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Me. Upchucking. Because I think I’m pregnant with your son’s baby.
Good God, did the Fates love to stir things up or what? A week ago Blake had kissed her scars, and at first she’d been desperate for him to do something, anything, other than lavish attention on the part of her body that, every day, was a reminder of her past. But his mouth had been soothing, reassuring, and his touch between her legs had set her on fire. Burning away the last of her resistance, as if proving she were beautiful, scars and all.
He’d given her a gift. Because now when she looked in the mirror, instead of unhappy memories, she could choose to remember her time with him. Darkness replaced with light. Pain replaced with pleasure.
Who could resist such a fantastic deal?
Even better, since their return from their trip to the Keys last week, Blake had been coming to the guest cottage every night. Life had been the best ever.
Hence the reason, Jax was sure, the Powers that Be had deemed it couldn’t last.
Jax lifted the phone back to her ear, remembering Blake’s mother was expecting an explanation for the awful sound of her vomiting. “Sorry, Abigail.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I was straining mightily to move the couch,” she said, wincing at the lamest lie ever.
“And what was the splattering noise afterward?”
Jax closed her eyes. “I spilled my cup of tea in the process,” she lied again and then cleared her throat, forcing herself to remain coherent despite her panic.
At least for the remainder of the phone call.
Jax scrambled to return to their previous conversation. “How did your friend get Bulldog on board?” Jax asked.
“Franklin sent him the YouTube video of your flash-mob dance,” Abigail said, happy to go on with the good news of her musical coup. “He was seriously impressed with your group’s talents and the work you do at South Glade. He attended a similar teen club while growing up in Miami.” Jax could almost hear the pleased smile in Abigail’s voice. “And it didn’t hurt that your routine at the courthouse was set to his latest hit.”
Though it was heartfelt, Jax’s return smile felt weak. “This really is good news, Abigail. I couldn’t have raised the funding without you.” Her heart softened and her lids stung with emotion. “You’re the best.”
“Don’t worry, Jax. You can return the favor sometime,” Abigail said, and Jax’s stomach rebelled at the thought of trying Abigail’s peppermint scones. “And speaking of favors,” Blake’s mother continued, “don’t forget my friend’s breast-cancer benefit starts tonight at eight. I’ll have her leave yours and Blake’s tickets at the door.”
At the reminder of the event they’d promised to attend in exchange for a weekend alone, Jax smothered her groan. How would she manage an evening in a floor-length gown while suppressing the urge to toss her cookies? All the while accompanied by the father of the baby, the man who had no idea he was a father. And would Blake prefer that the mother of his kids be litigator Sara? The lady who was reasonable and practical and sane? The one who could pull off fractional children with perfection?
Jax’s stomach roiled again, and she pressed her lips together, wondering if she would last through the incubation of a whole one.
A baby.
Heart rate escalating, she forced herself to focus on the rest of the conversation with Abigail. After a little more talk about the benefit, the dress Jax had bought to wear and how to move forward with Bulldog’s offer—none of which penetrated her preoccupied thoughts—Jax signed off. She blew out a breath, relieved she’d survived the call, and tossed the phone onto the couch. Desperate for a retreat, she padded barefoot down the hall and into her bedroom, flopping onto her bed. The covers were still rumpled from last night’s activities with Blake as she stared up at the ceiling, a single word echoing in her thoughts.
Pregnant.
She blinked and fought to control her heart rate, struggling to sort out her jumbled emotions. Fear. Apprehension. Confusion. There was plenty to go around. And the feeling of inadequacy clamped hard around her throat. But mixed in with all of the racing thoughts was a tiny bud of intense hope. Of happiness.
