Chapter 6
The Homecoming
Something nudged me into consciousness, but I refused to open my eyes. Instead I kept my face buried in the warm, familiar skin of Braden’s neck.
It became clear that the thing that woke me was my husband. I could feel him trying to extricate himself from my hold as gently as possible.
I held on tighter.
Braden shook against me, his tone rumbling with laughter as he asked, “Am I not allowed out of bed this morning?”
“Nope,” I mumbled against his skin. “If you move, I’ll have to move. If I have to move it means facing the fact that we’re no longer in Hawaii. I don’t know if I’m ready to deal with that.”
He rolled me onto my back, laughing at the fact that I refused to open my eyes. “So is the plan to stay here forever?”
“Yes.”
“That might become a problem.”
I shook my head against the pillows. “I don’t foresee any problems. It’s a sound plan.”
“Well.” Braden sighed. “We will eventually start to smell. And needing the toilet might become a problem. And with your issues with flatulence—”
I punched him on the arm, opening my eyes so I didn’t miss. My husband fought me off, laughing as though he was the funniest man on earth.
“One year,” I growled at him. “All I’m asking for is one year without you bringing that up!”
“You getting adorably embarrassed when you fart in front of me?”
After throwing him a narrow-eyed glare, I rolled off the bed. “I am not adorable,” I snapped, stomping out of the bedroom.
“You’re fucking adorable!” he called to me as I made my way into the kitchen. I rolled my eyes. Braden could be pretty adorable, too, but he’d like it even less than me if I told him that.
I reached for the kettle, about to call through and ask if he wanted coffee when a wave of nausea caught me completely off guard and I found myself swaying against the counter.
“Babe, you okay?” Braden rushed to my side, grasping my hip in his hand.
Breathing through my nose, I fought to hold the sickness down. After a moment I rested my forehead on his chest. “I don’t feel so great.”
I felt his lips in my hair. “Jet lag. Sit down.” He ushered me toward the kitchen table and planted my ass at it. As he began to make the coffee the nausea rose again and I knew this time there was no fighting it. Without a word I shot up from the table and rushed out of the kitchen to the bathroom.
The toilet lid was barely up when I heaved everything inside me into it.
“Jocelyn?” I could feel Braden behind me.
I waved him off. “I’ll be okay.”
Sensing I wanted privacy, he left.
After waiting a few moments to make sure the nausea was dealt with, I got up on shaky legs and washed and brushed my teeth. Seeing my pale face in the mirror, I glowered at it.
Home sweet freaking home.
“Better?” Braden asked as I entered the kitchen.
“Yeah,” I smiled, gratefully accepting the coffee. “Much.”
***
Sitting in the waiting room, listening to people cough and sniffle, I felt breakable for the first time in a long time. My chest was heavy, like the air all around me was much too thin, and my thoughts were too harried, making me feel like a crazy person.
I just needed to know one way or the other.
If I knew . . .
I just needed to know.
“Jocelyn Carmichael, Room Five, Dr. Orr.”
Here we go. . . .
***
Braden was sprawled in the armchair, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his tie askew, and he was staring at the television as if he was only half-interested in what was going on.
He’d had a long day at work.
I’d just had a long day.
And now I was terrified. Terrified of answers. Terrified of fucking up. Of losing . . . everything.
We’d been home from Hawaii for almost four weeks and I’d been hiding my sickness from Braden ever since that first morning. After a visit to the doctor’s that day I was almost sure of the diagnosis, but I wouldn’t know until they called to confirm the results.
“Jocelyn?”
I turned my head to look at my husband.
He was frowning at me in concern. “What’s wrong, babe?”
“Nothing,” I whispered, my heart beating hard against my ribs.
“It’s not nothing. You’ve been quiet. Tense.”
I shrugged. “I’m just on tenterhooks waiting to see if that lit agent in New York wants to sign me.”
After months and months of rejection letters I’d gotten an e-mail back from a lit agent from one of the top agencies in New York asking me for the first three chapters of my manuscript. When she e-mailed back asking to see the rest, I couldn’t believe it. I’d been trying not to get my hopes up, and my secret worry was helping keep my mind off it.
“You sure that’s all it is?”
I felt sick lying to him. So I didn’t. Instead I got up slowly and sauntered over to him, climbing onto the chair with him so I was straddling his lap. “I wish we were back in Hawaii,” I whispered against his mouth as he ran his hands down my back. “I wish, I wish, I wish . . .”
“Joc—”
I cut him off with a hard, desperate kiss, and that night I made love to my husband as if I knew what was coming next could change everything.
