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I gritted my teeth. “That’s not the one I’m talking about.”
I could almost feel her wince. “I know. I know! I’m so sorry.”
“Abus. The Daddy Will Fan Club—a fucking fan club!—have hired a bus to come check him out in two days. Did you see the bingo card?” I put the call on speaker so I could scroll through to the post in question—a hideously pink Valentine’s Day graphic with a grid of perverse Daddy Will-themed challenges. “One: Slip him your number,” I read. “Two: Gethisnumber. Three: Peck on the cheek. Four: A five-minute kiss. Five: Hand job. Six: Blow job. Seven: Quickie at The Salty Stop. Eight: Panties on his pillow. Ugh.”
I gagged a little but forced myself to read the last square. “Nine: Knocked up with baby number two.” I put the phone back up to my ear. “This borders on sexual harassment, you know. I don’t even want to think about Will’s reaction when he sees this.”
“I know.” Emily’s voice was subdued. “I’m as surprised as you are.”
I sighed as the brief burst of energy leached out of me and was replaced with regret and bone-deep fatigue. “I didn’t mean to snap at you, Jones. I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault, and I’m just so freaking tired.”
“But I feel responsible. It was my advice not to go public with your relationship until after the tournament.”
I rubbed my eyes and fell back on the pillows. “Don’t beat yourself up. It was good advice, and I’m not sure why I’m letting something this stupid get to me.”
“If there were women taking bets on who’d be the first to get their hand down Josh’s pants on Thursday night, I’d be pretty pissed about it too.”
“But it’s not like this is new,” I argued. Exhaustion had robbed me of all my filters, and I couldn’t stop the words as they spilled out of me. I’d never been a sharer, but my thoughts weren’t going to make any sense until I heard them out loud, and brain fog made it feel like Emily wasn’t even there to hear me.
“Will’s always had girls hanging off him, right? I know things are different, and we’re together now, but I trust him. There’s not a cell in my body that believes he’d screw me over with any of these girls. So why does all the talk make me itch like there are ants crawling under my skin?”
“Maybe…” Emily fell quiet as if rethinking whatever she wanted to say.
“Go ahead,” I said with a sigh. “I can take it.”
“Maybe you’re experiencing what any woman would feel in your situation. Jealous. Frustrated. Invisible. A little taken for granted. But this is your first serious relationship, and these kinds of feelings are new to you. Is it possible you’re not sure what to do with them?”
“Maybe,” I agreed, though I wasn’t sure I did. My thoughts kept circling around an old hurt, the one that told me I was only good enough to be another notch on someone’s bedpost.
I covered my eyes and grunted. “Or maybe I’m just too sleep-deprived to have any control over my emotions right now.”
“A few more days, and this will all be over,” Emily replied. “Will’s never going to encourage the hype, and this kind of frenzy can’t last forever.”
“Another week like this will feel like forever,” I muttered before shaking off the self-pity. I didn’t like the way it fit. “But this kind of exposure is good for Will’s business, and that’s the most important thing.”
Emily and I said our goodbyes, and because it made me feel better, I saved a copy of the stupid bingo card to my camera roll and marked off the squares that applied to me. Six from nine. Ha! Make me president of your fucking Will Kidd fan club, why don’t you?
I set aside my phone and started to drift off before I remembered that I still needed to collect the baby monitor from downstairs. With a reluctant moan, I got to my feet and dragged myself to the kitchen, where I retrieved the receiver from the charging dock, but I’d only made it halfway up the stairs before Seb screamed loud enough to make the monitor useless.
Pulling in a deep breath as if oxygen alone could get me through the day, I blinked back tears and turned around, bracing myself for an afternoon of hell.
37
Abbie
“He won’t stop crying,”I sobbed into the phone. “It’s been over an hour, and he won’t stop crying.”
“Abigail?” Mama’s voice was sharp with concern. “What’s the matter? What’s going on?”
I bounced Seb on my hip as I paced up and down the living room with tears streaming down my cheeks. I couldn’t catch my breath. My nerves were shot. I still hadn’t eaten or even bathed, my head felt stuffed with cotton wool, and all I wanted was fifteen minutes of silence and to sleep for a hundred days. Will’s phone was either dead or in a zone with bad reception because my three phone calls had gone straight to his message service. I’d hung up before the tone because I didn’t want to worry him, but I was starting to freak out.
“It’s Seb,” I replied. “He won’t sleep. He won’t eat. He won’t let me put him down even for a minute, and he won’t stop crying. I don’t know what to do.”
“Sweetheart, I need you to breathe and stay calm, okay? Everything is going to be fine. First, tell me, is the baby safe?”
The authority in her voice calmed me a little, and I released a shaky breath. “Yes, he’s safe.”
“Is he sick? Does he have a fever?”
