“Hey,” I say and then step back, sweeping with my arm to silently invite her in.
She crosses the threshold, her eyes roaming the small interior of my house. “You really live out in the boonies, don’t you?” she asks as she turns to face me.
“Not a city boy,” I tell her. “Like the quiet and solitude.”
Which is why I bought this little Pueblo-style ranch house that sits without another neighbor in sight. Nothing but scrubby desert as far as the eye can see with the Spring Mountains in the distance.
“Because you were raised on a farm?” she asks.
“Yeah, probably,” I say with a shrug, never having given it much thought. I just know I prefer open spaces and natural scenery to concrete, glass, and steel. I like the sound of bugs at night versus honking cars.
Rachel doesn’t have a purse, and nervously jangles her car keys in her hand. She looks around my living room again, craning her neck a bit to see past the half wall that separates it from my kitchen. My house is barely twelve-hundred square feet with only two bedrooms, but it’s enough for me. I’m saving my money for something bigger and better one day. I always thought that meant when I was ready to settle down and start a family, but my life got a little messy in the last twenty-four hours, so who knows what the fuck it means now.
“Do you want something to drink?” I ask, and her head snaps back to me.
She gives a hard shake of her head. “No, I’m good.”
“Want to sit down?” I motion her to the couch.
Rachel tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. She’s worn it loose and shaggy today, doesn’t have a speck of makeup on. Personally, it’s when she’s prettiest in my opinion.
With a tight smile, she walks over to the couch, sitting stiffly on the edge of the cushion. Her back is straight, head held confidently high. I think it’s an act because she still nervously jangles her keys.
I take a seat on the other end of the couch, angling my body to her and planting my elbows on my thighs, which causes me to lean slightly into her space. I don’t say a word, only look at her with what I imagine is unmitigated hope. At least, that’s what the emotions swirling through my body indicate.
Please don’t crush me, Rachel.
Rachel gives me another smile, this one a little pained. Her eyes go down to the keys. As if she’s just realizing she’s making noise with them, she grips them tighter in her palm.
“Um… I went and talked to Kynan a little bit ago, and got his advice,” she says before slowly raising her face to mine. Her eyes are determined with an underlying layer of fear deep inside. “And… I’ll carry the baby. Please don’t think badly of me, but I don’t want to raise it. I’m not ready for that.”
There’s no stopping the huge gush of pent-up air inside of me, my lungs burning from the force of it.
“Thank you, Rachel,” I say with so much gratitude. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this thankful for anything in my life. I’m swamped with utter fear now, yet I’m grateful to have it. “And no… I’d never think badly of you for that type of personal decision.”
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