***
Ellie and Adam had fallen in love with a property on Scotland Street, and in a bid to distract me, I let Ellie set up another viewing so that the girls and I could check it out. Jo, Liv, and I followed Ellie and her estate agent around the Georgian-period flat, and for a while Ellie’s exuberance and exciting plans for the flat took me away from my problem. For a moment I even forgot I had a problem, so it was a bit like being jolted back into reality when my phone rang as we were leaving the property.
My stomach churned.
I gave the girls an apologetic smile and wandered off to the side to answer.
“Mrs. Carmichael, this is Dr. Orr. We have the results of your pregnancy test. I’d like to be the first to say congratulations, you are pregnant.”
The world skewed to the left.
“Mrs. Carmichael?” Dr. Orr asked softly. And then his tone became more careful. “I’ll give you time to process the news. Please do call as soon as possible to arrange your prenatal care. We’ll set you up with your first appointment with a midwife.”
“Thanks,” I somehow managed to mutter, every nerve trembling like I’d just run the New York City Marathon. I hung up and slipped my phone back into my purse.
I could hear someone trying to speak to me.
I’m going to be a mom.
Someone was questioning me.
I’m going to have a child.
“Joss, what is it?” Ellie’s frantic voice finally broke through.
I looked up at her, her pretty face a little fuzzy in my distress. “I have to go.”
“Go where?”
“I just—” The world skewed to the right. “I have to go.”
“Seriously, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
She was scared? She was scared! “Ellie,” I snapped, feeling an invisible hand wrap around my throat and constrict my breathing. “Just . . .” I stopped cold at the unadulterated concern in her eyes. “I need to be alone for a little while.”
I waited for her nod and as soon as I got it, as soon as I knew she understood I wasn’t shutting her out—I just needed space—I turned on my heel and started walking, almost running, toward the castle.
Somehow a thirty-minute walk was over in a flash. I was buying my ticket into the castle, I was hoofing up Lang stairs, and striding up onto the elevated section of Edinburgh castle where St. Margaret’s Chapel was situated. And right outside the chapel was my place.
My place with the canon, Mons Meg, and the best view of Edinburgh.
I leaned against the cannon for a moment, ignoring the tourists who were trying to get a photograph of it. Feeling its cool cast iron under my hand, I drew in a deep breath.
I was going to be a mom.
Limbs still quivering like a mess of jelly, I walked over to the parapet, leaned my elbows on the wall, and gazed out over my home.
Here was where I found my calm. For whatever reason, this place on Castle Hill allowed me to sort out my feelings, to process them, to deal with them. It was my special place. And I hadn’t needed it in a while.
But now that I was going to be a mom . . . now, on top of having Braden and Ellie and all of my family and friends to lose, I had something miraculous to lose. My child.
The tears burned in my throat, the fear becoming something raw inside of me.
“Jocelyn?”
I whirled around at the sound of Braden’s voice, knowing that everything I was feeling had to be written all over my face.
Ellie must have called him and he’d guessed exactly where I’d go.
Braden’s features grew alarmed at the sight of me and he hurried toward me, gripping my arms in his hands. “Sweetheart, what happened?”
“I’m pregnant,” I blurted out, the tears spilling down my cheeks.
Braden jerked back like I’d hit him. He stared at me a long time, as if trying to figure me out. Just like that he looked like he’d been punched in the gut. “So you came here?” he whispered incredulously.
I didn’t know what that meant, but I realized quickly it didn’t mean anything good.
“Braden—”
“Don’t.” He cut me off, turning from me. “Not here.”
There was an uneasiness, a new fear, in leaving my place before I’d gotten a chance to work through everything in my head. I’d just wanted that chance before Braden and I . . .
We walked in tense silence back down the hill and out of the castle. Braden had a taxi waiting for us on the esplanade. I was so out of it I didn’t even realize Braden hadn’t touched me. He opened the door for me but he didn’t put his hand on my arm to help me in. He didn’t scoot near me once we were inside. I’d realize this all later, when my brain wasn’t a tumult of thoughts and my stomach and chest weren’t awash with too many feelings.
Not a word was spoken between us, not until the door to our flat was closed behind us and we stood facing each other in the kitchen.
Braden’s features were hard in a way I didn’t like. “You’re pregnant with my child and that’s such fucking awful news you go to the castle?”
I couldn’t believe he thought . . . That wasn’t it at all!
“Braden—”
“Are you happy or are you unhappy?” he snapped, his glittering with desperation.
My heart was pounding so hard in my chest, I thought I might vomit. “Braden.” My lips trembled, my nose stinging. “It’s not that simple.”
He jerked back again, a pain in his eyes that he quickly banked.
