Shattered and Shaken (19 page)

Pacing the floor, I count along with the clock. Three hundred seconds is too damn long to wait on results that'll determine the rest of your life. With technology advancing, they should put faster pregnancy tests to the top of their list. Before I get the last number off my tongue, I glance to the counter, looking for my answer. When I see the results my knees buckle, and I have to depend on the vanity for support. Not Pregnant. Thank you, Jesus! Talk about weight being lifted from your shoulders. It feels like there was a brick house using me as its foundation, but it was knocked down with those two lifesaving words, not pregnant. I shove the rest of the tests under the sink and go down to find Wyatt, but his Jeep has disappeared. Damn dizziness, it's reappearing. Maybe I should call the doctor. Blake can treat me. He's the best physician I know.

Blake told me he'd stop by and drop off a nasal spray. He said the dizziness could be from post-nasal drainage that doesn't escape through the nasal cavity; it stays within the ears, back of the nose and throat. I hope he's right, even though that sounds completely gross, because each time I have a dizzy spell, they return with a vengeance.

I shoot a text to Wyatt asking him to stay away for a while because Blake's on his way, and I can't handle the confrontation with Blake. I know once Blake finds out that Wyatt's here, he'll insist I stay with him, but I'm not ready to separate from Wyatt just yet. I'm not as nauseated as I have been, but I'm still a little queasy. Wyatt doesn't return my text, but I get the confirmation it went through. I'll take his silence as a signal of cooperation.

Strong knocks come from the door. Opening it, I'm greeted by the most handsome doctor at Onslow Memorial. He's wearing blue-green scrubs with his shirt tucked into his draw string scrub pants, and his cell’s attached to his waistband. He doesn't say anything, not a single word; he enters into the foyer and crashes his mouth to mine, causing my heart to work double time. He pulls his mouth away from mine. “Happy to see me?"

I hug him tightly, remembering how good it feels to be wrapped up in him. “Umm, what gave it away?” I ask, snuggling into his chest. His hands press against the middle of my back.

"I can feel your heart hammering, babe.”

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I jump up and wrap my legs around his waist. “If you think my heart’s hammering, you'll really be impressed by the way my insides are contracting for you. Craving you to fill me,” I say, eagerly kissing him.

He turns me around and presses my back against the door. His hands grind into my body, paying special attention to my breasts. As he presses his hips into me, I feel
him growing longer, harder. “Mmm,” I moan. His touch, his kisses, they're satisfying to my soul. Taking his bottom lip between my teeth, I nibble it, sucking it frequently.

Rubbing my sex against his cock causes him to gasp. Scrubs make for easy access, so I reach down and untie his pants. Reaching my hand between us, I stroke his shaft, and circle my thumb around his tip. "When I left the hospital, everything was under control, but I don't have time to make love to you right now,” he mutters as I suck his lip.

Sadness consumes me at the thought of being put second, once again. I release his lip and capture his face between my hands. He may not have time to pleasure me, but I want nothing more than to satisfy him. “Okay, then I’ll pleasure you,” I urge, massaging his length.

He grunts, fighting the temptation. “No, I want to please you. I need to. I've been away from you way too long. I need some more of your juicy sweetness.” He carries me up to my room and stands me against the wall. “No bed?” I ask.

“No,” he replies, pulling my pants off. Once my pants hit the floor, my back’s against the wall, my legs over his shoulders, and he's face deep in my vagina - sucking, licking, and biting me. His tongue slides up and down my labia, entering inside of me periodically as he fucks me with his tongue.

“
Holeeee fuck, ahhhh,” I moan, forcing his face deeper into me. He brings his mouth to my clit and sucks, hard. The harder he sucks, the higher I climb. As if he's in tune with my body, he releases my clit and his tongue slides into me as I climax, licking up my juices. “As always, baby, you never disappoint. Fucking delicious,” he declares, sucking me dry.

Lifting me, he carries me to the bed and sets me down. I assume he could tell by my legs’ dead weight, I wouldn't have made it. “You good now?” he asks, leaning over me.

“Oh, babe, I'm better than good,” I giggle. “I'm fantabulous,” I proclaim. Except now, I feel exhausted, but I won't show it.

