Chapter Seventeen

Something wasn’t right.

It wasn’t just the shade of paint on the wall—which was supposed to be more eggplant and less raisin. Felix probably picked up the wrong color at the store, but that wasn’t the real issue. Something was off with Bailey.

She was in a fog, like she hadn’t slept in days, which wasn’t the case. Maybe all of her nocturnal activities with Wilder the past couple of months were catching up with her. Maybe her body was saying, “Stop having so much sex and get more uninterrupted sleep.” She hoped that wasn’t the case. She rather enjoyed their three- to four-nights a week routine. It was much better than having to take extra-long showers or using her imagination.

No. That couldn’t be it. This wasn’t just tiredness from a few late nights. It was like a heavy exhaustion had settled deep in her bones, weighing her down. Literally. She’d actually had to sit down in the middle of staging three times. Felix gave her a little crap the first time. She’d told him to eff off and leave her alone or she’d have Paige withhold one of his favorite things.

Maybe she was getting a touch of the flu. She felt a bit feverish. She’d forgotten to get a flu shot, but it was well past cold and flu season. Besides, she didn’t have time for the flu.

She was also a little bloated, which wasn’t exactly your average flu symptom. That ran more along the lines of PMS. That was even less likely than having the flu or exhaustion. She wasn’t due for another couple of weeks.

Maybe she shouldn’t have eaten that third oatmeal raisin cookie after she wolfed down a tuna salad sandwich at lunch.

She spent most of the afternoon entertaining a list of possible illnesses, deciding she was somewhere between mild exhaustion and on the brink of death. By the time they wrapped for the evening, she desperately wanted to curl up in her bed forever. Or at least for the next twelve hours.

Wilder had other plans.

“It’s Friday night. Wanna do something?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. We could go see a movie.”

“You mean we’d go somewhere together in public?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Someone might see you.”

“It’ll be dark in the theater.”

He made a good point. Still . . . “Won’t the crew talk?”

He let out a short laugh. “Bailey Honey, you know they already know.”

“I can’t hang out tonight. I have . . .” What? Cramps? Bloatedness? No guy wanted to hear about a woman’s time of the month, which is exactly what that sounded like. “I just need a night off.”

His eyebrows knitted together, and for a moment, concern replaced annoyance. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, of course,” she rushed out, even though she wasn’t entirely sure she was. Whatever it was, she wasn’t up for anything more strenuous than curling up into a fetal position in the middle of her bed while praying she’d be back to normal in the morning.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m just tired. I think it’d be best if I go to bed early, get some rest. Maybe we can grab lunch after we do the house run-through in the morning?”

He studied her, like he wanted to uncover whether she was sincerely unwell or if she was making up excuses. He should know by now she wasn’t one to play coy. His search apparently came up empty. “Okay. We can do lunch tomorrow. Do you want me to hang out in your room for the night? In case you need anything.”

“That’s a sweet offer.” She couldn’t resist cupping his cheek, and now she felt guilty for maybe hurting his feelings. “But I’ll be able to manage.”

“If you’re sure . . .”

She nearly sighed in relief when he dropped the subject. It wasn’t so much that she wanted to avoid a fight. She just didn’t have the energy to give it her best. It’d be a shame to lose a simple argument—like what kind of ice cream was best on a summer’s evening (basic chocolate, obviously)—because she was off her game.

She’d make sure to put up an extra good fight when it came time to pick out where they went for lunch and who would pick up the tab. They’d both feel better when some semblance of normalcy returned to their dynamic.

Wilder walked with her to the cars in silence. He opened the door and helped her slide into the driver’s seat. After making sure her bags were tucked away carefully in the backseat, he leaned in and kissed her squarely on the lips. He brushed his fingertips across her chin.

“You’ll let me know if you need anything.”

She nodded and buckled her seatbelt. She gave an absent wave before she drove back to the motel alone. She passed over restaurants, not stopping to pick up dinner. She wasn’t hungry.

