Life Support (The Breathe Series Book 2) (28 page)

OWEN AND I HAVE been living together for a couple of months now. In those months, we’ve learned a lot about each other and what works with our living arrangement. Since Owen is working mostly day shifts this week, I’ve had the opportunity to clean up and rearrange my stuff. How we have things set up in the bathroom just wasn’t working for me. As I'm putting some things away in the bathroom, I pull out a box of tampons. Huh. It's been a while since I had a period. I didn't even notice. Luckily, I am fastidious about putting the start dates of my period in my phone.

I walk back into the bedroom and retrieve my purse from the dresser. After pulling out my phone, I open up my calendar. I scroll through. Weeks scroll by.
What the fuck?
According to my calendar, I should have had my period
three weeks ago
. I fumble with the medicine cabinet door and pull out my packet of birth control pills. I open the lid and count the pills. Two weeks of active pills are missing, which means that I must have blown through the week of placebo pills in the last pack without much thought at all.
How the fuck did I miss this? Oh my God. This can't be right. No. No. No. No.

I think back to what I was doing three weeks ago. I was cooing over my boyfriend. I was dealing with stress at work around my new research grant. I was doing everything
but
noticing that my period hadn't come.

I throw my phone back in my purse and sit on the side of the bed, dumbfounded. This can’t be. It’s not possible. I made a mistake is all, forgot to jot it down when my period came. I forgot to hit ‘enter’ when I put it in my schedule. Laney must have interrupted me when I was doing it. Damn Laney.

After several more minutes of blaming everyone including Owen’s neighbor Claire (don’t ask), I decide to run out and get some pregnancy tests. I can't be pregnant. I can't be. I’m on the pill!

Yes you can be,
my subconscious growls. We have sex every day. Often, multiple times a day. It's hugely possible that I actually am.
Oh my God.
What will Owen say? He'll think I did this on purpose. He'll think I'm trying to keep him in my life. It will make him think of Jay. I can't lose him. He'll bolt.

I think back to the last couple of weeks and try to think about any symptoms I may have had. I did have a few days where I was vomiting a lot, but I thought it was just the same stomach bug going around campus. And I have been really, really tired, but I just thought that was from the stress of my research project.

I quickly make a trip to CVS, pulling as many pregnancy tests of different types I can into my basket. Wow! These tests are
really
expensive.

I walk home, having spent a majority of that time drinking a large bottle of Gatorade in the hopes of having enough urine for all of the pregnancy sticks.

When I step into the bathroom, I start emptying the boxes on the counter. I quickly skim over the instructions and pee on four sticks. While I wait, I prop the sticks up along the sink, willing God to make me not pregnant.

My phone buzzes on the counter and I jump. It's Owen. I answer while I stare at the sticks.

"Hey, beautiful. Whatcha up to?" he says in his deep, sexy voice.

I focus on the sticks as they start to change color. "Oh nothing. Just rearranging things. How's work?"

"Work is work. But all I can think about is that time I fucked you in the bathroom here. Remember that? I really, really feel like being buried inside you right now." His voice is low, letting me know that he's feeling very horny.
Oh God.

I look at the sticks and see:

+ … + … pregnant …pregnant

I take in a sharp breath.

"Owen, you love me, right?" I ask fearfully.

"I just told you I want to fuck the shit out of you right now. That doesn't tell you that I love you?" he replies, his sense of humor gone.

"No, that tells me you want to fuck me. You love me no matter what, right? Forever and always? Like we say all the time?" I know I sound panic stricken, but I can't help myself. The evidence in front of me does not look good.

"Liv, what's going on? You okay?" he asks, sounding worried.

"I'm fine. I just... I just need to hear it sometimes," I say, hoping to just sound needy versus crazy.

"I love you no matter what, forever and always, Olivia Burke. Better?"

I can hear him smiling on the other end of the phone, and as terrified as I am of him finding out that I'm pregnant, I just want to be curled up in his arms right now.

"Much better. Thank you. I love you too. More than you will ever know," I answer wistfully.

"Olivia, you're freaking me out here. What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"No, no, no. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out. Sometimes, girls just need to hear love talk. That's all. Get back to work. I'll see you when you get home. I got us steaks for dinner." I try to sound excited about making his favorite meal.

After we end the call, I slump onto the floor of the bathroom. I'm pregnant. Probably about six weeks or more. I'm going to be a mother. And I hope I don't have to do it alone. I wrap the pregnancy tests in toilet paper and then the plastic bag I bought them in. After removing all evidence from the bathroom, I head out to the street and deposit the bag in the outside trash bin—all traces disposed of. I walk back into our apartment sick to my stomach, trying to figure out how I'll tell Owen that he's going to be a daddy.

