Vegas Aces: The Wide Receiver Complete Series

CHAPTER 33 TESSA

It's the day before Christmas Eve and my last day at work for the next four days. I feel like I can't go on this little Christmas break without asking Cam exactly what he told his wife.

It's been busy today as we get in all the appointments that we can before the office basically shuts down for the holiday. Cam's light is still on as the day winds down, and I'm hoping to get some time to walk into his office and confront him before he leaves.

Most of the staff has left by five, and Paul is in with his last patient of the day. I grab onto my one slim chance with both hands even though I need to head out myself since my mom will be pulling into my apartment complex any minute.

I begin by knocking on the door frame. Cam glances up from the file he's studying, and when he sees who it is at the door, he says, “Shut the door.”

Gladly.

I slam it behind me with more force than necessary, and he looks surprised. “What did you tell your wife about me?”

He glances at me with such innocence that I almost want to barf. “Why do you ask?”

“She confronted me at the Christmas party. She told me to keep my hands to myself.” I cross my arms over my chest, and he glances down at my growing stomach. “As I recall, it was your hands that were on me first.”

“As I recall, you weren't exactly complaining about that,” he says pointedly.

“Be that as it may, you’re married, and you never told me. I never would’ve slept with you if I would’ve known that.”

“Right,” he says, rolling his eyes as he nods with exaggerated sarcasm.

“You think this is what I wanted?” I hiss, pointing to my stomach.

“I told you what to do about it.” His tone is flippant, and I want to slug him.

I grit my teeth as I draw in a breath. “You’re an asshole.”

“Okay,” he says, and he picks up the file. “I have work to do before I get home to my family to celebrate Christmas. Anything else?”

“I hate you.” I’ve said it to him before, and it had zero effect on him. “I feel sorry for your wife. I feel sorry for your children. All of them.”

He presses his lips together and raises his brows. Those words might have some effect on him, but he’ll never show it. “Merry Christmas, Nurse.”

“Fuck you, Doctor.” I walk out of his office with those words even though my question about what he said to his wife about me was never answered. I slip into my car and make the trip home, my hands trembling the entire way as I try to draw in deep breaths after that encounter with Dr. Douchebag.

My mom and I pull into the parking lot of my apartment building at the same time.

“Merry Christmas!” she says, her tone cheerful as she leaps out of her car for a hug. “Look at that timing! All the way from Iowa and I pull in at the same time as you.”

I laugh. “It’s good to have you here, Mom. Thanks for driving out.” I help her with one suitcase, and she has another one that she pulls out of the trunk. “Two suitcases?”

“One is filled with presents, of course,” she says. “And that reminds me, I need some wrapping paper, tape, and scissors.”

“You didn’t have to go to all that trouble,” I scold.

“Of course I did.” She bumps into me as we walk toward my apartment. “You’re my baby girl.”

Her baby girl has some big news to share with her this weekend…if she doesn’t guess it as soon as I take off my winter coat.

For the record, she doesn’t. Or she’s polite enough not to mention that I look like I’ve packed on a few pounds. She makes me dinner, and after we eat, she disappears a while with the tape and scissors. She’s staying here with me—Sara offered to stay with Shane for the next couple nights so my mom could use her room. When she emerges an hour later, I’m lying across the couch and she’s carrying a stack of at least ten boxes. She places them beneath the tree with a wide smile, and I notice not for the first time since she pulled into the parking lot that she seems a little different.

Lighter, maybe. Like she’s spent the last couple months letting go of the past while I’ve spent the last couple months dwelling on it for very different reasons.

“How have you been doing, Mom?” I ask as I sit up and curl my legs beneath me.

She plops down beside me. “I’m doing really well.” She smiles as she reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Sometimes you don’t know you need your freedom until you have it.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. Telling her I’m happy for her feels like saying I’m happy my father passed away, which isn’t true at all. Even though he made mistakes, even though he forced me into decisions I should have been allowed to make on my own…he was still my father.

But on the other hand, I’m happy my mom is coming into her own.

Before I get the chance to say anything, she asks, “How are you doing, Tessi-cat?”

This is my moment. I draw in a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

A beat of silence passes between us as she processes my words. “You’re…”

I nod, and I brace myself for the worst. I’m a twenty-five-year-old pregnant, unmarried daughter of a pastor who is knocked up out of wedlock for the second time. “Pregnant,” I repeat.

“I’m gonna be a grammy?” Tears fill her eyes as relief rushes through my chest.

“Again,” I whisper.

“But this time I’ll actually get to hold the baby?”

I nod. “This time you’ll get to be the grammy.”

Her tears spill over as her hand flies to her mouth. She sobs for a beat, and I toss an arm around her shoulder as tears fill my eyes, too. I’ve spent so many years thinking how what happened affected me , but I never gave much thought to how it might’ve affected her .

