“Because I didn’t want you coming alone,” I protest. “And you’re not in your first trimester of pregnancy.”
“Whatever. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve come alone. Roman always looks out for me.”
“That’s because he’d rather die than let anything happen to you,” I tell her.
“That goes for all of us,” she reminds me.
“How have you been feeling?” Forest asks, changing the subject, his dark eyes glancing down at my belly as if he’s expecting to see a giant round beach ball. Not quite there yet, but I am starting to see a rounding and firmness of my lower belly.
“Good. Tired.”
“What about the morning sickness?”
I shrug. “It’s maybe starting to get better? I don’t know. I haven’t thrown up in a few days, so I’ll take that as a win.”
“Are you still waiting for your second trimester to tell people?”
I nod. My family all knows, including my grandparents. They handled it better than I thought and gave me lots of hugs. My mother and Aston’s mother are going full steam with planning a party for us, and my grandmother offered to host it at the compound they live on just outside of the city.
As of right now, it’s set for next weekend, and I have no clue what I’m going to wear that won’t make me look, well, pregnant. Or at least severely bloated.
It’s been nearly two weeks since Aston and I told people at work that we’re married, and most of the rumors have died down. Probably because Aston and I are rarely together at work. Then again, we’re rarely together at home either. He’s been keeping a sizable and noticeable distance from me. He’s pleasant and friendly enough, but there’s a wall between us. No more teasing. No more flirting. Definitely no more kissing.
Other than holding my hand if we come into work together or asking if I wanted him to come for my first OB appointment—I declined—where I got to hear the heartbeat, we have a safe space between us at all times.
I’ve been telling myself I’m grateful for it. That it’s exactly what I wanted and definitely what we needed. But still. Part of me can’t help but miss all of that stuff. Misshim. It’s dumb. I know that. He doesn’t want me that way. I’m pregnant with another man’s kid, for Christ’s sake.
The upside is Zoey and I have a blast together. We cook and bake and hang out. She’s so much fun to be with, and I know Aston is seeing that she’s doing well. We made a dream catcher for her bedroom and a jar of notes she writes to her mom or even just thoughts and feelings she’s having.
Aston has met with her therapist one-on-one again, and she’s encouraged by Zoey’s progress but is also, rightfully so,concerned about what the marriage piece will be like for Zoey. Especially when it ends.
I haven’t seen much of Josh now that I’ve adjusted my schedule as much as possible. On the days that he’s there, I stay mostly on the medical side of the floor.
That hasn’t stopped him from seeking me out, but whenever he does, I flash him my ring and remind him that it’s over, that I’m married to Aston, and that there’s nothing he can do about it. I still haven’t decided if I’m going to tell him about the baby or not. I don’t like the idea of keeping a father from their child.
But I also don’t like the idea of my child being around someone who is abusive and could potentially be that way with them. But he also hasn’t tried anything aggressive again. If anything, he looks sad and a bit remorseful, so I don’t freaking know. I just don’t. I’m taking it day by day with that right now. I figure after the ultrasound I’ll make my final decision.
The overhead lights dim, and chatter and excitement fill the room that already smells of sweat and blood. Fights happen typically once a month on varying nights and sometimes in different locations, but the owner of the building is not only friends with Roman, but big into boxing, so fights happen here more than other locations.
It’s not exactly Vegas, but people are dressed in varying degrees of glitz and glam, and large amounts of money are exchanging hands like it’s simply paper.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the host booms from the center of the clearing, bringing the cacophony of voices down to a din. “Betting closes in exactly one minute. As always, phones must stay put away. Photos, videos, or live streaming are prohibited, and you’ll be escorted out, have your device confiscated, and be banned. Posting anything about this event or future events will also get you banned. If you’re not familiar with our rules, there are twelve rounds total, eachlasting three minutes. No weapons of any kind are allowed, as well as no hitting in the groin area or when an opponent is down. Audience interference is a bannable offense and will most likely result in worse repercussions since there is a lot of money on tonight’s match, if you know what I’m saying. Now, may I present our two boxers?”
He takes a step back and waves off to the side where the two men are standing wearing nothing but gym shorts, both rippling with muscles, tattoos, and greased-up skin.
“Our challenger tonight is Diego, and our returning champion, as I’m sure you all know since he requires no introduction, is Romeo.”
Romeo is Roman’s fighter name to help him keep a low profile.
Both of them step into the center of the ring to cheers and hollers from the crowd. Roman meets our eyes and gives us a smirk and a wink as he walks over to us. He holds out his hand and twists pinkies with Braelyn. It’s their thing. His good luck charm, I guess you’d call it, and then he’s back in the ring. Braelyn grabs my hand and squeezes. I squeeze her back as nerves and adrenaline skitter through me, making me antsy.
“Gentlemen,” the announcer continues, standing between them. “Fight.”
He jumps out of the way, and the two men circle each other. Roman is bigger than Diego, but Diego appears lithe and mysterious. Like a cheetah against a lion.
Roman simply watches and waits, patience and brains part of his game. It works. It always freaking works because Diego gets to the point where he can no longer stand it and charges at Roman, who ducks and spins away from Diego’s fist, only to swing around and nail him right in the back by one of his kidneys. Diego goes shooting forward but recovers quickly and immediately comes straight for Roman.
An arm wraps around my waist from behind, and I turn to find Hayes.