On the drive, she was vaguely aware that Wilder was following her closely. Well, that was fine. If he wanted to worry, he could go right ahead. There was really no point. She’d be better after a good night’s sleep. And maybe she’d hit up a pharmacy in the morning if she still felt flu-ish.

At the hotel, she bypassed the stairs and took the elevator to the second floor. Again, she could get her steps in another day. That night, she preferred the elevator, which she could lean against. After what felt like the longest walk of her life down the hallway, she finally made it to her room. She dropped her bag in the entryway and kicked the door shut with the heel of her boot.

A sharp pain stabbed at her side.

“Oh. Mother . . .”

Great. She was wiped, had a little case of the fever and chills, and zero appetite. Why not add a stitch in her side to the mix?

She gingerly stripped down to her undergarments, deciding pajamas were too much effort for tonight. She crawled onto the bed and curled up on her side. She didn’t bother to turn off the light before she closed her eyes.

***

Just after midnight, the sharp, piercing pain in her side forced Bailey awake. She took a deep breath and let out a shout that was part gasp as the pain sharpened.

“Oh, that was a bad idea.”

This time, she took a series of short, shallow breaths through her nose. But the pain didn’t go away. She took another full breath, and a wave of nausea flooded over her.

She raced to the bathroom and made it to the toilet a moment before she lost the meager contents of her stomach. She heaved and heaved until there was nothing more but bile to give. Then she heaved again.

Resting her cheek against the cold porcelain of the bathroom tile, she reached up and flushed.

“This is so gross.” The way she felt. The shaking and shivering. The urge to vomit that wouldn’t go away. The shooting pain in her side. The fact that her face was rested on the floor. God knew the last time it had a proper cleaning let alone disinfecting.

She stayed like that for minutes, hours, she didn’t know how long. Alternating between dry heaving and resting on the bathroom floor, she prayed for whatever was wrong with her to go away.

Once she’d gone through the routine of heaving and crying for what must have been the millionth time, enough was enough. She pushed herself up to her feet. Tears stung her eyes as the pain shot from her ribs to her toes. She tugged on the jeans and shirt still lying near the front door where she’d left them. Grabbing her purse and phone, she stumbled down the hallway.

She only threw up once on her way to the car. Some poor person was going to discover a nasty surprise in one of the potted plants in the lobby. She should feel bad about that, but she really couldn’t feel any worse than she already did.

She found a take-out bag on the floor of her car—just in case. She shook out the old wrappers and napkins, for once glad her car was a mess. Barely out of the parking lot, she had to pull over to heave again. When it seemed like the latest wave of nausea was gone, she set out again.

But after stopping and going and stopping and going a few more times, she gave up. She needed help. There was no way she could get to the hospital on her own. She grabbed her phone, punched in a number, and waited for her savior to answer.

In a way, she didn’t care if anyone came to her aid. If they did, she could go to the hospital. There, maybe some miracle of modern science would figure out what was wrong and cure her. Or she’d stay put and wait for the Black Death inside her to finish waging its war. She didn’t care. If it killed her, at least the unbearable pain ripping her apart from the inside would be over.

She could die right then and she didn’t care.

***

Wilder glared at his phone in disgust and threw it on the passenger seat. Where the hell was Bailey? They were supposed to meet at the old Victorian house to review the punch list before he sent the team in to finish, but she hadn’t shown and she wasn’t taking his calls.

After the way they’d left things last night—with her snapping at him when he asked if she wanted to hang out—the tardiness and unanswered calls didn’t sit right with him. He couldn’t figure out what he’d done wrong. It wasn’t like he was infallible. He was sure he’d done something to piss her off, but he didn’t know what.

His phone rang and he frantically reached for it. “Damn,” he muttered when he read the name on the display.

What could Waverly possibly want this morning? If she suddenly wanted to change something in the Victorian, she could forget it. She was the one who’d opted to skip out on most of the project. Bailey’s design was nothing short of showstopping, and it was what the homeowner wanted.