“Who’s the father? Are you dating someone you didn’t tell me about?” she asks once she takes a deep breath and composes herself.

I draw in a breath of my own. “He, uh…he won’t be involved.”

“Why not?”

“We’re not together. He doesn’t want any part of this baby’s life,” I say.

She tilts her head with sympathy. “Are you sure about that? Don’t you need him to sign some papers or something?”

She’s probably right. The last thing I need is for him to come after me for parental rights down the road, but I just don’t see Cam doing that. Not when he was so adamant about me keeping it a secret, and not when I’ve respected his wishes in doing so.

“He told me to take care of it,” I admit, and I feel sick just saying the words out loud at this point. “Trust me when I say he wants nothing to do with this baby.”

She nods. “Okay, then. And your plan is to actually take care of it?”

“I’ll take care of him or her forever. I love this baby with everything I have already, Mama.”

A soft smile graces her lips as she reaches over to squeeze my hand. “When are you due?”

“June fourteenth. I’m almost fourteen weeks along,” I say.

She nods, and I can tell she’s trying to think rationally and also be sympathetic to my situation.

I reach over and squeeze her arm. “It’s okay, Mom. You can ask the hard questions.”

She presses her lips together and nods. “What are you going to do?”

I lift both shoulders. “I don’t know yet. The father…I work with him. He’s in a prestigious position, and I found out after we were, um, together —that he’s married.”

“Oh,” she gasps.

“I can’t keep working there, and I can’t afford not to. I can’t afford to raise a baby on my own here in the city, but I don’t know where else to go,” I admit, and even though I’ve told Sara this stuff, too, it feels good to share it with my mom. It feels like she’ll be able to help me figure out the answers.

“You’re always welcome to come home, Tessa. I’m happy to help with the baby. Diapers, middle of the night feedings, you name it.” The way she looks at me with such hope in her eyes tells me these aren’t just words. She means it. She will do whatever she can to help me. She wants to. “You always have a space in my house, and my grandbaby will, too. Always.” Her voice trembles with her vehemence, and I get the sense that she fought for me the first time around and lost. This time, there’s nobody to fight. This time, we’re in it together instead of being pit against each other.

I almost feel like I don’t have any choice in the matter at all.

But instead of accepting her very generous offer, I say, “I appreciate that, Mom. Let me think about it a while, okay? I can’t just duck out on Paul and Marsha, either. I’d need to give them some notice.”

She glances at my stomach. “You’ll start showing soon. If you don’t want people at the office to find out, you’re running short on time.”

“I know.” I glance down at my stomach, too, and then I rest a protective hand over the baby. “We’ll figure this out.” I reach over and grab my mom’s hand. “The three of us.”

“The three of us,” she echoes, and no matter what happens next, I know I’ve got her in my corner…and that’s enough for now.

* * *

I’m not waiting for Santa the way I used to when I was a kid, but my mom and I are relaxing with A Christmas Story and cookies on Christmas Eve. We ate our traditional lasagna and garlic bread dinner, baked cookies, and finished wrapping gifts, and now my eyes are getting heavy on the couch. I glance at the clock and realize it isn’t even nine o’clock yet.

A few minutes later, the door bursts open, and a grinning Sara walks in with Shane right behind her.

“Hey! What are you doing home?” I ask. My mom gets up to greet Sara with a hug.

“Guess what?” she squeals, and I grin as I stand, too.

“What?” I ask even though I think I already know.

“We’re engaged!” she screams, and Shane laughs.

“Congratulations!” I squeal, too, and then we’re all hugging and dancing and it’s a little chaotic for a few minutes as celebrations abound.

Once everyone calms down and the squealing ceases, I ask, “So how’d he ask you?”

“Well,” she says, her eyes edging merrily over to her new fiancé , “he drove me out to the suburbs to this house, and he entered the code on the keypad and we walked in, and I had no idea what he was doing. There’s no furniture in this place, but it’s huge and gorgeous and then he gets down on his knee in the middle of the kitchen, and he says, ‘I want to start our happily ever after right here with you. I want to cook dinner in this kitchen and buy a couch we can sit on to watch movies,’ and blah blah blah more romantic stuff, and then he asked me to marry him in the house that he put an offer on last night pending my stamp of approval!”

“Oh my God!” I squeal, because of course you squeal when your best friend tells you somebody bought her a house and proposed to her in the same breath.

I’m happy for her. Really.

But this makes it real. It means I’m going to have to move out of this apartment because I can’t afford the rent on my own, and certainly not with the expense of taking care of another person.

My mom’s offer to live with her a while and figure things out seems like my only option right now.