The promise of his skilled hands and glorious mouth on my skin later sent a rush of endorphins through my system.
Now that we were back in New York I felt hopeful that Ben and I could work out the differences in what we each saw for our futures. And hearing his comment about making it official put a kernel of hope in my heart that wasn’t there before. Of course I didn’t want to bring that up straightaway. We’d had too many heavy conversations lately, and an evening relaxing alone together was not something I wanted to spoil.
Ben lifted my feet onto his lap and pulled the throw blanket from a trunk beside the couch to cover us both. He removed my socks, dropping them beside the couch, and began massaging my feet. His thumbs rubbed along the length of my instep and I relaxed into his soothing touch, believing everything would be okay.
The feeling was short-lived, though, because moments later his phone began ringing from inside the kitchen. The first two times he ignored it, but the third time he lifted my feet from his lap and stood.
He cursed loudly, retreating down the hall with his phone in hand.
I heard his bedroom door close softly and the hushed sounds of his voice.
Tossing aside the blanket, I padded down the hallway to investigate. My scalp tingled and the hair on my nape rose. He was acting strange, secretive, and all my senses were heightened. I felt like an intruder watching my life unfold. I felt oddly disconnected standing there, heart pounding in my chest, fists clenched tightly at my sides, trying to eavesdrop. I fought to quiet my labored breathing so I could hear.
“One second. I need to check with Emmy,” I heard him say from behind the closed door. The sound of my name snapped me back into the present.
“How bad is it?” he asked.
I wondered if it was related to his mother and her struggles to stay sober, and my heart ached for him.
“Because I do, Fiona. I won’t cut Emmy out of this.”
My stomach leapt into my throat. He’d gone behind closed doors to take Fiona’s call privately.
The door opened and Ben stood there, clutching his cell phone in his hand. “Which hospital?” he barked into the phone, then he nodded once and ended the call.
What in the hell was going on? “Is everything okay?”
“No.” His voice was flat.
“Was that Fiona?”
“Yes.”
I waited, barely breathing, for him to explain what was happening. The vein in his neck was throbbing. He was angry, but about what, I had no idea. “Ben?” I dared at last.
“Fiona’s been admitted to the hospital for exhaustion, and dehydration. She’s gone into early labor and the doctors are trying to stop it.”
She was only about six months along. Way too early for the baby to come.
“Fuck.” Angry hands tore through his hair. “I have to go.”
I shot him a glare that questioned his sanity. “You’re going? Now?”
“This could be my baby. I have to be there, Emerson.”
An acidic taste rose up my throat. His baby? I hated the sound of that. Almost as much as I hated the sound of my full name falling from his mouth with such venom. I thought, if anything, he merely regarded himself as a sperm donor. The worry in his eyes and his haunted look told me he wasn’t so sure. My heart throbbed painfully at this new realization. If the baby was his, would be want to be involved in its life? In Fiona’s life? Could I handle him being linked to her for the rest of our lives? Would we spend birthdays and holidays together?
Gulping lungfuls of fresh air, I fought off the impending panic attack threatening to take me under. I couldn’t handle a life like that. It might be selfish but I wanted Ben to myself. His profession dictated I was required to share parts of him I’d much rather not. I wouldn’t share his time, too. I wouldn’t split him with an evil witch like her. And I wouldn’t watch him walk out the door to be by her side tonight.
“I’ll go,” I rasped, fighting to get my thumping heart to slow down.
He cocked his head to the side, one dark eyebrow rising. “Are you sure?”
I straightened my spine. “Yes. Absolutely.” Better me than him. I could have a talk with her, woman to woman. Tell her to back the f**k off Ben. Roughing her up was out of the question in her fragile state, but I wasn’t above telling her off.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Are you sure you want to be alone with her? I could come along,” he offered.
I shook my head. “I’m positive. I need to do this.” I didn’t want him anywhere near her. I needed to do this for me—to stand up for myself and for Ben. It was long overdue.
He didn’t argue, and without further hesitation, I stuffed my feet back into my socks and shoes and shrugged into my coat.
“She’s at Northwest Memorial,” he said, staring down at his feet before meeting my eyes again with a pained expression. “Emmy . . .”
“Don’t speak,” I warned, pushing my palm between us.
He nodded. “One thing,” he whispered.
I expected an I love you. Perhaps a Be safe, or a Thank you for going.
“Will you call me with any updates?” he asked.
I nodded and left. With no kiss good-bye, and no loving words exchanged between us, I fled into the night.
• • •
When I arrived at the hospital and asked for Fiona Stone, I was directed to the maternity wing on the fifth floor. Walking by the babies in the nursery window made everything more real. The soft coos, the happy new parents, and sleep-weary nurses bustling past me were a wake-up call. This baby was coming. Whether Ben and I were ready or not, Fiona was going to be a mom.