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CHAPTER3
NOVA
His thick shouldersand solid back heave in breath after breath as he stands hunched over against a backdrop of snowcapped mountains and rolling foothills. The silence sets my limbs and my lungs spasming with the sheer discomfort of the situation.
Taking a step back, I can shift some of my emotions around to make more sense. When I get overwhelmed, this happens to me. I’m unable to hold any sort of calm, especially in confrontation. I clench my fists to stop the tremor in my hand.
I didn’t expect him to have a girlfriend.Oh shit, what if she was his girlfriend then, too?
I know nothing about him. Not a single thing, other than whatever emotional bullshit I thought I saw in his eyes that day. The loneliness. The wandering spirit, unsure of where it belongs.
I’m so stupid.
“Can you say something?” I plead, and he lowers himself to the dusty driveway, staring like he’s in a trance. I sink to my knees in front of him, taking the pressure off my weak legs.
His eyes meet mine, disoriented fear swimming in the rich brown. They help me get a hold of myself, and I breathe deep and slow like I do before filming. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Centre and regain control of my body.
“But we used a condom,” he whispers.
Fresh tears cling to my lashes, and dusty air tickles my nose. I refuse to let the tears fall this time. Forresters don’t cry in front of people.
We did use a condom, but it obviously didn’t work. It had a hole in it or broke inside me. Any of those possibilities are plausible. We were interrupted and distracted and didn’t pay attention.
I’m impressed his first question wasn’tis it mine,so I decide to put that one to bed before he can ask—before he has a chance to slap me in the face with my own sexual choices.
“You’re the only person I’ve had sex with in like a year. I wouldn’t have come here if I wasn’t sure.” I stretch and bend my fingers in my lap, trying to get some feeling back in them.
We’re still in a locked stare. His eyebrows pull low. He cocks his head to the side as if I’m answering the only question he hadn’t thought of.
The sun peeks out from behind a cloud, warming the cool fall air, and a fraction of the stress flooding my body eases. I wasn’t sure what his response would be, but I knew it could be bad. Denial or anger was high on the list of reactions that I rehearsed in my mind during the two-week drive from Alaska. Zeke seems like he’s neither of these things.
He appears to be more confused than anything else.
And that confuses me. The silent acceptance screams through the open air because this is something I’m not used to. Calm confrontations and tentative interactions are not something I understand. Passive-aggressive, cold, and vindictive is how things go down in my world. If they go down at all. Mostly, it’s shoved down, bottled up, never speak of conflict for fear the press gets ahold of it. Mama’s terrified of the media and will sacrifice anything for her public image, including the wellbeing of her children.
The only sound is the breeze fluttering the leaves in the trees, turning from green to orange. The smell of the cool, damp earth mixes with hay and horse, rooting us to the dusty gravel. Our chests rise and fall in sync, and I’m lost in his eyes like I was the first time I met him. When I couldn’t tear my gaze away from him and huffedyou’re gorgeousout loud as he typed in the details of my van.
This time, I say nothing. There’s no uncomfortable laugh or cocky grin now.
I get a front-row seat to watch him work out in his mind what I’ve been obsessing over for three weeks. Ever since a doctor in the Fairbanks hospital confirmed the little pee stick was accurate and not playing a trick on me, all I’ve thought about is this baby.
This baby and how I’m digging myself deeper into my messy problems by being so spineless and afraid.
I was twelve weeks pregnant and all alone, at the top of the world, and suddenly had a whole lot more stress piled onto my overflowing plate. There is nowhere else to run from the person who is hell-bent on destroying me and my family.
This baby shifted everything. It stopped me in my tracks and forced me to reevaluate my situation. Am I going to hide in the wilderness as my body grows and nourishes a life? The thought is ridiculous.
I can’t do this alone. This is a secret that shouldn’t be kept. Not from him. I swallow the truth with acidic anger. I hate that I can’t figure this out on my own.
He finally speaks. “When?”
“I found out a few weeks ago. I’m twelve weeks along. It took me a while to process.” I stop there, the rest of the words jamming up in my throat because I can’t tell him the rest.
I want to, but it won’t come out. I want to mention I was stuck in the hospital for hours as the doctor frantically tried to figure out how long it had been since I’d taken a medication that could be harmful to my baby. A shot I get every six months to suppress my immune system and manage my Multiple Sclerosis.
It had been five months since my last one. The doctor was happy that the baby would be okay after a long conversation with my doctor back in Nashville. MS is notorious for going into remission during pregnancy, and neither doctor was concerned for my safety. I’m about to find out whether that’s true. I suspect it is because I haven’t had to use my cane in weeks.
Those are the things I want to say to Zeke.