He kisses me one last time. “Good. I'm happy to be of service to you, my love,” he pauses, scraping his teeth over his lip. “I have to get back to the hospital, but I'll be back for you later. Get your rest. I've got one hell of a night planned for you, Miss Anderson.”

Oh yay! His promise makes my stomach turn flips. Normally, it's a good butterfly effect, but with the nausea I've been experiencing, I feel like I'm riding a never ending roller-coaster.

Chapter Eighteen

LAST NIGHT, BLAKE WAS supposed to come back after his shift ended, but he was unable to. He had three emergency C-section, and one other physician available. He ended up crashing at the hospital, and the next day, it was his shift to stay there anyway. Although I miss Blake, I'm happy he didn't return. Wyatt came home reeking of booze. He stumbled through the front door babbling incoherent sentences, something about me putting Blake before him after all that he's done for me. I wasn't sure what he was referring to, but I didn't argue with him. Arguing with a drunk is as pointless as speaking to a brick wall; neither one listens.

I placed his arms over my shoulders and guided him to Kyle's room. Once we entered into the room, I pushed him on to the bed. “I find it kind of funny that you love Blake so much, but here you are concerned about me, putting me to bed... you should join me,” he mumbled. He pulled me on top of him as I attempted to undress him for bed.

“Wyatt don't, your drunk,” I said, as I tried to wiggle myself out of his grasp.

He laughed, but it wasn't natural; it was forced. “Allie, why are you doing this to yourself? Why are you doing this to me? To us?” he whispered with water-filled eyes.

I thought about his words for a moment, but I haven't done anything to him; he did this to me, to us. “I'm not doing anything to you, Wyatt, except trying to make you comfortable for bed,” I assured him.

He rolled us over and changed our positions. I lay on my back beneath his hard muscular, tattooed hotness as his heart pounded against my breasts. “Wyatt, please-” He crushed his mouth to mine. Even though I instructed my brain to resist him, it didn't obey, allowing my body to comply
to his touch. Our tongues tangled together and our hands committed each other's body to memory. My hands glided over the mountain-like muscles in his arms and back. His hands over my panties, he rubbed my sex nice and slow. My tongue traced every outline of his tattoos. I made my way to his hardness, ready to engulf his cock, but as my lips touched his tip, the salty pre-cum caused me to become nauseous.

I had attempted to swallow the feeling back down, but it was overwhelming. I pushed away from him and ran for my room, once again embarrassed.

He must've passed out after my unplanned escape, because he didn't chase after me like he normally would; or he really was pissed off that I asked him to stay away while Blake was here. Either way, he didn't come, and I’m grateful…

I don't understand why I'm not getting any better. I haven't run a fever, all I do is get nauseous and vomit. It freaking sucks! I've been more tired than usual, but I believe it's a side effect from vomiting several times a day. The pregnancy test came back negative, so I don't know what's raging through my body, but it's unwelcomed. Maybe I should take another test, properly this time. Tomorrow as soon as my feet hit the floor, I'm going to take another test, just to be one-hundred-percent positive. The instructions did say to use your first urine of the day; maybe it does have an effect on the results. It just doesn't make sense.

Sophie's back home, and as much as I want to see her, I can't. I left her a message letting her know I wasn't feeling well and that I don't wish to infect her with whatever it is I've been exposed to; we'll catch up this weekend, hopefully. Plus, all I want to do is sleep. No matter how old you get, you'll always need your mother. My mom makes the best homemade chicken noodle soup, and I really wish she were here to make it. She's been picking up extra shifts at the hospital and sleeping at Jack’s during the day. She claims it's because he's at work and the house is quiet, opposed to the ruckus Wyatt and I create. Excuses if you ask me. I don't care where she stays anymore. Honestly I don't. I know the loneliness you feel being separated from your love. You feel half full. And even though I'm still adjusting to her and Jack's relationship, I'm trying to keep an open mind. She deserves to be happy.

After I eat lunch, I fall asleep the rest of the day. My body’s officially taking control. When I open my eyes, it's morning, and my bladder is about ready to rupture. Going into the bathroom, I reach under the vanity and remove one of the pregnancy tests, guiding it into my stream as I release my bladder. I place the test on to the counter and grab another one. I piss enough to fill a creek. I decide it's better to take two, just for confirmation. These two tests are different from the first one I took. These tests don't outright tell you “pregnant” or “not pregnant”, they give you lines. One line represents negative results, and two lines confirm your unexpected surprise.

