Someone to Watch Over Me Page 24

  “How do you stop mid stream like that? Isn’t that bad?”

  “You would think so, but no. It’s actually a good thing. And stop shaking the wand like that. It’s not a thermometer.”

  “I don’t get it. Why is it a good thing?”

  “Kegels, the muscles that control urine flow, also affect orgasm.”

  Snorting, Tate smiled crookedly. “You have amazing Kegels.”

  “Thanks.” Squinting at the wand in my hand, my stomach quavered. Was there a line forming? I couldn’t quite tell. No, my mind was playing tricks on me. I was seeing things.

  “A pink line means negative, right, Coop?”

  “What?”

  Holding the wand up so I could see, Tate rationalized his question. “A pink line. I mean, it would be a plus sign if it was positive, right?”

  “Oh God!” I glanced back at my own wand, which was now forming a definitive pink line. “Oh God!”

  “Coop?”

  “This can’t be happening!”

  “Coop.”

  “A pink line is positive! I’m fucking pregnant!”

  Taking my face between his hands, Tate held my gaze, gathering my attention. “Cooper.”

  “I can’t do this again.”

  “You can.” As if everything was right in the world, he smiled. My fears seemed to fade away, or at least dwindle to a manageable degree. My momentary lapse of hysteria waned. This came as no surprise. We hadn’t used protection. Pregnancy was a strong possibility.

  “I’m in this with you, babe. We do it together.”

  Taking a deep breath, I shook my head. He was either amazing or insane. “You have no idea of what you’re getting yourself into.”

  “Piece of cake.”

  Before I could catch myself, I barked a laugh. “Based on what experience?”

  The look he gave me said, ‘duh.’ “Levy.”

  “Levy is two. You can hardly judge anything by spending a month with him. He’s completely different. You haven’t had to change a diaper or get puked on.”

  “Like I said; piece of cake.” Grinning, Tate pressed a kiss to my lips. “Come on. Let’s go tell everyone the good news.”

  “What? Are you insane? You can’t tell anyone yet!”

  “Why not?”

  “I need some time to let this sink in, Tate. Besides, you’re not supposed to tell anybody until after the twelfth week.” Hastily, I cleaned myself up and prepared to run from the topic of conversation. I could face it later. Much later. Like nine months later.

  “Why?”

  “I could miscarry before then.”

  “You won’t.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Levy is living proof. You’re strong. Everything’s going to be fine.” As I finished buttoning my jeans, Tate pulled me into his arms. “Do you love me, Coop?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do I make you happy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why are you so freaked out? Nothing’s going to change. You can still have a career. We’ll just have one more underfoot.”

  “It’s not that. I gave up my music career a long time ago.” Levy always came first. “I’m twenty-one, Tate, and pregnant with—”

  “Your husband’s child,” he reminded me. “We’re married, Cooper.”

  “We’ve known each other a month. Do you know what people are going to think? They’re going to think we had a shotgun wedding.”

  “Fuck them.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’ll have the tabloids dragging your name through the dirt because you have kids by two different men.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tate drawled. “Levy’s mine as much as you are. I love that kid.”

  The retort perched on the edge of my lip slipped away. Tate was amazing at disarming me. He always knew just what to say. He had a remarkable knack for leaving me speechless.

  “The next time the subject arises, you point at me,” he continued, “and you tell him yes, that’s your daddy, because I’m the only one he’ll ever know.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “No, I’m amazing. One day you’ll realize that.” Pressing his lips to mine, he took my mouth in a swift, but passionate kiss. His subsequent smile made my breath catch. “I feel like a man, Coop, like a fucking god. I’ve just created life. There’s a part of me growing in you. Let me celebrate this. Please.”

  My God. How could I deny him? “Ok.”

  “Ok?”

  “Go ahea—” Gasping as Tate swept me off my feet, I clung to his arms. “What’re you doing? Put me down!”

  “You said I could tell.”

  “You can. I’ll just wait here. Now put me down.”

  “Come on, Coop. I told you, we’re doing this together.” Tilting forward, he edged me closer to the door. “Get that for me, will you?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll kick it open.”

