Zach
I texted Jade this morning before coming into work and haven’t gotten a response yet, which is odd. Ever since I wigged out on her the other day, she’s been good at responding. It’s not a lot to ask. I want to know she’s okay, the baby’s okay…I have the right to worry. Since then, we’ve settled into a routine. I text her in the morning, talk to her in the evening, and occasionally get a good night from her.
“Good morning, sir,” Valorie greets me as I stride past.
“Morning,” I grunt, and once in my office, push the door shut.
I drop into my chair, tugging my cell from my blazer, and dial her number.
Four rings, each one of them causing my heart to pound faster.
“Hiiii, Zach,” Freya answers, and something is off.
“Is Jade okay?”
“Well…not really. Hang on.”
There’s shuffling on the other end, hushed voices, a distinct frustrated groan from Jade, and then…
“Hello?” she croaks.
“You sound like shit? Are you okay?”
“Yeah…” There’s a pause and then she sighs. “No. I’ve been getting acquainted with my toilet bowl.”
“Kneeling down in front of the porcelain god doesn’t serve as going to church,” I quip.
“Shut up,” she mumbles but it’s playful. “Either I’ve got a bad case of morning sickness or this baby hates taquitos. I’ve been here since three this morning.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Why should I have? So you can hear me vomit while you say sweet nothings in my ear?”
Even sick, her smart mouth is sexy.
“You’ve always enjoyed my sweet nothings in your ear,” I hum.
“I’ve got to go. I’ll call you ba—” She hangs up.
Closing my eyes, I rest my head on the back of my chair. I hate she’s so far away. Absolutely despise that I can’t take care of her when she’s sick. Not like she’d let me anyway, but it’s worth a damn try.
There’s a knock on my door and Valorie sticks her head in, her black hair tight in a bun. “Sir, I—”
“Let me ask you something, V.”
She moves to stand in front of my desk.
“How hard would it be to reschedule everything for the next few days?”
A knowing grin spreads across her lips. “Not that hard. You don’t cancel normally, so it’ll be a shock.”
“Rearrange everything. Contact Ethan and tell him to call me after his meeting with Douglas.” I gather my things.
“Zach?” She never says my name and it jerks my head toward her. “She’s emotional. Her hormones are raging. Be gentle and more importantly, be patient.”
I smirk. “I am. Have been for years. Call me if anything comes up.”
And I’m out the door heading to my car to take care of my girl.
No one answers the door when I knock twice, so I try the knob. It opens. Quickly, I make my way down the hall toward her room but am stopped by the unmistakable sounds coming from the bathroom.
“Jade?” I push open the door.
She’s on the floor in front of the toilet, her hair in a messy rat’s nest of a pony tail. She jerks her head up, her tired eyes wide. “What are you—”
She hurls.
I run a wash cloth under the cold water, wring it tight, and place it on her forehead. “Have you been in here since I got off the phone with you?”
She sucks in a breath shaking her head. “I think I slept for an hour.”
“Hold this.” I push the rag into her hand and rush to the kitchen.
Checking all the cabinets, I find a package of water at the bottom of the pantry, thankfully room temperature, and grab one before jogging back down the hall and into the bathroom. Twisting the top, I hand it to her. “Take a sip.”
Unfortunately, following only a few sips, she’s back at it. After several long minutes, she gasps for a breath, dropping her head onto the seat. I run my hands down her back and sit alongside her.
She’s pale, the skin around her eyes red. She looks completely spent.
“Come on,” I say, as I scoop her up into my arms and go to her bedroom.
“Are you going to get in trouble at work?”
Her question forces me to chuckle. “I’ll talk to the asshole boss. Surely he’ll understand.”
I lay her down and pull the covers to her shoulders before going back to freshen the rag and grab her water. Her eyes barely crack open as I set everything onto her bedside table. I strip my pants and shirt, leaving on my white t-shirt and boxers, and then crawl in behind her. She doesn’t fight me when I pull her close. Her body shivers and I squeeze her tightly.
My phone is vibrating, humming against the table, and it wakes me. Slowly and extra carefully, I slip out of the bed so I don’t wake Jade. I grab my pants and make my way into her living room.
“Hey, Zach,” Ethan, my lead architect answers. “Just finished up with Douglas. They’re asking for an elaborate concept and gave me two weeks for a mockup.”
“Who was heading the meet?” I ask, zipping up my pants.
“Reebs and Geils,” he replies.
Those two drive hard. “Just one building?”
“They’re looking into five. Two in Colorado, two in California, and one in Arizona with the possibility of expanding further.”
As he talks, I search Jade’s kitchen, looking for something to put in her stomach, but the cabinets are ridiculously empty of food. There’s a box of noodles, a jar of marshmallow spread, a few cans of corn, a jar of spaghetti sauce and ranch—enough ranch to live on for two solid years if you’re eating it for all three meals. I move to the fridge with hope but am let down—root beer, and plenty of it, and whatever leftovers are in the containers.
“Fucking hell,” I sigh out of disbelief. Who doesn’t have food in their place?
