t. Give it to me. I keep them in another room entirely.”