Because of Them (Because of Love #2)

Chapter Nine

AUDREY

M ichael’s voice shakes as he processes the news. I don’t blame him; I’ve known for almost a month now and I’m still coming to terms with it. But when he turns away from me, my heart cracks.

I had two weeks to prepare for this moment.

Two weeks of worst-case scenarios consuming my every thought. One week of wondering why he wasn’t free that first weekend, followed by a week of doggy photos as he babysat his parent’s tiny cavoodle who ‘simply cannot be trusted in the apartment alone, or in public with Baxter’. People and their damned dogs. “Sorry I’m keeping Michael hostage,” one caption had said, and I tried really hard to laugh. But the joke didn’t sink in.

So, the week that followed was full of thinking that maybe I should have called on Callum to watch Maisie for an extra day, so I could have treated the anxiety like a Band-Aid. As soon as we planned this meeting, I wanted it to happen sooner. I wanted to rip the Band-Aid off and move on, probably with a new scar.

I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t worried about what Michael might have been doing the whole time. If I said I didn’t wonder why he hadn’t invited me to his apartment since he supposedly couldn’t leave, or who he might have been seeing instead of me. Every night for the past two weeks as I curled up in my empty bed, I’d close my eyes and see him lying with another woman. Flirting with another woman. Kissing her, taking her clothes off, removing his shirt. And every night I wished it was me.

It’s just the hormones thinking, surely. Hopefully.

I can’t fall for this man, any further than I started to fall before his baby started growing in my stomach.

Even still, as we acknowledge our loss for words, I sink my shoulder a little further into his. I press my knee against his leg, twisting my ankle behind his own. Linking us together in a silent embrace. This news was hard enough for me to wrap my head around. I can only imagine how hard it must be for him.

In response to the movement, Baxter looks up from his spot on my lap. An ear pricks up and his tongue hangs out of his mouth, still panting from our walk. I scratch under his chin, clicking my tongue.

Beside me, Michael’s body heaves with a sigh. He’s been silent for a while now, and I let him sit in his thoughts while everything sinks in. It wasn’t until that day at the clinic, when I heard the baby’s heartbeat for the very first time that all the pieces started to fall into place for me. That’s when I finally realised that no matter the crazy, unconventional circumstances, this was meant to happen. I don’t believe in God, but this baby came for a reason. Something sent him when I needed him the most. I just don’t know if Michael needs him too. If Michael even wants him.

Remembering the ultrasound photos, I pull my small crossbody bag to my front to pull them out. “I have something for you.”

Michael looks up. The sunlight hits his amber eyes, making them glow golden in an almost supernatural way. They glisten with a moisture he seems too afraid to blink away. When he doesn’t move to take the photos from me, I pry his hands apart and slip the stack between his fingers.

“From the … ultrasound,” I say. Shame flows through me as the word gets stuck on its way past my lips. My chin trembles, waiting for his reaction.

“Ultrasound?” The word is a barely audible breath.

As he flicks through the photos, a single tear manages to escape from the cage he tried to keep them in. I watch as it slowly descends his cheek. When it dots onto the white corner of a printout, Michael swears.

“Fuck,” the whisper is hoarse as he bats away the liquid soaking into the shiny paper. “Shit,” he adds, batting at his cheek.

My hand tremors, reaching out to stop him. “It’s okay.”

He stands in one swift movement, pushing Baxter with his legs. The dog yelps, cowering into my lap while Michael takes two long strides onto the grass. Michael keeps his back to me and turns his face toward the sun. His shoulders rise and fall with each laboured breath.

I reach down for Baxter’s lead, twisting the rope in my hands while I wait for Michael to say something. Anything.

“How pregnant are you?” Michael demands as he walks back to stand over me. “How long have you known?”

My cheeks burn, but not from the sun now glaring down on us. Spring has only just begun, but the day has turned bright and warm, the perfect embodiment of the season. More families have congregated on the lawn around us and all I can hear are the hordes of children laughing as they play.

I try to imagine how Michael and I would look as a family. It looks perfect, but this moment is far from that ideal. Guilt eats at my insides.

“I’ve known for about a month. Michael, I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, that day at the cafe, but I panicked. It’s no excuse.”

I expect him to berate me some more. To question why I waited so long to tell him or scream that he had a right to know. Instead, he closes the gap between us and nudges my legs apart so he can stand between them.

Placing his hands on my shoulders, Michael looks down at me. Sorrow lines his eyes and his lips tremble with the shaky breath he puffs out. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

My mouth drops open. He has nothing to be sorry about. I’m the one who kept this massive secret from him. I shake my head, but he nods in response. His gaze drops to my shoulder, where the ultrasound photos are still clasped in his hand.

“I don’t blame you for not being able to tell me. Don’t blame yourself. What matters now is this little plum sized baby. Our baby. And I have no idea what that means for us. But I’m here.”

He leans down, kissing the top of my head.

We spend the rest of the morning strolling through the gardens, occasionally stopping for Baxter to sniff at a plant or for me to sit and catch my breath. We talk about everything but the baby, as though we silently agreed that we need to figure out what we want from each other.