He was not caving and going with Waverly’s whim on this one. No, ma’am.

Bracing himself for a fight, he answered. “Hello.”

“Wilder.” Waverly let out a sob. “I need your help.”

His heart stopped. In a second, a dozen possible disasters populated his head. Had she broken up with the executive? Did she get another bad review on her book? Were they getting canceled pre-season? Had Bailey quit? Maybe Waverly got in a car accident. Oh God. Was Virginia okay? “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sick.” Her announcement was followed by the sound of retching on the other end of the line. He pulled the phone away from his ear. He wrinkled his nose, even as his heart resumed beating like normal.

Thank God. She was just sick. He didn’t figure anyone would blame him for not being more sympathetic, but having the stomach flu or food poisoning was preferable to the other options. This was at least something he could resolve. She just needed to be fussed over a little and she’d be fine. “Do you want me to bring you some saltines and ginger ale?”

“That,” she sniffed, “would be nice.”

He gave the Victorian another glance. The last-minute details could wait a few more hours, and it wasn’t like Bailey was there waiting on him. “I’ll be right there.”

It only took him a few minutes to pick up some get-better supplies and leave a message for Bailey. Virginia had her nose flat against the bay windows at the project house when he arrived. She jumped up and down as he pulled into the horseshoe driveway they’d installed. There wasn’t much that perked him up more than the sheer joy on his daughter’s face when she saw him. It was better than popping a couple of Xanax.

“Hey, peanut.” He scooped her up into a hug and gave a juicy kiss on her cheek. “Are you being a good helper for your mama?”

“You bet! She let me get her some crackers, but then she made me go away so she could have quiet crying time.”

Of course, Waverly could always be counted on to embrace her theatrical roots. She never missed a chance to perform—even when her daughter was the only member of the audience.

He set Virginia back on her feet. “How ‘bout I go check on your mama and you go work with your blocks for a while? Then later, you can show me what you built. Maybe we can go out for some ice cream while your mama has a rest.”

“Okay!” She was off and running without sparing him a second glance. That was the life of a daddy. One minute you were the best thing in the world. The next you were tossed aside for blocks and the promise of ice cream.

He found Waverley curled up in a fetal position in the middle of her four-poster bed. This shouldn’t take long. He’d get her to drink some ginger ale and munch on a few crackers. He’d be kind and courteous. He’d only give her as much pampering as it actually took. Then he was out of there to find Bailey. He’d take Virginia with him so her mama could have some quiet while she rested up. Virginia would be all about helping with the walk-through. Then, they could all get lunch and that ice cream he’d promised. Virginia would be thrilled. She was almost as crazy about Bailey as he was.

He liked the pretty picture he was painting for the three of them. It was much better than the one Waverly had created in this room. Glancing up from her spot, she croaked a pitiful “hello.”

Even though he knew it was probably at least half for show, he could feel his resolve to get in and out slipping away. Poor thing. Unlike him, she didn’t really know anyone in Austin. She didn’t have anyone else here to help her out.

He set the supplies on the nightstand and perched on the edge of the bed. She really did look awful. “What’s wrong?”

“My stomach.”

“Was it something you ate?”

“Could be.” She sniffled. “Bailey and I split a tuna salad sandwich yesterday for lunch. Last night, she said she didn’t feel well either.”

Waverly’s face was buried in the pillow, which was the only reason she didn’t catch the alarm on his face. Bailey wasn’t feeling well yesterday? She’d never said anything, just that she was tired. Why didn’t she tell him she was sick? He wouldn’t have pressed her so hard to hang out.

Now he felt like a real jerk.

“So it was some bad tuna?”

“Maybe.” She wiped her nose on the bedspread. He cringed imagining how Bailey would react if she’d been there to see Waverly do that to the hypoallergenic down comforter she’d carefully selected. “It could also be . . .”

