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Nine
When Ellie,the shy girl I’ve sat next to all year in communications, asked if I could fill in last minute for her at today’s press conference, I almost said no. Even with my “people pleaser” personality. Because one, well, I’m quite literally the size of a house, and two, I’m pretty sure my ankles weren’t going to fit in the ridiculously expensive Louboutins that I splurged on last year.
Turns out, I was wrong. Surprisingly, they do fit, and now I’m cursing myself for agreeing in the first place. My feet feel like they’re falling off, I’m exhausted, and even though it’ll all be worth it in the end, my puffy ankles and face aren’t something I want to see on camera. Not to mention, I’m more exhausted than normal since we’ve been prepping for Olive’s arrival. Ty and Kyle have been at my apartment around the clock, helping me get everything ready, and my body feels like it’s teetering on the edge of a full breakdown.
“Stupid heels,” I mutter as I shove my laptop bag farther up on my arm. It’s heavy, I’m tired of these stupid shoes, and honestly, I’d rather be at home in pajamas and my feet propped up on a pillow.
I feel guilty for complaining, but then I think about the fact that I’m about to burst after carrying this baby for the past nine months and try to give myself a little bit of grace. Lost in thought and flustered at trying to keep everything together before I even get into the office, I’m not paying much attention to where I’m walking.
I run right into what feels like a solid brick wall, my notebooks flying from my arms, and my bag in the opposite direction. My knee jerks up in reaction, as I try and keep myself upright.
“Shit,” I hear a deep, low baritone cursing then a deep groan, as I shake my head and try and figure out what in the hell just happened.
I push my hair back from my face and immediately squat down to pick everything up then begin apologizing for not paying attention to where I’m going. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying att-”
“Maddison?”
My gaze lifts to the man squatting down in front of me, and my stomach plummets. The flustered feeling I was just experiencing turns to dread, and my mouth goes dry.
No. No. No.
This is not happening.
I swallow thickly, then stand on my wobbly heels.
"Briggs,” I whisper.
I’m shocked and angry all over again, and the urge to punch him right in the dick hits me square in the gut. The same time, there's a hard kick to my abdomen from my little girl, probably warning me that giving birth in an actual prison cell is not part of our birth plan.
“Holy shit... You’re here. I’ve looked… I’ve been looking for you for almost a year,” he says quietly. His hand is still on my arm where he reached out to steady me. I rip it away like I’ve been burned, and I guess... I have been burned. One too many times by Briggs Wilson, and this conversation, it’snothappening.
He’s a liar, and I refuse to listen to this.
Fixing my blazer, I pull it tighter over my stomach, still silent when his light blue eyes drop down to my belly and widen.
“Wow,” he breathes, his face a mask of shock. “You’re pregnant.Reallypregnant.” The confusion in his words only annoys me further.
What an asshole.
I scoff. “Get out of my way, Briggs.”
I brush past him to retrieve my discarded bag, but almost topple over with the basketball connected to my front. These heels are going to put me on my ass if I don’t get home soon. Suddenly, I feel strong hands at my waist, and when I look back, Briggs is standing far too close to me, his hands leaving me recoiling from his touch.
“Donottouch me,” I all but spit.
The anger in my veins is palpable, I can feel it radiating off me in waves, and I hope he can feel it. I,no we, don’t want anything to do with him, not now, not ever.
“Woah, why are you so angry, Maddison? What’s wrong?” The sincerity in his tone causes me to pause and look up. His brow is furrowed in confusion, and he looks so genuine, for a second, I almost believe him, and then I remember what he did, and the choice that he made.
“Don’t you dare sit here and insult me this way by acting like you didn’t know I was pregnant.” Fury laces my words and I realize I was speaking much louder than intended when several eyes dart our way. I lower my voice. “Now please, get out of my way.”
His brow furrows deeper, creating a crease between his piercing eyes, then he glances down at my protruding stomach and back up at me.
“Holy fuck... Wait... I-... we were together ten months ago... at the inn... you left before I-” He’s saying it out loud, but it seems to be more for himself, as if he’s connecting unseen dots.
I remember vividly the day that he changed my life forever, and I don’t mean the night he got me pregnant. The day that he signed his child away without even having the courage to look me in the eye as he did so. I thought at that moment that Briggs Wilson was out of my life, for good, and we were better off without him.
So, imagine my shock, and anger, seeing him here. Even if I wasn’t exhausted, achy in all of the wrong places, and very, very pregnant, I still wouldn’t be in the mood for this.
