“Fine.” She takes a deep breath. The Cass I know doesn’t give in to me that easily. “But there’s going to be ground rules. For one, you need to give me time to talk to my dad, okay? Don’t go charging into The Horseshoe on a bender, thinking you’ll be my white knight. I’ll tell himwhen I’m ready. Two, don’t get it twisted and think you can boss me around now.”
I’ve never given a shit about following rules. I remember Jackson saying he turned into a total softie when Odessa, his five-year-old daughter, was born. Apparently, this is a little taste of that because,fucking hell,I’m looking across the small, neatly decorated living room at the future mother of my child. And, out of nowhere, I’m inclined to follow every single rule she lays out for me.
“Okay. Fine. Deal.”
She relaxes into the recliner, losing the sharpness in her expression and smoothing a hand over her hair. I finally take a moment to truly see her. She looks… beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but also tired, pale, and like she’s had better days.
“How are you feeling?” I ask. She starts to object—despite appearing drained, she’s still got some wild horse spirit, unwilling to let me ask a simple question without a fight. I cut her off. “Easy. The next eighteen years are gonna really blow if you can’t let me say anything without pushback. I get it, I’m not your boyfriend and I’m not trying to be. But asking a pregnant person how they’re feeling is a normal fucking question, Cass.”
“Sorry, I’m just cranky and tired. I literally could sleep for sixteen hours a day and it wouldn’t be enough. I’m going for blood work in a couple of days and, hopefully, a dosage change will help with the fatigue.” She purses her lips in thought. “Um, and I’m puking my guts out multiple times a day. Did you know ‘morning sickness’ can happen all the time?I didn’t. Apparently it should stop soon, though.”
“You’ve been to the doctor? Had an ultrasound?”
“Oh, yeah.” She stands up and walks into the connected kitchen, returning seconds later with a paper in hand. Just when I think this entire thing can’t feel more terrifying than it already does, I see a blip of greyish white on a black background and my stomach twists like I’m on a tilt-a-whirl. “It doesn’t look like much yet, but that’s the baby. And, uh, healthy heartbeat and everything. My due date is March tenth.”
“Can I come next time? To your doctor’s appointment or ultrasound?”
“Well, there’s no more ultrasounds for another couple of months. Sorry. If you want to keep that, you can. The ultrasound tech printed off two, and I was going to give it to my dad but… if you want—”
“I do. Thanks.” I smile at her, delicately slipping the paper into the front pocket of my flannel button-up. “Um… not to pry but, dosage change? Are you okay?”
She rolls her eyes with a groan. “Jesus. Didn’t know we were going to get all up in my business this morning.Yes,I’m fine.I have Hashimoto’s Disease and Polycystic Ovary Syndrome—they’re chronic illnesses. Both are pretty well managed, for the most part. Um… except, I guess I should tell you I also have a higher risk of miscarriage. So I’d prefer we keep this quiet for now, despite the rumours.”
Twenty minutes ago, I was driving around silently praying she’d say the pregnancy rumour was false. Funny how quickly that changed. Now the thought of her losing this baby has my heart slamming into my chest. I’d be in less agony if I ripped the stupid organ out and stomped on it with my boot.
“Of course, Cass. Listen, I know you think I’m a fuck-up and I’m probably the last person in the world you wanted to have a kid with. But I’m here if you need help withanything.”
“I don’t need help, Red. I do need you to leave before I throw up in front of you. I haven’t eaten yet, and my body likes to punish me for delaying breakfast by throwing up.”
“Do you want me to make break—”
“Go!” she screams, already halfway down the hall.
It doesn’t feel right to leave, but it also doesn’t feel right to stay. So I shut her front door softly behind me, then drive back to the ranch with one hand on the steering wheel and the other over my chest pocket, holding the most important photo of my life secure.
6
Cassidy
12 weeks (baby is the size of an Oreo)
Iwish somebody had told me getting pregnant meant people bothering you whenever you’re trying to sleep. Though, to be fair, I’m almost always trying to sleep. First, it was Red yesterday morning. Then Shelby during my midday nap. Blair called five times after bedtime. And my dad turned up early this morning with breakfast burritos that smelled so strongly of eggs, I vomited in the kitchen sink.
Whoever the fuck is at my door at nine p.m. on my night off can die a slow, painful, miserable…
“Red? What do you want?”
He smiles sheepishly at me, backlit by the orange glow of a streetlamp, and holds up a brown paper bag. “Fuck. I woke you up again, didn’t I?”
“If it wasn’t you, it would be somebody else. Why are you here?” My attention shifts from his face to the bag and back again.
“Can I come in? I got you some stuff.”
My eyebrows knit together in confusion. Too tired to argue, I step aside and follow him into the living room. The bag lands on the coffee table with a heavy thunk, and he gestures at me to open it.
“I hope you aren’t mad, but I told Jackson and Kate last night. Kate gave me a list of some things you might find helpful. I wasn’t planning on getting over here this late. We’re finishing up haying this week, and today ended up being longer than… anyway, take a look.”
What the hell? What part of our conversation yesterday made it seem likethisis what I want from him? I don’t need him to buy me shit. I don’t need him to be showing up at my house unexpectedly.I don’t needhim.