  “No you wo—” He would, and did. The door flew open and rebounded. Tate stuck his foot out to catch it. “Insane! You’re completely insane!”

  “Coop and I are having a baby!” he crowed. Stepping through the door, he smacked my head on the jamb. Fortunate for him, he looked properly shocked over his blunder. “Damn, sorry, babe.”

  I just rolled my eyes and rubbed my head. “Lunatic.”

  “We’re pregnant! Well, Coop’s pregnant. But I’m the daddy.”

  “Well you didn’t waste any time,” Jake observed. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

  Tate dropped me back to my feet and returned Jake’s shoulder hug and fist bump. By the bar, I heard a sharp pop and something struck me square on the forehead. A cork, I presumed. My hand flew to my face, rubbing the place of impact. That was going to leave a mark.

  “Sorry Coop!” Shane said contritely. Bubbly rolled down over his fingers and onto the carpet. Not one to waste alcohol, he put the rim to his mouth and drank from the bottle.

  “Jesus Christ, Coop!” Tate exclaimed. Taking my face between his hands, he zeroed in on the bright red welt on my forehead. “You alright?”

  “Wonderful.”

  “That was priceless,” Carter said, snapping a picture.

  “Don’t you dare post that!” I warned. “This doesn’t leave this bus!”

  “God, Coop, take a joke. That was seriously hilarious.”

  “I’m not talking about the stupid cork,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “I’m talking about being pregnant, you moron! You can’t tell anyone yet.”

  “Too late.”

  “Carter!” For the second time in my life, I actually stomped my foot. “How could you!”

  “What?” Carter exclaimed. “What’s the big deal?”

  “This is not the way I want my parents to find out!”

  “How was I supposed to know it was a big secret?”

  “You. Ask. First.” Walking up to Carter, I held out my hand. “Just like this: May I please see your phone, Carter?”

  Warily, Carter covered his testicles and handed me his phone. As tempting as it was, I had no intention to knee him in the groin.

  “See how easy that was?” Swiping the screen, I opened to his last post. He hadn’t posted just a picture. No, he’d recorded the whole event, from Tate conking my head on the doorjamb, to Shane pegging me with the champagne cork. Just above the video, I read the title to his post.

  “Looks like the wedding night was productive.”

  I seriously hated Carter Strickland and his stupid phone.

  Ambling to the window, I cranked it open and drew a long breath of air. Then threw Carter’s phone out the window. The small thump thump as the tire ran it over was gratifying.

  “My phone!” Carter bellowed, jumping off the sofa. “You crazy bitch! What the hell did you do that for?”

  “Because,” I hissed, “it takes a lot for me to hate a person, Carter, but you make it really damn easy!” In a gross display of vulnerability,
I burst into tears and rushed to my room.

  Ok, so I’d cracked. It wasn’t as if I didn’t have the justification. In the past month, my life had been turned completely upside down. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, it did. Really. How much was a person supposed to endure before they crumbled?

  I was pregnant. Contrary to Tate’s naïve perceptions, raising a child wasn’t all coddling and cooing. It was hard, messy and usually exhausting work. It didn’t end at five o’clock.

  It never ended.

  If they grew hungry, they looked to mom.

  If their diaper was wet, they looked to mom.

  If they grew ill, they vomited on mom.

  I’m not saying it was all bad. I loved Levy with all my heart. He was a sweet, beautiful affectionate little boy. I wouldn’t trade him for the world. I know, because I’d made that choice.

  Did I regret that choice? No. Never.

  Did I lament over the independence I once had? All the time.

  And it left me drowning in guilt every time, like somehow I was laying blame on Levy for my troubles. I hated that feeling. It made me sick to my stomach. I wanted to hold him close to my heart and bathe him in my love until all of those feelings faded away.

  “Momma?” Levy’s tiny voice whispered through the thin door, as if he heard my thoughts. He accompanied this with a light rap of his knuckles against the wood.

  “Tell her that you want to come in,” Tate instructed in a whisper.

  “Momma? I come in?”

  “Say please,” Tate added.

  “Pwease.”

