Dirty Bastard

I imagine a little boy grabbing a fistful of Knox’s beard and how Knox would smile like it was the most adorable thing he’s ever seen, and then he’d look at me like I’m the center of his world . . .

And, well, shit.

Maybe Keith Lawrence isn’t the hill I want to die on when it comes to relationships. I toy with my spicy-sweet hashbrowns, not really hungry anymore. For the first time in my life, it feels lonely to be alone. I want what I had with Knox. I want to be able to curl up against him and imagine our life together. But . . . I’m terrified of that very same thing. “I’m not good with relationships.”

“Honey, who is? The hard part isn’t fighting or fucking. It’s meeting in the middle when things are important to you. You learn that as you go.”

I’m not sure she’s qualified to give that advice, but she sounds pretty sensible so far. “Maybe so.”

“All I’m saying is give him a chance. If he wants to be in the baby’s life, maybe you let him. There are worse things out there than a dad that wants to be involved.” She pats my hand and gets to her feet as the doorbell clangs. “And now back to work for this mama.” She squeezes my shoulder as if we’re best buddies and then heads off.

Funny, but I feel weirdly better after that talk. Maybe it’s one a mother would have given me, if my own mother hadn’t been such an unforgiving wretch. I rub my stomach. I’m not going to turn into that for you, baby. I’m going to be the best mom you ever had, even if I’m the weirdest mom in the PTA. I think of Knox, and the way he flinched when I called him a bastard.

He doesn’t want the baby to grow up a bastard like he did, I realize. All the problems he had growing up? He wants to fix them for our parasite. I know how that is. Maybe his declarations of marriage aren’t so crazy after all. Maybe I’m the one that’s being unreasonable. I don’t know what to think.

My stomach cramps again, and this time it’s a sharp, awful pain . . . and I realize it’s not my stomach. It’s lower, deeper, almost like I’m getting my period . . .

Except I’m pregnant.

Ill at ease, I slide out of the booth and get to my feet. Even as I do, I can feel a warm rush between my thighs that shouldn’t be there. I glance down and there’s a smear of blood on the bench I just vacated.

I’m bleeding.

The waitress brings my pancakes, which I’ve completely forgotten about, and I set down a couple of twenties on the table to pay for the food and tip. “Where’s the nearest emergency room?”

* * *

* * *

There’s no ultra-close urgent care since I’m in the middle of nowhere, but the waitress gives me instructions to a nearby doc-in-the-box urgent care location one exit over, and I head there. They immediately take me back and draw blood, running tests, and then I sit alone on the table, waiting for the doctor to come see me. It’s a busy night and there’s a lot of people in this place, but I feel very alone and very vulnerable.

Old Lexi wouldn’t have cared about how alone she was. Old Lexi would just push off her feelings and make shitty comments to everyone that tried to talk to her. She’d take everything in stride. She’d be all No sweat, I have this.

I’m trying really, really hard to be Old Lexi right now, but I don’t know that it’s working. I’m scared and I’m sad, and I ache all over. I want nothing more than to have Knox here at my side. I know I’m angry at him, but . . . he just makes everything better by being nearby. I’m dependent on someone once more, and strangely enough, I don’t hate it. It’s not like before with Jonas, when he would throw everything in my face and become even more controlling. Knox is different in every way. He’s supportive and caring and he knows just what to say and do to make me laugh and feel better.

I miss him. It’s not even been a day since I left and I feel like I’m being torn apart. What if I lose the baby and all of a sudden, he no longer wants me? Just the thought makes it feel as if all the air’s left the room. I can’t breathe.

I might lose everything tonight. All because I was stupidly mad about how he was trying to push his way into my life. He was being protective and I acted like a jerk. What if he’s glad that I’m going to miscarry and he can part ways with me? What am I going to do? Somehow picking myself up and starting over doesn’t have the appeal it did five hours ago. Actually, I don’t know that it was appealing five hours ago, either, but I was too stubborn to admit it to myself. I don’t want to be alone anymore. I liked being with Knox. I liked the way we were together. For the first time in a long time, I was happy and not holding in knots of stress.

I love him and the thought terrifies me, because what if he doesn’t love me enough if there’s no baby?