“Let me—”
I didn’t get a chance to finish. He was out of the flat too fast.
Trembling, I sank into a chair. Not only hadn’t I been given a chance to process my own feelings, I was left confused and afraid of Braden’s. He was the kind of man who gave you a chance to explain, but he’d obviously taken my reaction to the pregnancy the wrong way, and now he was too hurt to listen.
I just needed to explain.
He had to listen.
***
It was late, but I left a message on Dr. Pritchard’s work voice mail asking if I could schedule an appointment that week. Dr. Kathryn Pritchard was my therapist and she’d helped me come a long way in dealing with my post-traumatic stress disorder. She’d helped me grieve for my family and she’d helped me work through my fears. I hadn’t scheduled a session with her in a while, but I needed someone impartial to talk to.
Braden stayed gone for hours. I got a text from Ellie asking me if I was okay. It was a dead giveaway that Braden had told Adam about my pregnancy and Ellie knew. She was trying to figure out how to deal with me. I knew this because normally she’d call me or even come around to the flat. A text for news this huge . . . Yeah, she didn’t know how to handle my reaction.
Staring down at the photo of me with my family Braden had framed and given me for Christmas, I tried to force my insides back together again. I gazed at Beth, my baby sister who I held tight in my arms, and I attempted to do this by understanding exactly what it was I was feeling. The fear was coloring everything, I wasn’t even sure that I was unhappy with the idea of being a mom. It was soon. Sooner that I’d wanted, but if I could just get past the fear, maybe I would see it wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Not such a bad thing at all. This baby was a product of Braden and me. A part of him. A beautiful piece of him. A gift we’d given each other.
As much as I loved the makeshift family I’d created in Edinburgh, this was my chance at my very own family again.
That clawing pressure pushed and ripped at my chest but I fought through it, taking deep, even breaths.
Now I just had to explain all this to Braden so he’d see I wasn’t pulling another “Ellie moment,” pushing him out when things got tough like I did when Ellie was diagnosed with a brain tumor. I just wanted him to understand what was going on inside of me.
See. I had come a long way.
I jumped at the sound of the door opening and shutting. My pulse throbbed harder beneath my skin as Braden’s footsteps grew louder the closer he got to our bedroom.
He stood against the dark backdrop of the hall, the soft light in our bedroom barely casting him out of the shadow, but I could see his expression was tired. Grim, even.
I sat up, waiting.
“Today was supposed to be the happiest day of our lives.”
Guilt gnawed at my stomach and I winced apologetically.
“I need an answer,” he demanded softly. “I need to know if you’re happy to be pregnant with my kid. After everything we’ve been through, I need that answer.”
I shifted, reaching out to him. “Please, just let me explain. I’ll—”
“Wrong answer,” he uttered bitingly, his expression shutting down. “I can’t believe you . . . after everything . . . that we’re back here again.” He turned, leaving me shocked, openmouthed as he stormed down our hall. A door slammed and I hopped off the bed and into the hall to watch a light come on, shining under the guest bedroom door.
Tears choked me and I swallowed the hitch in my breathing as I tiptoed back into our bedroom. My husband and I had fought quite a few times in the last few years, but not once had Braden let it come between us. He always slept in our bed with me and he always pulled me close at night.
The hot tears slipped down my cheeks.
I’d hurt him.
And for the first time in a really long time, he’d hurt me too.
***
That whole night I tossed and turned, my eyes on the hallway. A big part of me wanted to go into our guest room and shake Braden awake and make him listen to me, but the more I lay there and the more I thought everything over, I thought it best to let him sleep so we could have a rational conversation in the morning.
Except, I was exhausted from lack of sleep. I got up just before six in the morning, sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee and attempting to read a book. Just before Braden’s alarm was set to go off, I got up and made some fresh coffee for him.
Not too long after, he wandered into the kitchen in his pajamas, his hair in disarray, and I ached with hurt and love as he avoided my eyes.
“I made you coffee,” I told him quietly, trying to gauge whether or not this would soften him up.
“Thank you,” he muttered, taking hold of the mug. He leaned against the counter, staring at the wall.
My stomach flip-flopped unpleasantly.
I had to explain so he’d stop thinking the worst of me.
“Braden—”
“I have to shower.” He walked out of the kitchen abruptly.
“We need to talk!” I yelled at him angrily.
His answer was to slam the bathroom door.
This was a whole new side to my husband. And I did not like it one bit.
I got up, ready to do battle, when a knock at the door stopped me. That knock was followed by a key turning in the lock, and I knew then it was Ellie.
Bracing myself, I wondered if I’d be able to handle two of my favorite people being so mad at me. Three years ago that would have been a piece of cake. But these idiots had softened me up, whether I liked to admit it or not.