Later that night, after having had a filling dinner and fielding a hundred questions from Owen about why I'm acting so strange, we are lying in bed watching TV. I'm curled into him, my head on his chest as he plays with my hair. This is my favorite place, just relaxing with him, but I can't settle my nerves. We're lying here like it's any other night of the week, and a little baby is growing inside me. I already feel attachment to this little life, and its father doesn't even know it exists. I feel terrible.

I must make a sound or tense up because Owen pulls back and looks down at me. "Liv, I know I've asked you this a million times tonight, but what's wrong? I know something is up. Why don't you just tell me? Whatever it is—"

I cut him off without looking up at him. "It's nothing, I swear. I'm just feeling off today. I'll be fine tomorrow. This helps." I squeeze him tighter, and he lays his head back down, stroking my back.

"Okay. If you're sure," he says, not sounding convinced at all.

The next week passes by and I still haven't found the right time to tell him. We have gone out twice with friends and I haven't had alcohol. Owen has shown suspicion at this, but I just wave it off as just not being in the mood. I find myself constantly needing reminders from him that he loves me, seeking reassurance. He repeatedly tells me that he loves me, tells me that he's glad I moved in. He asks a couple of times if something has come up from his past that is bothering me, since that's usually the trigger for me ever being upset with him. In fact, we don't fight—ever—unless it has to do with some other woman. I truly have moved on from that, understanding that everyone has a past and it doesn't have to impact our future.

But I also know that he has a fear of commitment, and a baby is a serious commitment. Despite all of this, I reassure him that I’m not concerned about an ex. Like every other excuse I’ve been using, he looks less than convinced. The guilt I feel from lying to him and not letting him in eats me alive every day.

One afternoon, I decide to swing by the firehouse on my way home. His shift is ending about when I usually get home from work, and we thought it would be nice to walk home together. When I arrive at the firehouse, I see Owen showing a little boy, maybe four or five years old, the truck. He is smiling and laughing and picking the boy up to show him inside the truck. His grin is infectious, and I stand in the open doorway just watching his interaction with the little boy.

Owen is a natural with children and my heart constricts. I wonder how he will be with our children, our child. I still haven't gone to the doctor to confirm the pregnancy, fearing the inevitable—that they will tell me what I already know. As if the positive pregnancy tests didn’t settle it, my body has found it necessary to give me every telltale sign of early pregnancy like constant trips to the bathroom and sudden-onset, coma like, fatigue that plagues me every day.

Owen turns and notices me in the doorway. With the little boy still in his strong arms, he points to me. "Hey, Lucas. Isn't that lady over there beautiful?"

Lucas smiles a sweet smile and blows me a kiss. I pretend to catch it and start to walk over to them.

"Lucas, this is my beautiful girlfriend Olivia. Can you say hi?"

He waves and says, “Hello.”

"Hello, Lucas," I say. "And how do you know my fireman here?"

"Lucas came over with his mom. She's friends with Tanner and Laney, and he wanted to see the trucks. She's inside with Tanner. Give me a minute to bring him back in to her and we can go, okay?" He leans forward, giving me a chaste kiss on the cheek, before turning to return Lucas to his mother.

Once Lucas has been returned and Owen has signed out to his colleagues, we walk home, his arm draping my shoulders, my arm around his waist. We stroll in comfortable silence, just enjoying the early evening.

"Owen, you seemed to really like Lucas," I say, hoping to spark a discussion about children.

He smiles broadly. "Yeah, he's a cool kid. I like showing kids the trucks. They love it."

"Have you ever thought about having kids? We've never really talked about that before," I ask cautiously.

Owen tenses. "Kids? Uh, yeah, I guess."

That didn't sound so good.

"You guess?" I ask, prodding.

"Well, yeah. I mean, I guess I've thought about it in the past, but nothing recently. I'm kind of just happy with finding a beautiful girl like you for right now, you know?"

I put my head down, feeling a little like I've been punched. It's not his fault. He doesn't even know why I'm asking. But I can't help but get the sense that he will be less than thrilled about the little addition to our family.

"What about you, Liv?"

"Uh, yeah, well, I kind of always wanted kids. But you're right. I haven't really thought about it lately."

He kisses me on the top of my head, seeming to be happy with my answer. "Hey, wanna get some dinner somewhere?"

I agree, and we continue on our way home, my head spinning and my heart hurting. I hate lying to him, but I have to figure this out, and until I do, I'm going to be a hurting unit. I decide in that moment that I'm going to make an appointment for next week to see the doctor, end of story. We'll take the rest from there.