When Waverly didn’t finish the idea, he prompted her with a gentle nudge. “What else could it be?”

“Well . . .” She sighed and pushed herself up so she was facing him. “I think I’m pregnant.”

He swallowed hard. “Come again?”

“I think . . .” she pulled back her shoulders and said more resolutely, “I’m pregnant.”

He’d heard those four words before. They echoed in his head like tires shrieking to a stop. “Pregnant?”

She nodded. “Whatever this . . .” she rubbed her stomach, “is feels a lot like the morning sickness I had with Ginny. Remember what my first trimester was like?”

Oh boy, he did. She’d been sicker than a dog. (Though he’d never compared her to one—at least not out loud.) She could have taught Linda Blair a thing or two.

Pregnant. For a moment, he was that scared, dumb kid back in that coffee shop in Toronto. He’d listened to Waverly tell him she was having a baby—and doing the show—with or without him. His life had changed forever. From that moment, there’d been no going back. His life had a bigger purpose: his daughter. It was why he was there now, doing a bad job of comforting his ex.

Waverly was pregnant. Maybe.

Only this time, he was most assuredly not the father. Somehow that fact didn’t ease his mind.

So Wilder made another trip to the drug store. This time with a different, and more specific, shopping list. He was also toting Virginia along for the ride.

He hoped they weren’t recognized. Ideally, they’d go in, grab a box of pregnancy tests, and get through the checkout line without any drama. It was possible. He hadn’t lied when he’d told Bailey he was rarely recognized.

That’s why this situation was a little more complicated. Even though Virginia was only on the screen for a limited amount of time each episode, she had a bit of a fan base, too. With her hand gripped in his, they were more likely to be noticed, but it couldn’t be helped.

As a precaution, he grabbed a pint of ice cream, a pack of cookies, and a couple of activity books for their basket before they made their way to the family planning aisle.

Virginia’s eyes widened. “What are those?”

She pointed to row after row of tampons. He narrowly caught himself before he swore out loud.

Did he have to explain the birds and the bees and what goes on inside a woman’s body when she reached a certain age? He stared down at her angelic upturned face and made a decision, once and for all. He was never having that talk with her. Not now. Not ever. He’d pass the buck to her mother on this one issue.

Evasiveness. That was his only hope if he wanted to get through this shopping trip without taking their father-daughter relationship somewhere he didn’t want it to go.

But he couldn’t completely lie to his daughter . . . “Those are for big girls.”

“Like mommy?”

Not any time in the future. “That’s right. They’re for big girls like mommy. Speaking of your mama, let’s go get her . . . stuff.”

Before she could dig in any deeper on the subject, he tugged Virginia away from the display and farther down the aisle. She continued to eye the packages surrounding them with interest, but she kept any questions to herself. Thank God for that.

They stopped in front of the collection of pregnancy tests. He stared at the wall of choices. What little confidence he had in his mission slipped away. Where did he even begin? He should have asked what brand Waverly wanted, but it never occurred to him. He’d figured it would be pretty straightforward. How the hell was he supposed to know there’d be so many?

He plucked one from the shelf and read the label. “Get more accurate results earlier.” Sounded good. He grabbed it, but paused when he saw the words “greater accuracy, even faster” on another box. He grabbed it and held the two tests next to each other.

“Well, damn.”

Virginia gaped at him. “You aren’t supposed to say that.”

“Sorry.”

He kept his mouth shut while he checked out the other options. A third set of tests promised to be the top-rated by a medical association, while a fourth said more gynecologists chose it over any other brand. He picked one of each and dropped them in the basket. Who cared how much it cost? He’d rather break the bank than pick the wrong one and have to come back again.

The older woman behind the register at the checkout counter offered them a bright greeting. She leaned over to ask Virginia, “How old are you, sweetie?”

Still gripping his hand, Virginia leaned against his leg. “Four.”

“Are you here helping your daddy?”

Virginia nodded.