  Sliding off the bed, I opened the door. I hadn’t locked it, but I supposed Tate was being considerate of my mood.

  Freshly woken, Levy rubbed his eyes. Without hesitation, he ditched Tate and reached for me. “I waked up.”

  “I see that. You also need your diaper changed.” It was saturated. Heavy. It couldn’t have been comfortable. Still, changing it was a chore that Levy and I both detested.

  “No, I don’t want it.”

  “We’ll sing. Do you want to sing?”

  “No.”

  “Ok,” I said, laying him on the bed. Before he could roll away, I tugged his shorts off. “Then how bout we count numbers….”

  “No.” Making his temper known, he smacked my face as I bent to pull his diaper out from under him, and then continued with a full-blown tantrum. Kicking. Screaming. Crying. He was tired and irritable and it was unlike him to act up to that degree, so it caught me off guard.

  “Hey!” Tate shouted, starling the both of us. Levy’s fight bled right out of him. Tate actually looked surprised himself. He looked to me for a rebuttal over his intervention, or perhaps a little direction. I shrugged. Have at it. If he was determined to play a role, so be it. I was curious to see how he would fare. Steeling himself, Tate turned his attention back to Levy.

  “You want your bottom spanked?” Levy’s answer was a snivel and a pout. His neck sank into his shoulders as if he were trying to pull his head into his shell. “Then no hitting. Next time I see you hit your momma, that’s what I’m gonna do. You feel me?”

  Admonition dealt, I finished changing Levy’s diaper. Joy of joys. Some days, I thought it as the only reason for my existence. At least he yielded this time and lay still for me.

  Lifting him off the mattress, I hugged him tight, felt his breathing quiet. It was like saying, “Yes, you were bad, but I still love you.” Unlike Marshall, I didn’t think the silent treatment would be appropriate in this situation. Levy was only two. Likely, Tate’s intervention was enough to stick with him for a while. Heading for the door, I pressed a kiss to his head.

  “Are you hungry? Want some cereal?”

  “I can get it for him,” Tate offered, taking Levy from me. Levy sculpted to his side, resting his head on Tate’s shoulder, heavy-eyed and understandably compliant. “What do you say, Mini Cooper—Cocoa Puffs or Cheerios?”

  “Fwoot woops.”

  “No Cocoa Puffs? Everybody’s cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.”

  “Fwoot woops.”

  “I hate to break it to you, kid, but there’s no fruit in them, and they’re all the same flavor. Red, yellow, green, it doesn’t make a difference. That’s why they’re spelled with too Os. There’s no real fruit involved.”

  While Tate went to make Levy his breakfast, I pulled my laptop from my bag and plopped down on the bed to check my emails. It would keep me from having to face Carter for a little while. I was having serious second thoughts about having joined Tate on the road.

  Yet, I didn’t want to go home, either.

  At this point, I didn’t know what to say to anyone. Even after sleeping the night on it, I had no answers. I’m sure Marshall had told them that I knew about their duplicity, but I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to react. Did I have a right to be mad? Was I supposed to be grateful? Or was I better off acting like Marshall hadn’t told me a thing?

  “That’s some serious thinking going on,” Tate observed, sprawling out on the bed next to me. “Am I part of it?”

  Reluctant to answer that, I turned my attention back to the screen, hoping to distract myself from my problems. I didn’t want to argue or whine and make myself more of a nuisance than I already was. I promised myself I wouldn’t come between him and his band.

  “Cooper,” Tate pressed, taking the laptop from me. “Talk to me.”

  “It’s fine, Tate. I’m fine.” As I reached for my laptop, Tate raised his hand, blocking me. My hand went up; his hand went up. Mine went down; his went down. “Come on. I have work to do.” A lie on my part. I’d stayed up late and answered emails while Tate was on stage. With the time difference, I was able to communicate with my vendors real time.

  “Just a minute. I’m trying to do something.” A few clicks and he opened Hautboy’s fan page. Another click and Carter’s post disappeared. “There. Deleted. Ok?”

  Wonderful. Except for the handful of views.

