The jake ryan complex, p.18
The Jake Ryan Complex, page 18
Go to the nearest hospital immediately!
No. I have to see YOU!
Which hospital are you closest to? I will meet you there.
The little dancing bubbles appear on the screen, indicating a response is coming, but after a moment, they disappear . . . without a message.
Caroline, where are you? Do I need to call for an ambulance?
My fingers grip the phone tight as I stare expectantly at the screen. Still no response.
Dammit.
Something’s very wrong.
I’m just about to press the “Contacts” button to dial her number when the thinking bubbles reappear and her response finally pops up.
Russet Ridge Urgent Care. I’m almost there.
Russet Ridge. That’s just a few miles from here.
Okay. I’ll meet you there soon.
I’ll call ahead and let them know you’re coming.
“Sorry, guys, but it looks like we’re going to have to change the reservation to four. One of my patients is having an emergency.”
“What?” Mom shrieks.
At the same time Hope says, “Oh no. What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure,” I go on while googling the phone number for Russet Ridge. “But I need to leave as soon as we get home.”
“Well, this is just perfect,” Mom grumbles. “They’ll probably put my picture on the wall like a mug shot and never allow me to make another reservation.”
I shake my head in frustration. Trust me, old woman, if any of us is going to earn a mug shot today, it’ll be me . . . for killing you!
My tires squeal as I tear into the urgent care parking lot. Caroline told me she lives near my clinic—in Metro Chicago, so she must have been out here in Naperville shopping or visiting a friend or—oh god. My heart suddenly sinks to the floorboards. She was probably with J.T. Shit. That means he might be here too. Double shit.
Dread weighs down my steps as I climb out of the Jeep and hustle toward the building. I’m a professional. I can put personal feelings aside and do my job. I can do my job—
Caroline suddenly steps out from behind some shrubs that line the front walkway.
I come to a screeching halt.
“Hey, Mac.”
“Hi.” I quickly size her up while I catch my breath. She doesn’t appear to be in any pain or discomfort. “Are you okay? What’s going on? I got here as fast as I could.”
“Uh . . .” She smiles sheepishly. “Nothing’s actually wrong.”
“What do you mean? Your text said there was an emergency.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that.”
My shoulders sag, and my bag slides down my arm and into the bend of my elbow. “So, you’re okay?”
She nods.
“And the baby’s okay?”
“Yup.” She pats her stomach. “Kicking the balls out of me like always.”
I shift my stance to one side. “So you’re both fine?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then why did you tell me you had an emergency? I dropped everything I was doing and came racing over here. I canceled my family plans to meet you.” Truth be told, I was grateful for the disruption, but fabricating an emergency to your doctor is never okay. “I’ve been worried sick that something happened to you or the baby . . .”
Her smile slopes down into a frown. “I’m sorry, but I had to talk to you, and I figured that was the best way to get your attention.”
I blink hard. Get my attention . . .
“You don’t ever send your doctor a fake emergency message,” I snap. “That’s not something you joke around about.”
“I’m not joking. I had to talk to you in person.”
“What could you possibly have to say to me in person that warrants a fake emergency?”
The moment the question crosses my lips, I already know the answer. And she knows I do. She folds her arms over her big belly and levels me with a knowing glance.
Oh god.
No.
No way.
I’m not doing this here. Not right now.
I quickly turn and head back toward the parking lot.
“Mac, wait! We have to talk about this.”
I wave my hand dismissively. “Nope. I’m not doing this right now—”
“Yes, you are!”
“No, I’m not!”
“Mac—” I hear her footsteps quicken behind me, so I pick up my pace. The doctor is now running away from her patient.
Physician of the freaking year, that’s me!
“Mac, you don’t know what’s really going on!”
“Oh yes I do!” I call back through my clenched jaw. “J.T.’s your ex. He bailed when he found out you were pregnant, and now he wants to be back in the picture so you can be a happy little family. I get it just fine!”
“He’s not my ex!” she cries out, right as I step off the curb and into the parking lot. “He was just a one-night stand!”
A one-night stand.
The words sucker punch me straight in the gut.
I stop dead in my tracks.
The one-night stand.
Holy shit.
I’d completely forgotten about it.
He was mortified by the experience, but I thought it was funny—at least, his reaction to it was—
My stomach suddenly wrenches as conflicting emotions start to burble up inside me: this is good news; he didn’t lie about being in a relationship, but . . . oh god.
His one-night stand was Caroline!
“He said he told you about it.”
I drop my head and nod. Yes, he did tell me about it.
“It was one stupid night,” she goes on, her words winded from her efforts to catch me. “I went to a bar with some girls after work, and one of them knew one of his friends, and we all just started hanging out. He was celebrating . . . something, I don’t know, and we all got pretty shit-faced, and somehow we ended up at my place—”
I raise my hand again, this time a silent request for her to please stop explaining. Thankfully, she listens and instead says, “He didn’t even know about the baby until two days ago.”
What little anger I’m still harboring for him instantly disappears beneath her unexpected confession. I turn over my shoulder, jaw hanging in disbelief.
