Almost Ordinary (The Song Wreckers Book 2) (13 page)

Chapter 17

I sat for a while in the Walgreens parking lot trying to convince myself I was stupid for even considering I could be pregnant. Curiosity won out, and I found myself in the family planning aisle. I chose the most expensive test, hoping that meant it would be more reliable. I didn’t want to go to the check out with a pregnancy test and nothing else, so I wandered around the store for more items to take to the register.

I bought candy. M&Ms, Skittles, Nerds, Snickers, Three Musketeers. I hardly ever ate candy. What could I say? I wasn’t thinking straight.

Or maybe I was. Barging through the door, I tossed the bag of candy on the kitchen table and all that sugar distracted Franny long enough for me to head upstairs and pee on the stick.

The test read positive already when I pulled it out from between my legs.

My head buzzed and I dropped the test into the toilet. “Shit.”

I ran downstairs to the kitchen and grabbed the yellow latex gloves from the sink. When I passed through the family room, Franny was eating a candy bar and the boys were throwing packets of Skittles. They were still distracted, thank God. I hurried to the master bathroom, snapped the gloves on and fished the test out of the toilet.

Having to collect myself, I paced in my bedroom for several minutes. I sat on the bed, closed my eyes and forced myself to relax.

What. The. Hell.

I had to buy another test. Breezing by Franny, I told her, “I forgot something at the store. I’ll be gone ten or fifteen minutes, then you can take off for the rest of the day.”

Surprised and with a mouthful of chocolate, she said, “You sure?”

“Yup.” I grabbed my purse, then drove to the store again.

I returned from CVS—I didn’t want to go to the same store and look like an idiot—and forced myself to calm down. I gathered the boys and gave Franny a gift card to the online store she buys her textbooks from as her Christmas present. Today was her last day of work at our house until the new year. After she left and I put the boys down for their nap, I repeated the test. Positive.

I put my hands to my face, shocked. Well, duh, that explained why I’ve been emotional the past month or so, not to mention tired. I was going to have a baby. I was going to have Caleb’s baby!

Caleb arrived home from work at the start of the boys’ bedtime routine, so I saved telling him until we had privacy. Plus, besides being happy, nerves and confusion swirled around making the day feel dreamlike. How could this be? Why would he tell me he was unable to impregnate me, then proceed to impregnate me?

We kissed the boys goodnight, then I rushed to my bedside drawer where I stashed the test.

“Caleb!” I called.

As soon as he stepped into the bedroom I held up the test with its two pink lines. “Look at this.”

He stared at it, squinted his eyes at it, then asked, “Is that . . .?”

I grabbed his hand and slapped the test into it. “Is that a positive pregnancy test? Why yes, yes it is. I seem to remember you telling me that you were unable to have children.” He’d told me about his inactive sperm before we were married, and once remarked that maybe our roundabout way to marriage and family was the universe’s way of letting us be a family since he couldn’t father children.

He choked, “But. But. But.” I waited and let him stutter. “But I can’t have kids.”

I shook my head and sat on the bed, patting the spot next to me.

I stayed calm. “We have some things to talk about. Let’s go through this first. You went to the doctor to be tested for a bunch of shit and he told you that you would never have your own biological children. Yes?”

He nodded. A dozen years ago, Caleb proposed to his high school sweetheart when his time ended in the Marines. Before they married she made him get tested because she’d seen some special news report about the damaging side effects of their reproductive health some men had suffered after they’d served overseas. He was told he couldn’t have kids and she dumped him.

“The doctor said he said he was positive?”

“He said the chances of me biologically fathering children were slim to none, and he needed to send me for more follow up tests to be sure.”

“So you went for more tests, and . . .”

He shook his head. “I never went for more tests.”

“What?” He stared like a blustering idiot so I cupped his face with my hands and turned his head to look at me. “You didn’t go for the follow up tests?”

He shook his head, this time as if to clear it. “No. I was pissed. And embarrassed. In fact I knocked the chair to the ground, kicked it out of my way and stormed out of his office.”