Michael flits between acting like my boyfriend, to acting like an acquaintance. We walk, arm in arm along the path, his fingers trailing up and down my arm. There’s an odd spark in the air, but when we sit at a bench it extinguishes. Michael sits a foot away from me, staring ahead while Baxter takes a drink from the small tub below the water fountain.

“Are you okay?” I ask as we head towards the entrance. I’m out of breath, and my feet hurt. And my ankles have somehow disappeared, swollen directly into my calves. I should have known the walk home would be too much, but at the time it felt like a great idea. Keep active, stay moving, all that stuff they tell you to do without warning you just how exhausting it will be.

Michael stops abruptly, pulling my hand back and spinning me to face him. He holds both my hands in his and steps closer towards me. His chest rises and falls against mine with each forced breath he takes. The movement makes my bra rub against my extra-sensitive nipples, sending the spark from the air directly through me and into my core.

I push away the memory of how our bodies tangled together. How he hovered over me while he settled between my legs. How he wrapped his arms around me when he pushed himself in, and how perfectly full and whole I felt at that moment. I can’t think about that now. Not when I just pulled out the pin and threw the grenade, and he had no choice but to catch it.

“Honestly, Audrey? I’m okay I’m just … I’m scared this means more to me than it does to you. I’m scared that I’m too in my head about us now, even though I know our relationship isn’t magically going to blossom just because we’re having a child together. A baby doesn’t create love between its parents. I know that’s a silly thing to think, but a part of me still hopes it does anyway.”

I close my eyes, leaning in and wrapping my arms around him. With my face pressed in the crook of his shoulder, I inhale deeply. He smells like wood chips and spice and … home. And maybe it’s the hormones again but for the first time in weeks I feel at ease.

Baxter tries to force his way between us, demanding attention. When we ignore him, he trots a circle behind me, resting his head on the back of my knees.

“Audrey, my feelings for you haven’t changed now that I know you’re pregnant. But they are still there. I’ve tried for weeks to make them go away but they followed me around more than Baxter does. I need to know if I should keep trying to push them away.”

I lift my shoulders to my ears, hoping he can feel the way I shrug. Michael leans down, his lips grazing the soft skin behind my ear.

“Tell me to stop, and I will.”

My mouth opens, but instead of the word, all that comes out is a gasp. Michael pulls away from my ear to rest his forehead on mine. Our noses touch and our mouths are so close together the warm air he breathes out tickles my lips. His eyes are dark as he gazes directly into my soul.

My body starts to act on its own. My tongue darts out to wet my lower lip. My fingers trace a path up his chest. My arms stretch behind his neck and my hands tug him towards me, closing that last little inch between us.

When our lips collide, Michael lets out a rumbling moan. His kiss is slow and tender, like he is testing the waters. I’m testing them too, especially when I run my tongue along his lips, practically begging him to open up for me. But he doesn’t.

He holds me close to him, planting gentle kisses along my top lip, then the bottom, then he pulls back to plant the softest kiss of them all on my temple.

Immediately, I fight against his grasp. Stepping back, heat flares up my shoulders and across my cheeks. I want to run. All the way home to hide under my bed. I can’t believe I kissed him. I can’t believe he didn’t kiss me back—at least not in the way I wanted.

“I … I’m sorry,” I mutter, staring at my feet.

Michael closes the gap I created between us, but keeps his hands by his side. “Don’t be sorry. New rule, you’re not allowed to be sorry.”

I close my eyes. My attempt to hide my tears is deemed futile when they escape through my lashes to stream down my cheeks.

“I’m not sorry you kissed me, Audrey,” Michael says as he takes my hands in his. “I love that you kissed me, and I want you to kiss me more. But I don’t want you to fall into me just because we are having a baby.”

He squeezes my hands and I look up at him, all blurry through my tears. I think I see tears in his eyes too, but he doesn’t let go of his hold on me to wipe them away. It’s almost comforting to think we are both standing here in the middle of a public park, crying at our circumstances.

Crying because we didn’t plan this but it happened anyway. And now we have to navigate down a road we had no intention of turning on to. Crying because maybe, just maybe, there is hope for us.

“Let me drive you home.”

I let him, because my legs have officially clocked out for the day, and my lungs aren’t far behind. The drive is silent as he navigates through the side streets and down the long gravel driveway. Finally, when the car is in park and I open the door to step out, Michael turns to me.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he admits. “I have no idea how I’m supposed to act, or what I’m supposed to do. I have no idea if it’s inappropriate to still like you so hopelessly or if I’m supposed to cool off and pretend I never fell. I have no idea what to expect, no idea how to look after a baby, or how the two of us becoming parents would even look. I have no idea, Audrey. But I know one thing and I hope more than anything that you’ll believe me when I tell you that I’m not running away.”

He leans across the centre console to plant a kiss on my forehead. I lean into his touch, wanting more but also knowing that more is not what we need right now. His words are chipping away at the icy walls I built around my heart, but I’m not sure I’m ready to trust him.

“I’m not going to run away again,” Michael adds.

And maybe it’s reckless—maybe it’s setting myself up for heartache—but I believe him.