Chapter 22

 

 

Dani

ash? Where the hell are you?” I push through the kitchen door of his house searching for him, in a hurry as usual. He's there at the kitchen table, the usual grin. Shirtless and eating cereal. I sigh, exhausted from keeping up from his grueling travel schedule. “We need to get going.”

“Mornin’, Sunshine.” I hate when he calls me that stupid nickname. He finds it hilarious. Cash stands, not in a rush at all as he walks to the sink, pouring the used milk in the sink. The sight and smell turning my stomach. I need some sleep.

“Is your guest still here?” Beth has been crashing here for a few weeks now, but Cash hasn't been home much.

He's had a lot of appearances all over the country, modeling jobs and of course races, almost all of it including Michael Monroe.

God help me, but we haven’t been able to resist each other at any event. I’m still irritated with him thinking he knows what’s best for me, but at the end of the day . . . he's what I want.

Cash's shoulders raise in a shrug mimicking nonchalance, but I know him too well for that. “Nah, she skipped out a couple days ago.”

“Do you want to tal—” Shit. As I try to offer a listening ear, Cash starts to peel an orange and the strong citrus aroma is too much for me.

I scramble to make it the half bath off the kitchen, just barely making it to the toilet before losing the little bit of food I managed to eat this morning.

I can feel Cash's large body behind me, crowding the doorway. “Dani? What the hell? Are you okay?”

I flush the toilet, not ready to get back up yet as I settle back on my heels. “Yeah. Fucking flu or something.”

He walks inside the small bathroom, wetting a washcloth and handing it to me, “In August?”

“It happens, Cash. You can get sick any time of the year.”

His muscular, tattooed arms fold over his bare chest, and he leans back against the wall. “Yeah, but you haven’t been sick once since I’ve known you.”

I wipe my mouth and look up at him, irritation seeping in. “What are you getting at?”

He scratches his chin, and his shoulders lift. “You've been enjoying Monroe’s magic cock an awful lot these last couple months. There gonna be a little Monroe baby?”

I roll my eyes, climbing to my feet as I nudge him out of my way so I’m standing in front of the sink. “That's impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible. Condoms aren't a hundred percent failproof. Says so right on the box.”

I turn the cold water on, gathering some in my hand and drinking from it, letting it swish in my mouth before I spit. “I know that. I took sex ed in high school, too. Besides we don't use them anyway.”

“But you used something?”

His eyes narrow as his reflection in the mirror above the sink grills me. “No. We don't need to.”

He laughs. “Christ Dani. I thought you two were smarter than that. And you know, having taken sex ed and all, I’d say you have an excellent chance of being pregnant.”

He's looking at me as if I’ve completely lost my mind. I know he must be confused. He knows I'm fairly intelligent, and this must sound incredibly stupid.

I turn to face him. “I can’t get pregnant.”

“Says who?”

“Doctors.”

“Doctors? Really? And they were a hundred percent certain?”

Damn it. I don’t want to rehash all this. I exit the bathroom quickly, trying to avoid the inevitable questions. “We need to get going.”

I pick up my bag, and his hand stops me before I sling it over my shoulder. The seriousness in his tone makes me freeze. “We can reschedule. Tell me what happened.”

I bite my lower lip, the tears already welling up in my eyes at the painful memory bursting the surface after so many years of it being buried. “I can’t have a baby and that’s all you need to know.”

He takes my purse from my hand and places it on the counter before resting both his hands on my shoulders, staring down into my eyes. “Dani, tell me the story.”

I brush out of his grasp and plop down at the kitchen table. He takes the seat right across from me, just waiting.

I know we aren’t going anywhere.

“I got knocked up in high school. Surprise, surprise, right?” He doesn’t say a word, and I just continue. I didn’t know it. Cass and I were just hanging at the mall one afternoon, and I guess I collapsed.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. Apparently, it was an ectopic pregnancy. The baby never really had a chance, and I bled a lot, lost a fallopian tube, almost died, and proved to my mother that I was a ‘dirty slut.’ Nice, right?”

I’ll never forget waking up to her glaring down at me as I laid in my hospital bed and saying those words. My dad just stood there, blitzed out of his mind, pretending as if nothing was wrong.

“So, your mom’s a bitch. I pretty much picked that up, but who says you for sure can't get pregnant?

“The doctors. They told me it was highly unlikely that I would ever have a child of my own. I even heard some nurse bitches laughing in the hall and saying that at least I couldn’t get pregnant again.”

I huff and stand up from my seat at the table, “No. Look it’s over. Only my parents and Cass know about it. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ll never be a mom.” I try to laugh it off, but the tears sting my eyes and give it away. “Probably for the best.”

Cash joins me and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug, resting his chin on the top of my head. “Fuck ‘em all. Every single one of them that made you feel like you weren't good enough. I’m sorry that happened to you, but I don't think they were right. I mean I flunked anatomy in high school, so you never know, but I don’t think you being pregnant is impossible.”

I move my head back, his chin scraping over my hair as I meet his gaze. “I'm not pregnant.”

I push him away, and he holds up a hand, listing points on his fingers. “Okay. Well you're puking your guts out, cranky as fuck and dragging ass. That screams ‘baby.’”

“No.”

He grabs a shirt from the laundry basket on his counter and slips it on. He needs to hire a maid. “Dani, it’s possible. Let's go and find out.”

He grabs his keys and takes my hand, but I pull out of his grip yet again. “No, it's not. I'm just sick.”

“Just humor me.”

He takes my hand, and we drive to a nearby convenience store before coming back.

Thirty minutes later, I stare at the granite countertop in Cash's master bath that’s now riddled with ten pregnancy tests, all different brands.

“They have to be wrong.”

Cash leans against the counter. “All ten of them? One? Okay, maybe, but fucking ten? You’re knocked up, darlin'.”

Fuck. Oh shit.

I float into Cash's bedroom and lay down sideways on his bed.

I never let myself want this.

Cash takes a cautious seat next to me as I drape my arm over my face, shielding my eyes from the sunlight streaming in through the large bay window. “What am I going to do?”

He lays on the bed next to me, and I feel the warmth of his body bring a small amount of comfort. “You’re gonna make an appointment with a good girly doctor. Get checked out and then handle your shit. I know you. You’re fucking strong. It’s all up to you, and God knows where this goes from here.”

God, I can handle. Michael? I don't know.