“I’ll send you the design once I finish with it,” he continues. “Oh. Valorie said I needed to call you.”
“Yeah. To add more to your already empty plate, I won’t be in town for a few days. Some personal shit came up. Hold down the fort and call me if you need anything.”
“Will do,” he replies. “I got the Ankridge proposal last night. I’ll email it to you here in a few.”
We hang up and I go back to searching the fridge, digging through the drawers until I strike gold—applesauce. And I don’t give a damn if it has Freya’s name on it or not. I grab one and then spot a green can of miracle shoved behind everything—ginger ale. She actually listened to me, and it makes me smile.
Setting everything on her table, I sit on the bed, gently rubbing her arm. “Jade,” I ease. “Baby, wake up. I need you to eat a little bit.”
Her eyes flutter and she peeks over to me, weak and exhausted. “You’re still here?”
I smile, rubbing her cheek. “Do you feel like you’re dreaming? I could be the man of your dreams.”
She blows a titter under her breath and rolls to her back, running a hand over her stomach. “I think I’ve died.”
“Well then, I’m your angel.”
“Your face is lying about your presence,” she mutters with a sly smirk, slinging her arm over her eyes.
I drop my head and laugh. “Try sitting up and taking a sip. Did you call into work?”
She scoots herself up the bed and takes the glass. “Yeah. This morning. What time is it?”
“About three thirty.”
Her eyes go wide dropping her mouth open. “I’ve slept all day…”
“Well, after a night and half the morning of tossing your cookies, it’s pretty safe to say you needed the rest.”
She groans. “I need a shower. I feel icky.”
“Icky?” I’m surprised by her choice of words.
“Yes, icky. Disgusting. Nasty. Vile. Dirty. With your level of education, you’d think you know what icky means.”
I pull open the top drawer, and immediately my dick takes notice of all the sexy thongs—red, black, yellow, lacy, stringy, see-through.
“Please for the love of my dick, tell me you have a matching bra and you’ll show me when you feel better. I’ll beg.” I say holding up a black and light pink thong.
She leaps off the bed, snatching them from me. “Get out of my drawers!”
“The goal is to get in them.”
Ignoring her, I keep rummaging around when something catches my eye. A picture…of Jade and me when we were younger. She’s in her sexy as fuck volleyball jersey stretched out across my shoulders as I’m holding her up in celebration.
“I remember this.” I hold it up.
She jerks it out of my hand and shoves it back into the drawer, slamming it shut. “Quit being nosy.”
“You guys won the championships,” I say.
“Yeah.” She looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Move so I can grab my clothes without worrying you’re sniffing my panties.” She shoves me out of the way, grabs a pair of blue panties, and quickly slams the drawer shut…catching my curiosity to find out what’s in the drawer she doesn’t want me to see. She’s nervous, fumbling around the other drawers to retrieve the rest of her clothes.
Interest officially piqued…
I turn the shower on for her, adjusting it.
“What are you doing?” She eyes me.
Throwing my thumb over my shoulder, I offer, “Starting it for you.”
“Get out.”
I lick my lips. “Scared I’ll see you naked? I’ve always wondered what your tits look like.”
Her smile is weak, tired, and definitely annoyed. “I know how you are when I’m naked. Sex is off the table.”
“But fucking on the table is always good.” I fold her in my arms and kiss the top of her head. “I’m not here for sex.” My voice is tender.
She’s uncertain as she strips and eases into the water, never taking her eyes off me until she pulls the glass door shut. Of course, my dick grows at the sight—water descending down her slick body, tumbling off her nipples, sliding down her stomach, gliding down her legs. As she washes her hair, she leans back arching and pressing her tits high. I adjust my dick and leave.
I make a beeline to her dresser. I haven’t seen that picture in years and she didn’t give me time to admire it…at all. I was so proud of her that day. Her team played hard to get to the championships and once there, beat the fuck out of the Greenhawks. I don’t remember the score, but I know it was an intense game.
I run my thumb over the glossy photo. She’s glowing with triumph, beaming from ear to ear. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail with her lucky black headband holding down the strays. I’m grinning too, happy for her with my mess of hair because that’s when it looks the best. I shaved for her that day and Max teased me, swearing I was trying to look younger to pick up the high school chicks. I picked one up all right…straight onto my shoulders in celebration.
Noah was just off frame, pissed as hell that she ran to me first. I’m pretty sure that’s partly my shit-eating grin besides having her thrown over my shoulder celebrating.
I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t, but I do anyway…move things in her drawer, taking a peek at what could possibly be in here she’s protective over. Possibly a dildo? We can have some fun with it.
My fingers slide across of stack of pictures and I grab them. Max, Easton, and I are sitting on the edge of the pool, laughing at something. Summer break before we became seniors. We were young little shits.
I shuffle to the next one and it causes me to chuckle. We were all at the fair, and Jade and I were in one of those two-bit photo booths making faces. Jade’s sticking her tongue out and I’m scrunching my face and crossing my eyes. The next little square—she’s got her arm thrown around my neck, blowing the camera kisses as I’m laughing with my damn mouth wide ass open. I remember we decided for the last picture we’d be serious. Jade’s smiling, her entire face lit up, gorgeous as ever and me? Well, I’m looking at her.