This time instead of pacing the floor and counting, I set the alarm and put in my ear buds and play “Blurred Lines” by Robin Thicke. Once the song's over, it's time to check the sticks. Nervously walking to the bathroom, I peek at the test expecting them to be negative, and then I quickly do a double-take as bile rises into my throat and all air escapes my lungs. My knees collide with the tile as my eyes take in four bright pink lines. I'm fucking pregnant.

This is terrible! I haven't got a job, nor did I have any intentions on finding one anytime soon. Blake's still a resident, and my mother's going to flip out, and Wyatt, he's going to hate me. If there was any chance of Wyatt and me ever having a future, we don't anymore. I refuse to terminate the pregnancy. I can’t do that, especially when I enjoyed the conception part. And I can't grow a human inside my womb and give it away for someone else to raise. Again, I'm screwed.

I consider calling Blake and telling him the news, but, hell, I’m too chicken-shit. I'll wait until I have my first appointment; that'll be my final confirmation. Then I'll tell him. He will make a great father and a magnificent husband, but is that really what he wants? The thought of having children has never crossed my mind. I've always pictured myself being a single successful psychologist, but Blake changed my outlook on life. Deep down, I smile at the thought of us being a family, but is it unrealistic to believe in happy endings?

Happy endings don't exist for me; never have. I convinced myself of that a long time ago. I need to tell someone; the news is eating me up, but I have no idea who I can confide in. I'm not ready for Blake to find out because I can’t bear to see disappointment cross his face, and Sophie can't keep secrets. I'm not ready to be lectured by Mom, and Wyatt, well, obviously, I can't tell him, but I need to tell someone. Sheesh, I just saw the lines not even ten minutes ago and I'm acting as if
my stomach’s going to balloon up by tomorrow. I can hide it for a few months, at least until Wyatt finds a place to live; that way I don't have to stare at his broken-hearted baby blues. What I'm going to do right now is get dressed, put on some make-up, and pretend I never took a pregnancy test. This baby doesn't exist, yet.

“Hey Butterfly,” Wyatt's walking through the front door holding brown paper bags. “You
goin' somewhere?”

Trying to avoid eye contact, I pretend to look for something deep within my purse. “Yeah, my
bestie just got back from vacation, so I'm headed to her apartment to catch up,” I inform him.

He reaches under my chin and tilts my head back. “Oh,” he frowns, “that's a shame, really. I bought ice cream, and not any kind of ice cream, cookie dough.” His gaze is filled with pride. After all of these years, he still remembers my favorite flavor.

 “C'mon, you know you can't turn it away. It'd be sinful of you did,” he tries to convince me as he pulls the carton from the bag.

He's right; it would be a sin for me to deny it. Plus, this is the first time anything has been appealing to me, everything else makes me nauseous. “Okay, but you can't have any. Well, maybe a scoop, but that's it,” I say, pointing my finger at his face.

He throws his head back in laughter. “Got it,” he acknowledges, pinching my ass as he stalks past me towards the kitchen. I wait for him on the couch, kicking off my shoes and pulling my hair up into a loose bun, ready to dig in. He returns moments later with the carton and two spoons. “I figured since you're going to eat it all, there's no need to dirty any dishes.” He sits on the end table in front of me and holds the carton in his hands. “Dig in beautiful,” he instructs, his voice soft and husky.

He doesn't have to tell me twice. I spoon a scoop-size bite and lick it from the spoon. “Thank you.”

He looks at me confused, scrunching his eyebrows. “For what?” he asks. He's so considerate of me that he doesn't realize what he's done. “For taking care of me while I'm sick. For listening to me, for protecting Kyle, and for living… for me.” The last words are difficult to get out. I will not cry.

He sucks in a breath and sets the ice cream on the table. He takes the spoon from my hand and eats the ice cream. He swallows, leans forward, and places his hands on my knees. “You don't have to thank me for loving you. I live for you, Allie. I always will. I've already told you that I'll fight for you until you are no more, or until I'm no more. I'll never give up, and I'll never stop loving you, no matter what happens,” he declares. He drops to his knees in front of me and takes my hands in his. “Forgive me, please,” he pleads.

Forgive him? I forgave him when he explained to me why he left, how he tried to protect me from losing Kyle. “I already have,” I breathe. He brings my hands to his lips and kisses each knuckle individually.