Ellie appeared in the kitchen doorway, her blue eyes instantly finding me.
Whatever she saw in my face made her pale and she came straight at me, arms wide-open.
I relaxed into her hug, not even realizing until right then how much I needed it.
“I don’t even know if I should say congratulations.”
I tensed.
Ellie pulled back, peering at me cautiously. “Braden’s really upset.”
I couldn’t speak. I wanted to. But I was afraid if I did I would scream.
“Look, I’m here, Joss.” She rubbed my shoulder in comfort. “I’m here if you need me.”
Swallowing past the gust of screams, I nodded and thanked her hoarsely.
We were quiet as I made her a cup of tea and we sat down at the table together. It occurred to me as we sat in silence that maybe if I told Ellie everything I was feeling, Braden would listen to her. I didn’t know what was going on with my usually understanding and compassionate husband, but what I did know was that he was angrier than I’d ever seen him, and clearly unwilling to listen to anything I had to say. He might listen to Ellie.
I opened my mouth to speak when the sound of the bathroom door opening halted me. Both Ellie and I turned to watch for Braden and as he passed the doorway he gave his sister a taut nod of hello and continued on into the bedroom to get ready for work. On a Sunday.
Ellie turned to me, her eyes questioning.
I took her hand and squeezed it. “He slept in your old room last night,” I whispered. “He’s never done that before.”
My friend’s expression grew pained. “Joss . . . talk—”
Nausea hit me before Ellie could finish her sentence and I was up, bending over the kitchen sink. I felt her hands in my hair, holding it back. After spitting up the last of my morning sickness, I sank back against Els, glad for her comforting presence. A flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye drew my gaze and I froze at the sight of Braden staring at me, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He turned to Ellie. “Give Elodie my apologies for missing Sunday dinner. I’ll be in meetings all day. And, uh”—he cut me a look before glancing back at his sister—“stay with her until she feels better.”
Anger burned through me as Braden walked out of the flat, ignoring Ellie’s shocked and questioning calls of his name.
Ellie’s pitiful and sympathetic looks suddenly became painful rather than comforting.
I pulled out of Ellie’s arms. “I’m sorry, hon. I just . . . I’m going back to bed.”
She nodded carefully and let me go.
***
I couldn’t sleep. I kept playing everything over and over in my head, trying to work out what to say to Braden first to make him stop and talk to me. I had it all planned, but dinner passed and he still didn’t turn up.
Then evening.
I texted him and didn’t get a reply. I called. No reply.
I texted Adam but he wasn’t with Adam.
Finally, just after two in the morning, our front door opened. Fury propelled me out of our bedroom and I stormed into the hall as Braden shut the door behind him. His eyes moved to me but it was like he was staring right through me as he started toward the guest room.
Oh, no! Not again!
“Where have you been?” I snapped, grabbing hold of his arm so he’d look at me.
He jerked his arm away from me like he couldn’t stand to be touched by me. “Out,” he told me simply, his tone cutting. And then he disappeared into the guest room, not even aware that I probably looked like he’d run me over with a car.
I had theories as to why he was so angry. I knew he thought I didn’t want his kid. I wondered if he was questioning everything about us. I wondered if he was scared. I wondered why he couldn’t just tell me all that. I thought we had come further than that. No . . . I guess I’d just, probably unfairly, thought he’d see me through anything.
A long time ago he’d almost left me for good for shutting him out. And now he was shutting me out. He’d dived inside his head and he wouldn’t let me near him.
He didn’t even want me touching him, and that hurt and scared me so much I didn’t want to feel anything. I’d sleep to help with that, but sleep was eluding me. Instead I shut myself in the bathroom and undressed. I switched on the shower and stepped into the freezing-cold water, allowing the shock to dissipate into numbness. My mind adrift, my hands covered the small of my stomach protectively, and I closed my eyes. I could be numb everywhere but there.
I thought I heard a muffled “Fuck” and it brought my eyes open just as Braden was sliding the shower door open. He reached in, his features like granite as he switched the nozzle to warm. His eyes cut to me. “Are you trying to catch fucking pneumonia?”
Chittering, I blanched. I hadn’t been thinking. Obviously.
“Stay in there until you warm up,” Braden snapped.
Where was my husband?
Everything I’d been feeling suddenly broke out of the numbness. All the fear, the guilt, the anger, the loneliness of the past few days, and most especially the hurt.
Braden jerked back, confusion and something like fear entering his expression.
But since this man was a stranger . . . I couldn’t give a fuck how he felt.
I reached over, staring at him blankly, shut the shower door, and turned my back on him.