“He didn’t?”
She shakes her head. “I called him the day before the appointment. We hadn’t seen or spoken to each other since that one night.”
“Oh my god.” I drag a shaky hand through my hair as a sea of regret swells hard and heavy in my chest. That’s why he was acting so different—so distant—the other night. He’d just found out he was going to be a father . . . and the baby’s mother was someone he didn’t even know.
“I had no idea you two were together,” she goes on. “I never would have let him come to the appointment if I had. But once he found out about the baby, he said he wanted to be involved however he could. He says he wants to do the right thing by me . . .”
I nod absently. Of course he wants to do the right thing, because J.T.’s a good guy . . . No, J.T.’s a great guy, and I wouldn’t even let him explain what was going on.
I swallow hard. “Did he ask you to come and talk to me?”
She snorts. “Ohmygod, no. He’d kill me if he knew I was here. He specifically told me not to talk to you. He said that you were going to talk to him when you were ready, and he was going to respect that and wait for you and that I needed to stay out of it.”
“So why are you telling me then?”
“Chicks before dicks, baby. There was no way I was going to let you suffer, thinking that your guy was some kind of asshole who just runs around knocking people up. As soon as he told me you wanted your space, I knew I had to track you down. I stopped by your house first—”
“You went to my house?” The terror in my voice has nothing to do with the fact that she somehow managed to find out where I live—which is beyond concerning and will need to be addressed at some point—but that she went to my house, where my mom is! She could have blown up my entire world in a matter of seconds.
“Yeah, but you weren’t there,” she continues, oblivious to my state of mind. “So that’s when I decided to call you. You’re not pissed, are you?”
I shake my head, more relieved than she could ever imagine. “No. I’m not pissed. I’m glad you told me. I’m just . . .” I sigh, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of information that’s come to light in the last few minutes. “It’s just a lot to take in.”
“I know, and I’m really sorry. I’d never hurt you on purpose.”
“I know.”
“He’s a good guy, Mac. And he’s crazy about you.”
I drop my head and smile. I know that too.
“And I’m pretty sure he’s going to be a kick-ass dad.”
I glance down at her stomach, and even though I’m not completely okay with all this yet, I can still answer her with a sincere, “I think so too,” because I do think J.T. will be a kick-ass dad . . . because J.T.’s amazing. This baby will be lucky to have him. A thought suddenly comes to mind. “Can I ask you something?”
She nods.
“It’s kind of personal, so if you feel at all uncomfortable, you don’t have to answer.”
“Oh my god, girl.” She rolls her eyes. “You’ve been further up into my cooter than half the guys I’ve had sex with—and that includes your boyfriend.” She snorts, unconcerned that it’s way too soon for jokes like that. “There’s nothing too personal between us. What do you want to know?”
“Why did you tell me that you were in a relationship with the baby’s dad? Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”
Her smile quickly fades, and her gaze drifts down to the ground.
Uh-oh.
Too personal.
“It’s okay.” I reach for her arm. “You don’t have to answer.”
“No, it’s cool.” She slowly raises her head. “I was embarrassed. Nobody wants to advertise that they got pregnant from a one-nighter, you know? I guess . . . I don’t know.” She shakes her head while fighting a laugh I’m not sure she’s feeling. “I guess it seemed like making up a relationship that ended badly was easier than admitting the truth. Does that even make sense?”
The irony in her reasoning isn’t lost on me. I nod. “More than you know . . .”
Chapter 14
Sunday, 2:28 p.m.
Eleven days until the stupid wedding
Two minutes until J.T. is scheduled to arrive
I’m ready to talk. Come by at 2:30 tomorrow.
I’ll be there.
On the surface, the message I sent him last night appears simple, as does his response, but the truth is it’s layered with more depth than any cell phone screen has ever displayed.
To me, those two little sentences represent my sincere regret for reacting the way I did (my lack of trust in his feelings causing me the most anguish), my willingness to accept this new situation (no matter how foulmouthed and challenging it may be), and most importantly my heartfelt desire to be a part of his life. Because what’s become clear to me over the last forty-eight hours is that—baby or not—my world works better when J.T. is in it.
I smack the phone down on the counter and start pacing the kitchen. This has become my routine since the Nazi and the rest of the wedding party left an hour ago: stare at the phone, get excited, then get nervous, then get excited again, then pace the room to keep my sanity. Rerun’s so familiar with the cycle he doesn’t even lift his head anymore, though his furry eyebrows still scrunch up like caterpillars every time I take another lap.
“What if he doesn’t feel the same way about me?” I ask him, again, as I circle the island. “What if over the weekend he realized that having a baby—and a Caroline—in his life was going to be too much for him? What if he thinks he won’t have time for me? It’s possible, you know.” I level him with a serious look. Still nothing more than the waggling eyebrows. “Relationships take a lot of time and a lot of work. It’s not just eating takeout and having great sex. It’s about actually doing life together. Even the hard stuff. Like emergency trips to the vet and crazy parents and . . . babies . . .” I rake my fingers through my hair. “I want to do all that stuff with him, bud. I really, really do. But what if he doesn’t want to do it with me—”
Woof !
