Reckless Temptations (Tempted #4)(42)

I pulled away from her.

“I’ll be okay,” I lied, before hurrying out of the bathroom and letting my legs take me as quick as they could out of that house, away from the happy family and the promise of something I would not have.

I got in my car and started it up, and as the engine came to life, the dam broke, and the tears cascaded down my face.

Aside from having a plan for my career I also had my family life mapped out.

I was going to get married, have one of those big fancy weddings and my brother would walk me down the aisle, giving me away to the man of my dreams. After, we would honeymoon in the South of France, we’d come home and go house hunting. We’d buy a fixer-upper and for the first two years of our marriage we’d rip apart every room in the house and remodel it together. Our house would be a Pinterest board, a result of my handy husband and the crafty person I am.

Once the house was perfect, and the dog was trained—a cute little Yorkshire terrier named Trouble, we’d work on our family.

He’d be there when I took the test, he’d be at that very first doctor’s appointment and each one after that. He’d record our Pea’s heartbeat on his phone and at night we’d listen to the recording in bed. We’d joke about the sex of our little Pea and argue over names. He’d be the doting husband, looking after his pregnant wife, making sure I drank water and ate vegetables. We wouldn’t find out the sex of our baby because there were few surprises in life and that should be the best one.

He’d hold my hand as I pushed and when our little Pea took her first breath, we’d look at one another understanding we gave one another life’s most precious gift.

We’d have three kids. Two girls, one after another and a year after that our little slugger would be born.

It was a good plan.

A beautiful plan.

One not meant for me to live.

The tears didn’t stop, they kept falling, and so I sat in my car and cried. I cried because my plan went up in smoke just like all the rest of my plans did. I cried because I had a baby inside of me, an innocent baby that deserved a good life. I cried because I couldn’t provide that life for my Pea.

My Pea.

Not Mine and Riggs.

Not ours.

Mine.

God, I didn’t even know if I should tell him. What would I say? Hey you may not have given me an STD, but you put a baby in my belly? How’s that for a parting gift?

Riggs wouldn’t want a baby.

He didn’t even want me.

Reality was harsh, and it was a bitch.

They say it takes two but how come in the end, when the shit hits the fan, there’s only one person standing.

This was all on me.

And that sucked.

People have fought for women to have this right, to be granted the power of choice.

But all I wanted was for someone to decide for me, for a higher power to intervene and tell me what to do. Someone to tell me I’d be a good mom, that I might struggle for a while but I could do it. I needed someone to tell me that all a baby needed was love because I had a lot of that to give and could give it in spades.

Or I needed to be told I was doing the right thing by letting go because love only got you so far in this world.

I don’t know if I can live the rest of my life knowing I’d ended a pregnancy by choice. I mean there has to be some sort of guilt that comes with that, right? Something that weighs heavily on you, that makes you constantly wonder, what if?

There was life inside of me.

That was something.

Something that maybe I should fight for and not against.

Maybe my Pea was the detour I needed to give me purpose. Maybe I could turn this around, if not for me, for my baby.

I could find a way.

My mother found a way, and she had two children.

I blew out a deep breath, bracing my hands on the steering wheel and glanced down at my flat stomach.

There was a piece of me inside there.

There was a piece of Riggs in there too.

There was life.





Me: #SheCameOutSwinging

I don’t know why I texted her. Scratch that, I one hundred percent know the reason and it wasn’t because I was drunk. I had slept that shit off and when I woke up I felt as fresh as a daisy. A wilted one, but whatever.

I text her because I wanted to fix what I broke.

I wanted her to stop looking at me like I hurt her.

Yes, I texted her a hashtag. Yes, I thought it was a good idea at the time. Yes, I stand by my decision because it might make her smile and she had a killer smile. I don’t think she knows the power of her smile, or that she even has a beautiful one. She does it more often, maybe she’d understand how it affects people.

Like me.

I’m doing what I swore I wouldn’t do.

I never rekindle things after I’ve blown out the flame.

But I’m doing just that because of her smile.

Because it’s missing from her face and I might be to blame.

Me: Come on Kitten, talk to me.

Me: I thought we were friends.

That was a stupid move.

Me: #ImAnAsshole

Nothing.

Not even a thumbs up or an emoji.

She gave me a dose of my own medicine and she gave it good.

I chucked my phone across the room and gave up.





You can smell doom, it’s the stench of death, lurking at every corner. The Dog Pound was reeking of doom and I wasn’t the only one noticing it. We all kept our mouths shut because we had no idea what the fuck was going on. I might be new to the brotherhood but there was some kind of code being obstructed by our president and vice president.