  Tate passed my laptop back to me. I opened the screen and returned to my pretenses. For a measure of time, we sat in silence, with only the sound of my fingers tapping the keyboard and the hum of the radials against the blacktop. I answered a few stray emails and checked my calendar. When I could procrastinate no longer, I clicked the screen closed.

  “I’m sorry I freaked out. I lost it.”

  “Do you want to abort this pregnancy?”

  “What?” I gaped. He couldn’t be serious. My hand went immediately to my abdomen, though what I housed was only a zygote that looked something like a lychee fruit about now.

  “It’s not something I want, but it’s your body. You have a choice.”

  “No. No, I don’t.”

  Every muscle in Tate’s body loosened. His eyes fell closed. Lifting his hands, his scrubbed his face from his eyes to his shadowed jaw. “Oh God, thank you. Christ All Mighty, I can breathe again.”

  Since I didn’t want his mind wandering to dark and hopeless again, I decided I’d better talk. Setting my laptop down, I threw my leg over his hip and straddled his waist. “I couldn’t abort the child of someone I hate, Tate. How could I abort the child of someone I love?”

  “You’re not taking it very well.”

  “It’s not just the pregnancy, Tate. Do I need to remind you that my ex is trying to kill me. My car was just totaled. I was fired from my job. Your friends don’t like me. I just found out the few people I trusted took me on as a pity case. And perhaps, just perhaps, I’m waiting for you to figure out I’m more trouble than I’m worth?”

  “I love you. That negates everything else.”

  “Do you see what I mean?” I raised my hands in exasperation. He still didn’t get it. Confusion clouded his eyes. I was going to have to spell it out for him.

  “No.”

  “You’re too good to be true. It’s as if God’s playing a cruel trick on me. I’m just waiting for the punch line.”

  “I’m a person, Coop. Just like you.”

  “Y
ou’re not just any person.” Demurely, my gaze dropped, where I traced small circles across his chest with the tip of my finger. “To me, you’re amazing.”

  Tate awarded me with a winning smile and guided my head down until our lips met. The kiss was sweet-tempered, tender. “I love you, Cooper.”

  “I love you too.”

  Rolling so that I was beneath him, Tate worked his hand beneath the hem of my boxers. He cupped my ass and lifted so that I could feel his erection as he rolled his hips. A soft moan rumbled in the back of my throat. I pivoted my hips, responding to his appeal. Hastily, we shed our clothes, aware that we had only a short time before Levy finished his breakfast.

  Just before Tate entered me, he hesitated, the satiny head of his cock poised between my slick folds. “I’m not going to get anymore pregnant than I already am, Tate.” He nodded, smiling sheepishly. Thrusting in, his grin faded, his expression growing solemn, dreamy.

  “Holy fuckin’ shit.”

  Yeah, that’s what I said. It came out something like ‘Mmph.”

  Pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, his hips began to piston, those eight packs of his rippling beneath his flesh. “Reach on down there between those legs, strawberry girl. Stroke yourself for me. Quickly. Now. I’m not sure how long…oh fuck…you’re so damn warm…and wet. I can feel everything without those damn gloves on. Every. Fucking. Thing.”

  Lifting my fingers, I pushed them into Tate’s mouth. He swept his tongue over them, wetting them. A moan rolled up my throat over the sensation. Warm. Wet. Indeed. Quickly, I pulled them from between his lips and slipped between my thighs, using the moisture from his mouth to slip easily back and forth.

  Tate’s gaze dropped to my hand. He swore again and pinched his eyes shut. His hips stilled, though he was buried deep inside me. Watching his lips move with whatever distraction he began mentally reciting, I pressed on, my fingers slipping back and forth, up and down, in feverish little circles. I felt wicked and wanton.

  Before long, my thighs gripped his waist, pulling him toward me, deeper, demanding. On cue, Tate withdrew and thrust forward, bringing me to peak. Again, he stilled, reveling in the spasms, the sensation unhampered by the usual contraceptives. When they finally died down, his hips began to piston again until the breath exploded from his lungs and he pinned his hips to me with one deep thrust. A small moan escaped him with every frenetic pulse.