“I'm going to ask you this once, and be sure to answer honestly because I won't ask you again; there'll be no going back, okay?” He's beginning to frighten me. Wyatt's a strong independent man, but as I look at him, that man has vanished. Looking into his eyes, I see a desperate, guilt-filled terrified man. My eyes sting as I nod, assuring him I'll be honest. He inhales before he continues. “You still love me, I
know that much without asking... but have you truly given up on me, Allie?” His voice breaks at the end as he swallows hard.

I can't answer him. I climb over the back of the couch and pace the floor, but he captures me from behind. His fingers travel up my arm until he reaches my neck. He bends so our faces are side-by-side; his other hand's wrapped around my waist, his thumb tracing back and forth beneath my navel. “Answer me, please,” he pleads, his voice still shaky. He pulls his face back and rests his mouth below my ear. “Please, tell me you haven't given up on me, on us,” he whispers.

His touch has my brain paralyzed, and I can't tell him I've given up on him. Even though I love Blake, and want to start this family with him, I can't help but want the same with Wyatt, with our little girl; however, it'll never happen. Deep down, I know we're destined to be together. “I'm pregnant, Wyatt,” I announce. I hear his breath catch next to my ear, like he's been kicked in the throat. His arms fall from me as he turns his back on me and storms across the room.

He stills and places his hands on his hips, letting out hurtful chuckles. “You're what? No, no you're not...” he denies, tears leaking from the ocean beneath his eyelids.

My throat constricts and prevents me from swallowing. “I am,” I squeak, wetness covering my entire face. His head drops, and he begins to sob. The sobs I hear coming from him resemble the one my mother let out when we found out about Kyle. It tears me apart little by little with each gasp and sniffle that comes from him.

Running to him, I attempt to comfort him, wrap myself around him, but he pushes me away. “Fuck! No, just stop,” he sobs. He brings his fists up to either side of his head and squeezes his eyes shut as if he's lost in a nightmare. I know the feeling all too well.

“I'm sorry.” I didn't want him to find out, not now.

“How could you? After what I did, what I went through to return to you. Why?” he screams. Wow, low blow. My eyes narrow and my fists clinch as he questions me, my nails digging into my palms. He’s screaming at me as if it’s my fault; he fucking left me, left us! Running to him I rear back and bitch-slap him so hard his teeth chatter.

“Really? You're asking me, how could I? How could
you
? This would've never have happened if you would've just told me where you were going! I loved you, Wyatt, I still love you! I would've waited...” I assure him, sobbing uncontrollably. I would have waited for him. I never wanted him to leave.

He falls to his knees. "It was supposed to be me, Allie. You're supposed to have a family with me, with me, dammit!" His sobs almost muffle his words.

I go over and kneel in front of him. "It was you, Wyatt," I whisper.

He lifts his eyes to mine. "What? What do you mean, Allie?" How can I tell him what I did without hating him again, without hating myself? "Fuck Allie, tell me what you mean!" he shouts.

"We had a baby, Wyatt! I had a baby, by myself, as in without you! You left me!" I feel sick, but my anger pushes aside the need to vomit.

“How? I've been gone for over four years. How? Kyle never mentioned anything about you being pregnant," he heaves.

"The night you
used
me, filled me with your… seed- that's how, Wyatt. And Kyle didn't know. Mom and I kept it a secret from him, from everyone." The past always comes back to haunt you, no matter what you do or why you do it, it haunts you.

He stands to his feet. "Where's the baby, is it okay?" Oh,
now,
he's concerned.

"I don't know! I gave her away, Wyatt. I gave her away," I sob.

His face turns beet red, and the veins in his forearms and neck bulge. "What the fuck for? You can't just have my baby and then give it away! How could you be so fucking selfish? How do I get her back?" he asks seriously. What in the fuck makes him think he can tell me what I can and cannot do? I did the only thing I knew to do. I was getting ready to attend college; I had no job, no money. She’s a spitting image of Wyatt, with her baby blue eyes and dark hair. There’s no way I could’ve raised her on my own. I was terrified I would have resented her by staring into the face of her father every day of my life. I didn’t see me when I looked at her; I only saw him. Memories of that beautiful little girl haunt me every time I close my fucking eyes.