I sit in my paper gown, a towel underneath my thighs, waiting for the doctor to come in. This is stupid, I tell myself. Can they even do anything if I’m miscarrying other than pat me on the head and tell me to take some aspirin? Should I leave or wait to hear from the doctor? As the minutes tick past, I hear people crying and arguing on the other sides of the thin walls. There’s all kinds of emergencies here tonight, and it might be a bit before they get to me.

They’ve already been treating me like I’m a pain in the ass because I have to keep reminding people not to use latex gloves around me. It just makes me feel even worse, like I’m bothering them with my bleeding. I can’t help but feel like all of this is my fault somehow.

And even though I’ve been fighting my panic, I can’t help it. I start to cry. I’m overwhelmed and scared and really, really lonely. I wish Knox was here. I wish I hadn’t freaked out. I wish we had talked through what he did instead of me losing my shit and yelling at him and then running away. He’s right—I do always run away. Now what if my stubbornness destroys everything? I don’t know what I’ll do.

I pick up my purse and pull out my phone. If Knox loves me like he says he does . . . maybe he won’t be too unhappy with me. Maybe we can talk things through. Maybe he won’t hate me if the baby dies. Of course, the thought of that just makes me cry harder, even as I dial.

Knox picks up on the first ring. “No text message?” His voice is a smooth drawl, his tone neutral. He’s trying to figure out why I’m calling. He’s wary. He probably thinks I’m angry over something else and getting ready to light into him. Like all this other silly stuff matters. Keith, keeping people at arm’s length, and arguing over where we live all seems like stupid, pointless stuff now.

I just want him here.

I sniffle and suck in a steeling breath before I speak. “Hey, Knox.” My voice isn’t quite as brave as I want it to sound. In fact, it’s pretty wobbly.

It’s real quiet on the other end of the phone. “Lexi? What’s wrong, sweetheart? Are you okay?” There’s real fear in his voice.

Just that little “sweetheart” is enough to make me start crying all over again. “Not okay . . . doctor’s office . . . baby . . . bleeding . . . pulled over on way to Houston . . .” I can only squeeze out a few words at a time before my throat closes up again. “I’m scared,” I manage between choking gasps. “Can you come and . . . stay with me?”

“Of course.” His voice is soothing and wonderful. “Tell me what you need, baby. I’ll bring it to you.”

“I think I really need my doctor,” I tell him in a wobbling voice, and manage a sorry laugh. “They’re too busy here for me.”

“You don’t worry about that, sweetheart. I’ll handle everything. Now tell me where you’re at.”

I look around the little room I’m waiting in, but I don’t see anything that tells me a name. It’s a chain, and that’s all I know. “Um. I’m not entirely sure. Somewhere about an hour outside of Houston.” I cringe at how useless I am, but I was so scattered when getting here that I didn’t bother to write down the name of the street or the exit or anything. I start to cry again.

“Lexi,” Knox says in that smooth, calm voice. “It’s gonna be all right, baby. I need you to go to the Find my iPhone app and it’ll give you the info to where you’re at. Text that to me, all right? I’m on my way.”

“Okay,” I say in a small voice. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. You’re my girl. I’d do anything for you,” he says fiercely. “And now I’m going to come and take care of you, okay?”

I hiccup something that sounds like agreement.

“Send me that info. I love you and I’m on my way.”

I hang up, do as he says, and then clutch my phone to my chest. It’ll take him a few hours to drive here. I’m okay, I tell myself. I’ve got this. Knox is on his way. For some reason, just knowing that makes me feel less alone.

* * *

* * *

The doctors come in and out, and one lady gives me a pelvic exam before the nurse comes in to take blood again and hurries away. No one tells me anything, so I just clutch my phone and hope that Knox gets here soon.

I’m staring at the CHOKING/AHOGO poster and reading the steps for the millionth time when a low thudthudthudthud begins to drum somewhere in the distance. I can’t tell what the heck it is, and I watch the door, wondering if someone’s about to come in. Voices start arguing and grow louder and louder.

To my surprise, the door bangs open in my room, and Knox comes flying in, one of the nurses racing right behind him. I sit up, shocked. “Knox!” I’m stunned—and so happy to see him that I burst into tears again.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he tells me, moving around the nurse and coming to my side. He sits next to me and takes my hand, a look of concern on his face. “I’m here and everything’s going to be okay. Don’t cry.”

“Easy for you to say,” I weep, and when someone enters the room behind him, I’m surprised to see it’s my obstetrician. “What . . .”