The next photo dumbfounds me. It’s just of me. A side profile. I’m sitting with my elbows on my thighs, my hands draped between my legs. I’m in my favorite gray hoodie and black jogging pants looking out in front of me, lost in thought. I have no idea where this is or when this was.
There’s a familiar feel of paper at the bottom and I set the pictures down to open them up. I puff a chuckle. “I can’t believe you still have this,” I exhale astonished.
Years ago, many years ago, I sketched her a house. I worked for days to perfect it. My pencil strokes were smooth and bold, outlining everything, and shading the rest to create the home of her dreams from scratch. I paid attention to as much detail as I possibly could, designing her a southern style craftsman. A large front porch with tapered columns meets stone pedestals with the stone extending to ground level to support the overhang and give her a retreat when she wants to sit outside. I drew large gable dormers and exposed rafters paying a ton of attention to all the details I could. I chuckle again. I put so much damn effort into this house. I sketched different angles. Hell, I even made her a fucking blueprint measured out to specs.
I’m still admiring my seventeen-year-old architectural skills when the water shuts off. My heart slaps my chest and I quickly fold up the papers and scramble to put everything back into their places to cover up my snooping. Except, I take the picture of her on my shoulders and shove it in the corner of the mirror and the frame. No need for that to stay in the drawer any longer. It’ll give her a perfect reminder daily.
She comes out fully dressed with her hair wrapped in a towel. The skin around her eyes still looks reddish, heavy with the wariness of being sick.
“You feel better?”
“I think.” Her voice is peppy, contradicting her eyes.
“Hungry? You don’t have diddly shit here. We can go grab something or I can call something in,” I say.
She runs her hand over her stomach and shakes her head, leaving me sitting on the bed as she pads down the hall. I reach the living room just in time to see her plop in the corner of the couch, pull her legs up to her chest, and point the remote, turning on the television.
“Chinese?” I offer as I take a seat at the opposite end of the couch.
Her face pinches. “God no. That’s barf city. I don’t want anything. Hell, I can’t have anything. Either everything is too greasy or isn’t good for the baby,” she groans, tugging a throw blanket over her.
“What time does Freya get off work?” I ask scheming an idea.
“Four. She’ll be home by four-thirty, but you can go home now if you’d like.”
“Where’s your phone?” I ask and she’s instantly skeptical. “I’m going to have her grab something for me.”
She stares at me for many seconds and I’m assuming she realizes she’s too weak to win an argument with me. “Beside the bed.”
Jade: Freya, it’s Zach. Could you stop at the store on your way home? I’ll pay you back.
Freya: It’s your lucky day. Send me the list.
I send her a bunch of items, and once done, I place Jade’s hot pink phone back to the coffee table and sit beside her, stretching her feet into my lap and digging my thumbs into her heels.
She pulls her feet back into her. “What are you doing, Zach?” Her sigh is conflicted, both exasperation and apprehensive. “Stop with all this weird shit.”
“I’m trying to help you feel better.”
Her eyes narrow, her top lip curling up. “I don’t need you to take care of me.”
Aggravation creeps up my throat and tightens the muscles around my neck. I shift. “We need to get a few things straight. I am going to be taking care of you and you need to accept it. Learn to deal with it. Do whatever you must because I’m going to be right here whether you fight this tooth and nail or pout like a brat.”
Anger glares at me. “First, I don’t want you taking care of me. I am and have been without you in my life. Second, I’m pregnant. I’m totally allowed to pout like a brat. And third, you don’t need to do all this sweet shit. Just be a baby daddy in the distance.”
I smirk, tug her foot back into my lap, and dig my thumb into its arch. “Scared you’ll fall in love?”
“No. I’m not. I’m scared you will and think there’s something between us when there isn’t. I don’t want to be with you. I just want you to be in our baby’s life, and I’d appreciate it if you respected those boundaries.”
But she doesn’t move her foot…
“Boundaries? You realize you’re knocked up with my swimmers, right?”
The groan is long and drawn out, muffled by her hands running down her face. She sits up, taking her foot back. “We fuck. That’s what we do. We work better from a distance and always have. Seeing things change, knowing there’s more to come, is making me sick. I hate it. I hate this. I hate you here. I hate you texting and calling me all the damn time. I hate it, dammit.” Her mouth says the words, but those watering eyes are telling me differently. She tucks her legs tighter, crossing her arms in a protest. “I despise how everything you do comes with pain. You make me feel safe, but I know it’s only time until you hurt me. You always do. I don’t need emotional turmoil right now. I don’t need the stress. All I want to do right now is relax and watch this stupid show without an overbearing Zachary fucking Calloway staring at me like I’ve lost my damn mind.” Her tone continues to jump in octaves. “If you insist on being here, sit there and just… just be quiet and don’t touch me. Please.”
She blinks and turns her attention to the TV, her face blanching.