Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
She nods, her expression guarded. “I’m not sure how to make this all work. I mean… there will be legalities later, and well, the pregnancy and how it will affect my work.”
“I’d like to be involved in the pregnancy,” I blurt. It’s not something I allowed myself to think about last night and today, but now that there’s actually going to be a baby continuing to grow in her, one who is made up of me, I want to experience every little fucking thing.
To my surprise, Rachel’s body tightens, her voice coming out a little frosty. “And what do you mean by that?”
I blink, suddenly confused as to what that means. I give a helpless shrug. “I don’t know. Um… doctor’s visits, maybe? And if you were to need anything, I hope you’d ask me.”
To my surprise, Rachel gives a tiny bark of laughter followed by a nervous snicker. She holds a hand up. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know what in the hell I’m doing. I guess I had images of you wanting to rub my belly constantly or sing songs to it or something.”
Her remark causes a genuine laugh to erupt from me. We’re both nervous and totally out of our depths.
“I promise not to do that,” I tell her, but then quickly amend. “Unless you want me to.”
She’s the one to shrug this time. “I have no clue what I want. Maybe late-night ice cream runs?”
We share a look, and it’s one I recognize. We’ve shared it before. It’s the look of one teammate to another that says, “I got your back.”
Impulsively, I reach out and snag her empty hand, giving it a very short squeeze. “We’ll get through this.”
Rachel lets out a shaky breath with another tiny laugh. “I know. I know we will.”
“Rachel,” I say, my voice going an octave deeper because of how much I mean it. “Really… thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if you’d decided otherwise.”
“Knowing you, Wright,” she says with a pointed look as she pulls her hand away from mine. “You would have kidnapped me and kept me hostage until I’d given birth.”
She’s wrong about that because I’d never force her to do something she didn’t want to. I would have just dealt with the loss, because what else could I have done?
Pushing up from the couch rather abruptly, Rachel looks down at me. “Look… I have to get going, but Doc McCullough is going to get me set up with an OB/GYN this week. I’ll let you know when the appointment is.”
I stand up and follow her to the door. “Yeah, sure… okay. That would be great.”
Rachel doesn’t respond, just opens my front door. She starts to step through, but then hesitates as if struck by something. She turns to look back at me.
“How are you going to do this on your own?” she asks me hesitantly.
“I have no fucking clue,” I tell her truthfully. “My gut instinct is to head back home to Nebraska with baby in tow. I can’t continue this line of work and raise a kid.”
Rachel just stares, as if my answer doesn’t make sense to her.
So I ask her a question of my own, “You never want kids?”
Her eyes turn a little wistful. “I always thought I would if the timing was right. But I’m at a stage in my career right now where the timing is very wrong for me.”
I nod in understanding. Rachel is very good at what she does. Part of the reason for that is because she “loves” what she does. I mean really loves her work. It’s all she has in life, and it’s her priority.
This disappoints me more than I care to admit, because if Rachel would just potentially be open to the idea of co-parenting with me, we could both continue to work at The Jameson Group. We’d never go on missions or details with each other again, but we could share in the responsibility of raising a child together and keep our careers.
Maybe she’ll change her mind down the road.
Maybe she won’t.
The only thing I know for sure is that I’m going to be a father in approximately seven and a half months.
CHAPTER 4
Rachel
My skin is itching. Prickles course up and down my spine. I’m unsettled. Ready to explode.
I’m looking for something. Anything, really. The only place I know to find it is in The Wicked Horse.
I prowl through The Social Room, my gaze sweeping around for potentials. Nothing catches my eye. My interest isn’t piqued.
I make my way to my favorite room, The Silo. It’s usually the first place I try since the most adventurous patrons tend to hang out there. When I enter, my eyes are immediately drawn to the perimeter rooms built of glass walls. They are filled with people fucking, and I wait for the familiar warmth of anticipation to overtake me.