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Wesley shakes his head, disapprovingly. “One time doesn’t count as something on the side. I was drunk and high. Clearly, my judgment was clouded.”
The two of them get into a heated exchange which Anthony diffuses. I don’t know what to say, still trying to control my emotions. I know he cheated on me, it was impossible for Wesley to go without sex for such a long time. But honestly, I thought he had better taste than Farrah Beaumont.
“What do you think of this?” Anthony directs the question at me.
“Wesley and I had an agreement. He was free to do whatever he pleased. If you lay with dogs, you’re going to catch fleas.”
“You fucking bitch,” Farrah swears, raising her voice. “Did you know your fiancé knocked me up? Huh? Yeah, right in your bed.”
“Jesus Christ, Farrah.” Wesley bows his head between his knees.
“I lost that baby. So, call me whatever you want. At the end of the day I carried his child not you.”
Wesley raises his head and begs me to look at him, apologizing through a single stare. No matter what happened, it’s all irrelevant. It’s utterly pointless dwelling on the past when my future is waiting backstage.
Anthony asks more questions which result in Farrah storming off. When the segment is done, he thanks us both as we leave and walk backstage.
Wesley pulls my arm back, asking me to stop. “I’m sorry, Em.”
“I forgive you, okay. Just take care of yourself.” I pat his arm then walk away to where Logan is standing in the back room. As soon as he sees me, the worry on his face subsides and is replaced with a smile.
“You did well.”
“Barely made it.”
He brings me in for an embrace, the scent of his cologne making it all better.
“I know that was hard for you to watch.”
He smiles into my hair. “It’s fine… I know how to take it out on you.”
I laugh at his naughty answer but stop midway to breathe out the sick feeling in my stomach. He pulls me back, searching my eyes until a smile plays on his lips.
“Go. Now.”
I don’t say a word, running past the backstage crew and straight for the bathroom where my stomach unravels and empties into the basin just in time. I take a deep breath, peeling myself away from the basin and splashing my face with cold water.
Morning sickness—the bane of my existence.
Why do they even call it that when it happens all day long?
Checking my reflection in the mirror one more time, my skin seems to have evened out in color again. If I’m lucky, I might make it home without having to use the sick bags that Logan keeps in the glovebox.
Walking out of the restroom, Logan’s just outside the door, pacing with his usual worried expression. “Are you okay?”
“Take blueberry Danish off the list of things that I could eat but now repulse me.”
Logan takes my hand, rubbing the back of it with his thumb.
“We’re running out of food for you to eat. I hope this doesn’t last much longer,” he pauses, a small smile playing on his lips. “What trimester is the horny stage where you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?”
“The same trimester where you will need to feed me grapes while fanning me with banana leaves.”
Logan laughs, pulling me into an embrace. “You’re impossible.”
“Pregnant, Logan,” I remind him happily. “I think that’s the word you’re looking for.”
THE END
