Wethering the Storm

Chapter NINE

Tea or coffee?” I yell to Jake as he showers.
“Coffee,” he calls back.
I climb out of bed, giving morning LA a quick glance through the windows. Another beautiful day. Along with the shopping, I’ve discovered an additional perk to living in LA—the sun is pretty much always shining, even in November.
I head into the kitchen, scoop some coffee into the coffeemaker, fill it with water, and turn it on.
I grab a chocolate biscuit out of the jar and lean against the counter, nibbling it while I wait for the coffee.
I see the pile of pizza boxes on the counter near the sink that I had asked Jake to take out to the bin after the guys left last night. He’s such a lazy bum.
We had Tom, Denny, and Stuart over for dinner. Well, saying we had dinner may be glamming it up a bit.
We ordered pizza and ate in the living room while the guys watched football. As expected, I was ignored for the TV, and I ended up bringing my laptop through and sitting at the table, Skyping with Simone, until Denny butted in.
He’s flying to London to see her. I wish I were going. I’ve been thinking of asking Jake when he can next take some time off work so I can visit my folks and London and see Vicky and Simone. I know things are busy for him at the moment. He’s spending a lot of time in the studio recording new stuff, which is great.
This is their first time recording an album without Jonny.
Jake seems to be doing okay with it. If he’s not, then he’s hiding it really well.
I pick up the boxes and take them through the utility and out the side door.
The warm California air embraces me.
I might bring my laptop outside and work on the patio today. My column is due in three days, and I haven’t come up with anything yet. Last-minute, that’s me.
I finish breaking the boxes down and push them in the bin, then head back inside.
The coffee is just finishing when I get back. I get two cups out of the cupboard and reach for the milk in the fridge.
Realising I haven’t bought any recently, I check the date on it: 3 November.
I check the calendar pinned to the wall: 2 November. Still good for today.
I unscrew the cap and I’m just about to pour the milk, when it dawns on me.
Setting the milk down, I step back and look at the calendar again.
Today is the second. Next to the second, marked on the third, is “start pill.” That’s my reminder to start my contraceptive pill after my break.
The break in which I have my period.
The period that hasn’t started.
I step back from the calendar.
F*ck.
My chest starts to tighten. My head starts to buzz.
No, it’ll be fine. I’ve just been under a lot of pressure lately, feeling stressed with one thing and another. That’s what it is. That’s why I haven’t started.
Going back to the counter, I attempt to pour milk into one of the cups, but my hand is shaking so badly I have to put it back down.
The tremors are running all the way down my body. My heart is beating so wildly, I can hear the pulse beating in my ears.
I rest my hands on the counter and close my eyes, taking a deep breath.
I’ve never been late before. Never. The pill keeps me regular as clockwork.
I can’t be pregnant.
I can’t.
Jake doesn’t want kids.
As if hearing my silent call, he walks into the kitchen.
“Can I take that coffee to go, baby? Zane just called; he needs my help with something at the label.”
“Sure.” Forcing my body to work, I reach up for a thermo cup and fill it with coffee and milk, desperately trying to keep the tremor in my hand from showing.
Turning, I see Jake, perched on a stool, reading something on his phone.
I watch him for long moment.
I can’t be pregnant. This can’t be happening. Things are going so well between us. If I’m pregnant, it will break us.
You can’t have a baby when only one of you wants it.
He glances up at me, catching me staring. A sexy smile spreads on his face. “You enjoying the view?”
Forcing a smile, I walk toward him. “As always.” I put the cup down before him on the counter.
He catches hold of my retreating hand and pulls me into his embrace.
Nuzzling my neck, he says, “I love the smell of me on you.”
We had sex first thing this morning. We always have sex. And I’m pregnant. Maybe. Possibly.
F*ck.
“I need a shower.”
“Thanks.” He chuckles.
“No, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know what you meant,” he says, lifting his head to stare into my eyes.
I suddenly feel exposed. What if he can see it in my eyes. Closing them, I lean in and kiss his lips.
I’m going to lose him when he finds out.
Don’t panic until you know for certain.
Jake’s hands start wandering, and I can feel his kiss deepening, his erection growing through his jeans.
Catching his hand on my ass, breaking the kiss, I say, “I thought you needed to get to the label.”
“I need you more,” he growls, lips attacking my neck, hand going straight to my breasts.
I can’t have sex right now. Anything but sex.
“You had me half an hour ago, and isn’t Zane waiting for you?”
He pauses and looks me in the eyes.
I never dissuade Jake from sex. Never. He’ll know there’s something wrong with me. But right now I can’t find the will to care about that.
“Am I wearing you out?” he asks, softly, stroking his fingers along my jaw.
“No, I’m fine.” I smile. “I like you wearing me out. I’m just trying to be the level-headed one out of the two of us, and you’ve got to get to work.”
I move away from him under the pretence of getting my coffee. The truth is I can’t even stomach the thought of drinking it. My stomach is roiling with fear.
I hold the cup in my hands, resting it against my chest.
Jake gets to his feet, picking up his to-go cup. “Don’t forget, we’ve got dinner with Smith and Carly tonight.”
Crap. That’s the last thing I want to do tonight. Not with what I have on my mind.
“Sure.” I smile. “Looking forward to it.”
“I think you’ll get on well with Carly. Be good for you to make some girlfriends here, right?”
“Right,” I say, smiling again.
These smiles feel so insincere, I’m pretty sure my face is going to crack under the strain of them.
“I’ve been talking to Tom and Denny these last few days,” Jake says, coming around the counter, “about asking Smith to become a permanent member of TMS.”