“So let me get this straight,” I said through clenched teeth, “the doctor tells you that he thinks you may not be able to have children, so to be sure he wants you to go for more tests, but you’re pissed off so you don’t have them done?”

He nodded.

I threw my hands up in the air and let them pound down on my legs. “Are you freaking kidding me? If the doctor tells you something this major and says you need more tests to be sure, you get the damn tests!”

He shot up and started pacing, and my mind started racing. He was under the misconception he couldn’t have children. We never bothered using any sort of protection, so had he not been using protection in past relationships?

I wanted to scream,
Oh my God!
Instead, I clenched my fists to maintain self-control. “Caleb, is it possible for you to have a bunch of children you don’t know about? Should I be worried about all the little blonde children around town?”

He stopped and whipped his head toward me. “I didn’t run around having unprotected sex, Princess. My first time without a condom was the first time you and I made love.” He pinned me with a look. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

I felt my face heat. That hurt. My cool demeanor flew out the window. “Cooper was the only other man besides you I didn’t use condoms with, and that was at the end of our . . . whatever you want to call it.
And
I was on the pill.
And
I only got pregnant because the antibiotic I was taking lessened the efficacy of the pill.
And
if we would’ve used condoms every time we wouldn’t be struggling to stop from yelling at each other for fear of waking up our two kids!”

He sat next to me on the bed, so I hopped up and stormed to the far side of the room. Fucker.

He inhaled and exhaled loudly. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I’m just caught off-guard here.”

“And I’m not?”

He scrubbed his hands down his face, then into his hair. “So we’re both caught off guard.”

I plopped next to him on the bed. “Understatement.”

I smiled at Caleb’s stunned expression. Another baby! I knew we had some issues to work out, but right now I wanted to jump in his arms and enjoy the good news.

“Is it mine?” he asked.

The world came to a complete halt for a second while I lost my breath. My ears rang. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to breathe. I stood slowly, my happiness crushed.

I turned to face him and whispered, “
What
did you say to me?” Then I yelled, “Caleb Alexander Ramsey, what the
fuck
did you ask me?”

I covered my mouth with my hand to stop myself from saying something I’d regret.

He lunged toward me. “Princess—”

“Don’t!” I turned to put my hand up in the
stop
position and felt it connect with hard bone. Ouch, damn it. I shook my hand as if that would take the pain away.

“Ow, shit,” he said, then cradled his cheek.

“That was an accident.” I tried not to sound sorry. I was, but it also felt a tiny bit good after what he’d just asked me.

Furious, I stomped down to the kitchen and made up two ice bags, then up to the bedroom. I kept one bag for myself and tossed the other one at him, hitting him in the gut. He hadn’t even tried to catch it.

Both of us held an ice bag to our sore spots. Caleb sat motionless on the bed, doing a great imitation of a statue. My anger spiked so high I wanted to scream at him, yet I didn’t cry. Instead, I grabbed a pillow and made the guest room mine for the night.

Two hours later, I gave up on sleep. I figured something to eat or some mindless TV would help. Downstairs, I heard Caleb in his office. I peeked in and saw he had a bottle of booze—something brownish in color—and drank it straight. A small lamp on his desk lit the room instead of the overhead, much brighter, light. He looked up and spotted me.

“Princess,” he slurred.

I walked away. How dare he call me that right now.

His clumsy footsteps followed me. Definitely drunk. I went about my business as if he wasn’t there, turning on all the kitchen lights and making myself a snack. I grabbed strawberries and whipped cream from the fridge, and shortcakes from the bread drawer. I fucking needed dessert.

“Princess.”

I finished making myself strawberry shortcakes, which was not easy since my dominant hand hurt from connecting with Caleb’s face, and sat down to eat.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

I turned my head to give him a quick glance. His cheek sported a nice bruise. “Oh shit.” I’d shoved my hand out much harder than I thought.

“Yeah.”

Refocusing on my food, I started to feel sorry for him until he said, “Swear to me this might not be Cooper’s baby.”