Picking up the ice cream, the clerk scanned it, then glanced down at the label more closely. “I haven’t had this kind before. Is it any good?”

He shrugged. “We’re trying it for the first time, too.”

“Gotcha. You’ll have to let me know what you think.” She placed it in the plastic bag and reached for the cookies. “My grandbabies sure love these cookies.”

“They’re the best.” He tapped his foot, but stopped, not wanting to draw more attention to himself by becoming an impatient ass.

She reached for a pregnancy test and shot him a conspiratorial glance. “Is someone in the market for a b-a-b-y?”

What was he supposed to say? “No, we just like to pee on sticks.” Or, “They’re for a friend.” Not very likely. This lady might be old, but she wasn’t senile.

“It’s looking like a real possibility.” It was a struggle to keep his tone light.

She “oohed” and went through the rest of the basket at a pace that would’ve made a turtle look speedy. Since there wasn’t a polite way to tell a nice, elderly lady to hurry the fuck up, he forced a smile and waited for her to finish.

When she finally closed out the sale and handed him the bag, she kept her grip a few seconds longer than necessary. “Say, you look just like that fella on Playing House.”

“Yeah.” He slipped the bag out of her hands and tugged Virginia away. “I get that a lot.”

When they made it home, it didn’t take long for Waverly to take the test. When she stepped out of the bathroom, pee stick in hand, she said what they already knew. “I’m pregnant.”

Now that he’d taken some time to process the eventuality, he didn’t feel quite so anxious. He still wanted to know what this meant for the show, for Virginia, and, well, himself. If she thought they were going to drop everything and head back to New York permanently, he wasn’t sure he’d go quietly this time. There was more at stake.

For one, they actually had a daughter of their own. She was the reason for all of this. Two, their show was a hit. People—and not just the lady at the drug store—knew them. Three, her boyfriend-turned baby daddy wasn’t some dumb kid she could boss around. Four, he wasn’t sure he wanted New York living any more. This time back in Texas had him thinking he could get used to his old country boy ways. And five, well, five was still M.I.A. for the day, but she counted.

“What are you thinking right now?”

“I’m thinking . . .” she trailed off and stared at her phone on the nightstand. “I’m thinking I should call Devon and let him know what’s going on.”

“That’s fair.” He got up and walked for the door.

She called after him, “I’ve already asked a lot of you, but can you do me one more favor?”

He tucked his hands in his pockets. “Sure.”

“Can we keep this between us for the moment?”

He gave her a curt nod and closed the door to give her some privacy while she let their boss know she was having his baby. With Virginia down for her afternoon nap, and her nanny close by, he headed to the soon-to-be completed kitchen to eat some of the drug store cookies.

This day. It could go ahead and end any time it wanted. He pulled out a carton of milk and poured himself a glass rather than swig it straight from the bottle. He was a guest in this house. It was only right. Settling into a stool at the bar, he’d just polished off the first cookie when his phone rang.

“Well, phank goph,” he mumbled with a full mouth. It was Bailey. At last. “He-woo.”

“Wilder.” The panicked voice on the other end of the line wasn’t Bailey. He almost choked on the milk.

He checked to make sure he’d read the name correctly, and plain as day, “Bailey Meredith” flashed on the screen. “Hello?”

“It’s Paige. Bailey wanted me to call you. She was going on and on about how she was supposed to meet you and it isn’t professional to be this late.” The nerves were still there, and her words bled together as she rushed them out. “I told her not to worry about work at a time like this, but you know Bailey. She’s always worried about work.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know.” She let out a shaky breath. “We’re at the hospital.”

He swore his heart stopped. “What’s wrong?”

“The doctors are running some tests. They just put her through an MRI, and they’re reading the images. They think it’s her appendix.”

Her appendix. There was only one thing he’d ever heard about appendixes. “Is she going into surgery?”

“More than likely.”

He grabbed his keys and told the nanny he was leaving. He’d apologize to Virginia later about their broken date. “Which hospital? I’ll be right there.”