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And then Seth will leave.
And somehow… he will blame me.
Blame me for what, I don’t know. He’s the one who instigated this. He’s the one who wanted this. I push my dark thoughts away, turning my gaze to Rachel, trying to focus on her rather than the pain tearing through me. Her mouth gapes open and her head bobs. Her insides clench around me and a shrill cry leaves her lips as her orgasm takes hold. She cups my face and kisses me tenderly. Seth thrusts into her twice more before a low moan leaves him, displaying he’s reached his peak.
And then we lie there, together, holding each other, with Rachel’s head nuzzling my shoulder and Seth staring up at the ceiling. I watch him, waiting for him to pull away to insist he and Rachel return to their own rooms so Lucas and Hunter don’t discover us.
He doesn’t. I should be happy, but instead, I keep waiting. Why can’t I just enjoy this moment? Why do I have to constantly be on the lookout of something terrible to happen? Tears prickle my eyes as I watch Seth. I swallow my pain, choke down the words I want to say, but don’t have any strength to: that I can’t do this anymore—that I can’t be Seth’s little secret any longer.
I nuzzle my forehead against Rachel and concentrate on the warmth of her breath, on how smooth and lovely she feels against me. One of these days, Seth and I will have to talk. I’ll have to tell him how I feel. I just don’t know if I want to hear what he has to say. I don’t know if my heart can stand being shattered, especially when we live in the same house, and love the same girl.
Chapter 8
RACHEL
Iscowlatmyphone, trying to ignore the screaming baby next to me while two children bicker over the blocks on the floor. It’s hard to concentrate on Mom’s messages with all this noise, but what can I expect for a prenatal appointment? Although, maybe I should shut my phone off. It’s not like reading her messages is decreasing my stress.
You should try to find tickets to fly here and celebrate with us during your fall break,I read, over and over again while trying to imagine how that whole situation would play out.
Terribly. It would play out absolutely terribly. I can just see it now, stepping off my flight, rolling my carry-on in one hand, my purse in the other while Mom and Bryan wait for me. I can see her smile falling, her eyes zeroing on my growing stomach while Bryan tries to console her. Yep, I definitely don’t want to go through all that. Eventually, the truth will have to come out, but not yet. Not until I tell the bros and develop a proper support system.
I still can’t believe she’s marrying Bryan. I’ve barely talked to Mom about it. Does that make me a bad daughter? Most likely, but I find it’s hard for me to care. They’ve been together ten months. Perhaps a bit less. I think she’s rushing into this marriage thing way too fast, but she won’t listen to me. When I did try to bring it up the last time we spoke together, she said,“You don’t understand, Rachel. You’re young. It’s different for women my age. Things start sagging, wrinkles hinder our beauty, and men become disinterested. We don’t have as much time as girls in their twenties”.
I thought the original reason for the divorce was due to Mom’s need for freedom. It hurts even more now knowing she was just looking for another man to love—that Dad somehow didn’t love her the way she wanted. Although, she’s right. I’m not her age. I’m twenty-one. My life is just now starting, yet, somehow, I feel like time is running out.
Turning off my phone, I throw it into my purse before rubbing my belly in a consoling manner. I probably feel so rushed due to this little one. I only have so long before I need to tell the bros, my parents, and my friends. But when is it the right time to bring all that up? My eyes prickle with tears and I inhale deeply while looking up at the ceiling, hoping the bright lights will somehow dry them. I have never felt so alone in this until today.
It’s partly due to my thirty-minute walk from the art department. Hunter dropped me off there about an hour ago, since usually I have photography class at this time. It was as good a time as any to tell him, “Hey, could you actually take me to the gynecologist office?” I, of course, chickened out. And now, my feet are all swollen and I’m suffering from back pain due to it. Not all women suffer during pregnancy the way I do, which is making me stress even more, worrying something may be wrong.
I hate coming to these prenatal appointments since I have to lie to the bros about them, but this time, I feel a little relieved knowing I will get to discuss all my concerns with Dr. Adams. Sweat drips down the back of my neck and I twist uncomfortably in my chair. My back pain has only increased in the past few weeks since I saw my doctor last. Isn’t the second trimester supposed to be the easiest part of this whole thing? My morning sickness has lessened, thank God, but my body seems to be torturing me even more each passing day.
“Rachel Miller,” the nurse calls.
I flinch, not noticing the office door already opened, the nurse standing in the middle, giving me a sweet smile. She holds a clipboard in her hand, her fingers tapping a tune I don’t recognize against it. My hands grip the arms of my chair, my arms quivering as I push against them, rising unsteadily onto my swollen feel. My knees wobble at first before I fully straighten and make my way towards the office. My head sways as I move, my gut twisting uneasily. I inhale deeply, controlling the dizziness threatening to take hold.
“And how are you today, Miss Miller?” The nurse asks while closing the door behind me.
What a loaded question. “Fine,” I say softly while making my way to the scale.
It’s always the same at these prenatal appointments. First, they need my weight, then it’s my blood pressure, and finally the sonogram to make sure everything is going according to schedule. And it’s all going to increase now that I’m in my second trimester. I will have to start coming here every two weeks. I really need to tell the bros. I don’t think I can make the thirty-minute trek again. Not when the weather worsens and there will be ice and snow caking the sidewalks.
“How has the morning sickness been?” Dr. Adams asks while the nurse writes down my weight.
“Better, I think,” I say while moving to the chair across from her so the nurse can take my blood pressure. “I’m not vomiting every day, but I’m still nauseous.”
Dr. Adams nods while the nurse wraps the blood pressure cut around my arm. “I’d say that is an improvement. Any pain or bleeding?”
“Back pain. No bleeding.” I watch the nurse pump the monitor, a frown on her lips as she watches the dial move. “Is anything wrong?”
The nurse’s frown deepens as she writes the number down on her clipboard. “Your blood pressure is a bit high.”
“How high?” Dr. Adams asks.
My heart slams in my chest as I watch the nurse hand the clipboard to Dr. Adams. “Should I be worried?” I ask while looking between them.
Neither answer as they stare at the number, which only increases my worry. What does this all mean? Is my baby okay? Am I okay? I should have done more research about all the things that could go wrong during pregnancy, but I didn’t want to freak myself out too much. All I’ve been paying attention to is my pelvic floor exercises and keeping an eye on my underwear to see if I’m bleeding.
“No,” Dr. Adams says after what feels like an hour of me watching her and the nurse. “No cause for concern. Although, I recommend you pay attention to your stress levels. How is your diet?”