Fuck. Him.

I dropped my food and rushed to him. He shot his hand out to the counter to steady himself, then held his ground. I pointed in his face. “You jerk,” I began, mad as hell and not trying to hide it. “I didn’t know what truly loving someone meant until I fell in love with you. Up until a couple hours ago, you made every part of my life better. You—” I pointed to his chest. “—are the reason I was able to believe in happily-ever-after. You—” I pointed to his face. “—made me feel like I was a still good person even after screwing up. And you—” I dropped my hand, almost in defeat. “—are someone I never thought would hurt me like you did tonight.

“I can’t imagine ever losing you, and my life would be incomplete if you weren’t in it. With that being said, if you honestly believe that I have been unfaithful, then you need to go. You need to get the fuck out, and go. Go get a divorce attorney, go set up a separate life, and go fuck yourself.”

I turned to the table, determined to finish my snack. I piled some strawberries on a small cake, then grabbed the can of whipped cream. Right as I was about to spray it on top of the strawberries, I sensed Caleb behind me. Knowing he planned to touch me, I turned around and said, “Don’t,” pointing the can at him and accidentally pressing the nozzle as I did. Some whipped cream squirt out and landed on the side of his mouth.

“Take it off,” he demanded.

I turned from him. “No.”

He placed his hand on my shoulder and spun me around. “I said, ‘take it off.’” This close, I could smell the alcohol.

My anger flared, and for some reason I grabbed his head, yanked it down, and licked it off. Then I pushed him away from me. Without the counter to help him keep his balance, he stumbled. He regained his stance and we stared each other down, each one of us refusing to break eye contact.

He stepped toward me. I pointed the can, and this time I meant to squirt him. His eyes flashed wide for a split second and he began to breathe heavily. Like a snake, he lashed out and snatched the can from me. He continued inching toward me. I stepped back until I felt the kitchen table against my backside.

I froze, trapped. He leaned forward and pinned his hands on either side of me on the counter, still holding the can. I broke eye contact first, looking at the cream on his face.

I licked it off. Again.

Caleb opened my pajama top with one hand, and squirt whipped cream down it with his other hand. A lot of it. He then smooshed my top smearing the cream all into my chest, and all I could do was stand there, drop jawed in surprise.

He took advantage of me being stunned by grabbing my top and yanking it up and off. Backed up against the counter, I couldn’t move without touching him.

He had me where he wanted me. He lowered his mouth to my chest and began licking it off. He was remarkably coordinated for being drunk. I white knuckled the counter to keep my balance. The angry part of me wanted to push him away and tell him to go to hell. The woman in love and desperate to make things right again part of me was bigger, though. And she wanted her husband despite the hurt and anger.

I let him lick. He remembered my breasts were sore and performed feather light sucks on them. In my cleavage he kissed rougher, and I didn’t complain.

Pulling away, I noticed some whipped cream had transferred to his lips so I gripped his shirt and licked off every last bit.

What the hell was I doing? This man insulted and hurt me like no one ever has, including Cooper. At least with Cooper, I had expected it.

I had every intention of walking away. Then a low rumble came from his chest. He growled.
Growled.

Without warning, he dipped down and threw me over his shoulder. He marched us out of the kitchen and through the family room.

I lifted my head the best I could. “What the hell are you doing?”

He ignored me. I wasn’t scared, he would never physically hurt me. I was confused. Did he plan to shove me in the guest bedroom and shut the door to separate himself from me?

“Caleb?”

Silence. He marched us up the stairs.

As soon as he pushed our bedroom door open, I understood. Claiming his wife sex. Angry sex.

Well I was angry too. “This isn’t very romantic, asshole.”

He smacked my ass. “Princess, what I’m about to do to you isn’t going to be the least bit romantic.”

He flung me off his shoulder and onto the bed, and glared at me. I glared at him. He put one knee on the bed between my legs, grabbed the elastic of my pajama bottoms, and stopped. He dragged his gaze from my eyes down to my mouth and naked chest, and back up to my eyes.