“Really?” I say, totally taken by surprise. I never thought Jake would consider it. I’m so happy he has.
“He won’t replace Jonny, of course. But Tom and Den are on board with it. He’s a great guy who fits in well with us, and I hate to lose him to another band.”
“Is someone trying to poach him?”
“Not that I know of, but he’s making a name for himself in the music world now, so it’s only a matter of time. What do you think?”
He wants my opinion. I love that.
Walking to him, putting my arms around his waist, I say, “I think it’s a brilliant idea. Smith will be over the moon when you ask him.”
Brushing my hair back, he tucks it behind my ear. “You don’t think I’m being disloyal to Jonny?”
I see the downturn of his lips, and it makes my chest hurt.
I shake my head. “No, I don’t. I don’t think Jonny would either. You’re doing what’s best for the band. TMS meant everything to Jonny. He would want you guys to carry on, and do what you felt was right.”
He closes his eyes briefly and presses a kiss to my forehead. “I guess I’ll speak to him today,” he says against my skin.
“So we’ll be celebrating tonight?”
“If he says yes.”
“He’ll say yes.”
Putting his fingers under my chin, tilting my head back, he presses a firm kiss to my lips.
“I’ll be home at seven, so make sure you are well on your way to being ready. I know how long it takes you to get dressed for a night out.”
I muster up the energy to give him a look.
He laughs. Making for the door, he looks over his shoulder at me. “Later. Love you, beautiful.”
“Love you too.”
The instant he’s gone, I sag back against the counter, gripping it for support.
What am I going to do if I’m pregnant? A termination isn’t even an option for me. But Jake won’t want the baby. He’ll say he does for me. Or maybe he won’t. Maybe when reality hits, he’ll realise just how much he doesn’t want a baby and he’ll leave me.
Oh God.
I need to know if I am pregnant. Today. Now. I can’t keep running the maybes around in my head.
I’m so overtaken with nervous energy and the need to know, I don’t even bother to shower. I pull on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
I grab my sunglasses and one of Jake’s baseball caps and put them on. I look a complete twat, but I don’t want to get recognised buying a pregnancy test, so the twat look it is. Unfortunately, being Jake’s wife-to-be gets me recognised a lot lately.
I grab my phone and handbag, the keys for Jake’s other car, the Vanquish, and I head for the garage.
When I reach the gates, Henry, our on-site security, stops me to ask if I need accompaniment on my outing.
“I’m just going for a drive. I’ve got writer’s block,” I say. “Thought the drive would help clear my head.”
No way in the world do I want security coming with me on this journey.
“Sounds like a good idea,” he says with a smile.
“I’ve got my phone with me in case anyone needs me.”
“Okay. Enjoy your drive, Ms. Bennett.” Henry opens the gates, allowing me out.
I’ve told him a million times to call me Tru. He still calls me Ms. Bennett every time.
I turn out onto the street and start driving toward the exit of the gated community.
I need to find a chemist (or drugstore, as they’re called over here), but one that’s not local. Too many people know we live around here.
I start fiddling with the built-in satellite navigation, but unfortunately it doesn’t offer the feature “here’s your local chemist to buy pregnancy tests at.” I decide to drive until I spot one.
I end up driving for forty-five minutes before I find a chemist that’s a decent distance from home.
I’m in and out in a flash, thankfully unnoticed, thirty dollars lighter and three pregnancy tests heavier. One to find out. One to make sure. Another to make doubly sure.
I drop the bag on the passenger seat, fire up the car, and tap the address in for home.
For the whole drive, every time I catch a glimpse of the bag sitting on the seat beside me, it makes me want to throw up.
Once I’m back in the safety of the house, I head straight for our en suite, clutching the bag to my chest like it’s a bomb about to go off.
That’s probably quite an apt description, because if I am pregnant, I foresee explosions of the gigantic kind.
Locking the bathroom door behind me, I drop the toilet lid and sit down.
I pull a test from the bag.
Swallowing back a huge lump of fear, I stare down at it.
My future with Jake depends on what this will tell me.
Oh God.
Fear seeps into my bones like poison.
Deep breaths. It’s going to be okay.
With shaky fingers, I open the box. Briefing over the instructions, I tear the protective seal on the test and, thanking God that I need to pee right now, I do as it says and pee on the stick.
I put the cap back on the test and place it on the top of the toilet.
I wash my hands, then come back and kneel on the floor just in front of the toilet.
I pick up the instructions to read again.
Okay, so this is simple. Three minutes I have to wait and if I’m pregnant it will read: “Pregnant.”
If I’m not: “Not Pregnant.”
Easy, right?
Well, no, not if I’m pregnant. It’ll be so far from easy, there won’t be a word that exists to cover it.
How can my whole future ride on what the outcome of a tiny piece of plastic tells me?
It feels like it should be more epic than this. Especially if I am pregnant. Something so wonderfully and terribly life-altering as this should have a bigger moment than sitting alone on my bathroom floor, waiting for a little piece of plastic to tell me my future.
How am I going to tell Jake?
I just can’t even begin to think how to broach the subject with him.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Don’t think of that now. When you know, then think of it.
How long has it been? Two minutes, I think. I should have brought my phone in with me to time it.
Should I look now? It might be ready.
I rise up on my knees to take a look, but fear sits me straight back down.
I can’t do this.
I drop my head in my hands.
I’m just so f*cking scared. I know I have to know, but I don’t want to know.
No, come on, Tru. Woman up.
Taking a few deep breaths, figuring it must be three minutes by now, I close my eyes as I slowly get to my feet.
Okay, just open your eyes. Deep breath. One…two…three…
I flick my eyes open.
Pregnant

F*ck.