Rerun cuts off my neurotic rant with a thunderous bark and, as quickly as his old joints allow, hoists himself to his feet. He makes his way over to the back door and presses his snout up against the jamb, his entire body wiggling in anticipation.
My heart starts to hammer against my ribs. “I know, bud. I’m ready to see him too.”
Rerun barks again—three woofs in quick succession, and then through the kitchen window I see J.T. arrive at the side gate. He unlatches the lock with familiarity and starts to make his way across the backyard but slows when he sees me watching him. Our gazes lock, and my breath catches. I’ve missed you so much.
He offers a tentative wave that makes my heart twist with deeper regret for how we ended up here. Nothing between the two of us should ever be tentative . . . I hold my position at the island and nod him inside with a nervous smile.
It’s no surprise that Rerun lumbers right into him. J.T. gives him a generous pat and says, “Hey, buddy . . . ,” but keeps his eyes trained on me.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi.”
“How are you?”
“I’ve been better. How about you?”
“Same.”
He nods slowly, his attention shifting away from me.
I clear my throat of the emotions starting to swell there and say, “Do . . . you want some coffee?”
“Sure. Yeah.”
Looking painfully uncomfortable, he shuts the door and makes his way into the house, Rerun waggling happily at his side.
I fill up two mugs—creamer in mine, nothing in his—and return to the island, where he’s now standing. Logistically speaking, it’s a déjà vu of the first time we shared coffee in this kitchen, but the circumstances that led us to this moment couldn’t be more different.
“This is good,” he offers after taking a drink.
His gaze is steadily shifting between me and the mug.
“My mom brought it.”
“How’d the visit go?”
“Okay.”
I take a drink. My gaze is as unpredictable as his.
“Did you get the dresses squared away?”
“Yep. They’re appropriately ugly.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. God, I love that mouth.
“So, she went with the pink?”
“Flamingo pink,” I clarify. “Do not be confused.”
He offers the faintest grin. “Flamingo pink. Noted.”
I raise the mug to my lips and take another drink.
I hate this small talk.
J.T. and I don’t do small talk . . .
Silence fills the room.
I take another drink.
He takes another drink.
“So . . . the weather guy said it might rain later this week—”
“I can’t do this anymore.” I cut him off, incapable of one more second of this awkwardness.
“What? No.” He slams his mug down, sending coffee sloshing over the edge. “Mac, please—”
“No, not that—not us. I mean I can’t take any more of this stupid small talk when all I want to do is tell you how sorry I am for the way I acted on Friday. I should have let you explain everything, but I was just so shocked I couldn’t think straight—”
“No, you don’t have anything to be sorry for.” He quickly rounds the island and grabs my hands. They feel warmer and stronger than the last time we touched. “It’s my fault—”
“No, it’s not. You didn’t even know about the baby until the night before the appointment. You were still trying to process everything . . .”
Lines of confusion splinter across his forehead.
“I talked to Caroline. Or . . . she talked to me.”
“Oh god.” Looking a bit sick, he scrubs a heavy palm across his chin. “I asked her not to talk to you. I told her that I wanted to be the one to tell you what happened. I didn’t want you to have to hear it from her.”
“I know. And I am grateful you wanted to be the one to tell me, but she was just looking out for me. She wasn’t trying to make you look bad or beat you to the punch or anything. She just wanted me to know the truth, because she knows how important you are to me. She didn’t want me thinking I was falling in love with an asshole.”
My confession surprises me almost as much as it does him.
I let out a little gasp as his eyes grow impossibly wide.
“You . . . you’re . . . what?”
I never would have imagined I’d be professing my love in the middle of a conversation that was birthed from my boyfriend’s baby-producing one-night stand, but here we are. It’s happening right now, in my kitchen, with an old dog as our audience.
John Hughes couldn’t have scripted it better himself.
I shrug over a sheepish grin and say, “I am. I’m falling in love with you.”
“I . . . uh . . .”
Oh crap.
I knew it . . . It’s too much for him!
I drop my head. “You don’t have to say anything—”
“I’m falling in love with you too.”
My breath shallows beneath a sudden flutter of hopefulness. “You are?”
He steals my hands back and drops his head so our eyes meet. “Yes. God, yes. Since the day I saw you screaming for the Cubs, which is why I didn’t know how to tell you about the baby. When she called me that afternoon, it was like she ripped the rug out from under me. I was completely blindsided. All I could think about was you and how this was going to affect what we have. Because this thing we’re doing”—he tightens his grip on me—“this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I don’t want to lose you.”
My heart twists at the familiarity of his words, nearly identical to the thoughts that have prevented me from telling him the truth about Michael. A truth I’ll tell him once things settle down a bit—we’ve both suffered way too much emotional drama for one weekend. Right now, I just want to enjoy this moment together . . . “You’re not going to lose me.” I press our mingled hands against my chest and squeeze them tight, a reassurance that I’m speaking the truth. “I’m not going anywhere.”
