Down and Out

“I don’t understand.”
That can’t be a tiny embryo on the fuzzy black and white ultrasound screen, and that little fluttering circle inside of it can’t be its heartbeat. It just can’t.
“You’re pregnant,” the doctor says again. He keeps his eyes on the monitor while holding the ultrasound wand still over a certain spot on my lower stomach. “About four to six weeks along, I’d say.” After pressing a few buttons, the machine starts to print out a row of sonogram pictures.
Sonogram pictures. Of my baby.
Oh my god. . .
“Are you sure?” Declan asks.
I tear my eyes away from the screen and look at him for the first time since that tiny flutter appeared on it. His arms are crossed and he’s frowning at the screen.
The doctor hangs up the wand and rips the pictures away from the printer, handing them to Declan. “I’m pretty sure,” he says dryly.
I watch Declan stare at the row of pictures in shock as the doctor grabs some paper towels and wipes the clear gook off my belly, then offers his hand to help me sit up.
“Thank you,” I murmur absently. I turn and dangle my legs off the exam table, gripping the ledges beside me so hard it hurts my hands. I feel like I might fall off the edge of the earth if I don’t have something to hold onto. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t understand how this is possible. I took a pregnancy test last week and it was negative.”
Declan’s head whips up. “You did what? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
I glance at the doctor, kind of embarrassed to be having this part of the conversation in front of him, and mutter, “I was late, and we hadn’t exactly been . . . you know, careful. But since it was negative, I didn’t think there was anything to tell you. I’ve skipped periods before, so I just figured that’s what this was.” I let out an exasperated sigh and rub my head. “How could I possibly have gotten a negative result if I was— if I’m—”
I can’t get the word “pregnant” out of my mouth. It’s like my brain refuses to recognize the word just because my mind can’t wrap around the fact that it now applies to me.
“Stress can affect your cycle. So can weight fluctuations.” The doctor shrugs and leans his hip against the counter. “It’s entirely possible that you ovulated later than usual, and if that’s the case, then last week might’ve been too early to register a positive result.”
I’ve had both. Fighting with Declan and training for this match was apparently a perfect storm of stress and weight gain.
“I’ll give you guys some privacy,” the doctor says, stepping away from the counter. “Unless you have any other questions?” he asks as he pauses by the door. He probably thinks we’re idiots who don’t know how basic human reproduction works, but I’m fresh out of f*cks to give right now.
Declan and I both shake our heads, so he leaves the exam room and then it’s just me and Declan. The father of my child.
Oh my god, I can’t even. . .
My stomach suddenly feels queasy for the second time that night, and I realize it’s not because of nerves, like I thought.
I place my hand on my stomach and glance down, wondering how there’s a baby in there. A tiny living being. The idea seems ludicrous.
I’m not ready for this. We’re not ready for this.
Shit, Declan probably hates me right now. I told him we were fine. I told him there was no need to worry.
I bite my lip, realizing that all the hard work I put in at the gym training, all the blood, sweat, and tears, it was all for nothing. I won’t be able to fight now.
I’m surprised at how disappointed I am. I mean, yeah, I was a little scared of getting hurt, but I wanted to prove to Declan that not only could I do it, but I could do it and put myself through school with it.
I wanted to prove it to myself, too. . .
But a baby doesn’t necessarily have to mean the end of the road. It’s a detour, sure, but there’s daycare and student loans, and hey, maybe I’ll even get more financial aid—
“I’m sorry.”
I look up at the sound of Declan’s pained voice. He looks downright tortured as he takes the rolling stool and sits in front of me.
“This is all my fault.” His voice cracks. “God, you must hate me right now.”
I open my mouth to tell him how incredibly wrong he is, but a quick knock on the door—followed by it swinging open—keeps me from saying anything.
Blake steps inside, clutching a big brown envelope as he closes the door behind him. His brows are drawn tight as he glances back and forth between me and Declan. “Is everything okay?” he asks hesitantly.
Declan and I share a look, and I can tell we’re both thinking the same thing: is it?
Blake clears his throat at our silent exchange and hands Declan the envelope. “I tried to take care of the thing, but they wouldn’t let me. The lady said there’d been a change in the lineup and Savannah wasn’t fighting tonight. That’s all she knew.”
What “thing”?
Declan stands and turns his back to me, lowering his voice as he says something to Blake, who looks at me over Declan’s shoulder. He nods as Declan talks, then gives me a quick wave goodbye and disappears out the door.
“Did you tell him?”
Declan shakes his head and looks down at the thick envelope in his hands as he slowly makes his way over to me.
The last time he had an envelope like that, he’d gone and done something incredibly sweet and thoughtful. But the look on his face right now is so serious, I don’t know what to expect.
I really hope there’s a tiny puppy in there, because I don’t know how much realer I can get tonight.
Declan stops in front of me. “I was gonna wait to give you this until after you won your match tonight, but. . .” He shrugs and glances down at his hands.
What does this boy have up his sleeve? You know, besides tattoos and muscle?
Following his gaze, I watch him turn the package over. “What if I didn’t win? Would you still have given it to me?”
I’m only teasing, but he looks up at me with such certainty, it wipes the tiny smile off my face.
“You would’ve won. I have no doubt of that.”
His unwavering confidence in me leaves me speechless long enough for him to add, “But I still want you to have it. The outcome doesn’t change that.”
He hands it over to me, and my stomach sinks at its heavy weight. It’s definitely not a puppy.
Bending the metal tabs, I pull open the top and peek inside, but I still don’t understand what I’m seeing.
“What is this?” I ask carefully, because it sure as shit can’t be what it looks like. Declan knows better.
I glance up at him, expecting him to look nervous or contrite. What I don’t expect is the determined set of his jaw and the hard look in his eyes.
“It’s forty thousand dollars,” he says without pause or apology. “It’s what I was going to bet on you to win.”
Shock stretches my face as so many objections pop into my head that I’m struggling to voice even one. “Declan—”
He holds his hand up, stopping me. “The plan was to give you the forty grand that I won, that way I wouldn’t be out any money and you couldn’t object to me giving it to you, because I wouldn’t have been the one who earned it in the first place. You would’ve.”
“But I didn’t earn this. This is all yours,” I say, trying to give him the envelope back.
He puts his hands up, refusing to take it. “It’s not a gift, it’s an investment.”
“An investment,” I repeat dubiously. “An investment in what?”
“In you. In your future. Our future.” He glances down at the ultrasound pictures still clutched in his hands before clearing his throat. “I’m not gonna be able to fight forever, and one of us should have a fancy-schmancy college education to fall back on. So what do you say? You feel like going to school so you can support us when we’re old and wrinkly?”
I laugh and bite my lip, tearing up as I look down at the bag of money in my lap with a whole new perspective. “The school’s going to think I’m a drug dealer if I try to pay my tuition with this.”
He laughs too, and relaxes a bit. After a second, he takes the money and sets it aside, along with the sonogram pictures, then steps between my legs. His hands rest on my hips as he says, “I know we weren’t expecting this, or even planning for it, but there’s no reason a baby will stop you from getting a degree. I’ll hire someone else to manage the gym, and I’d be more than f*cking happy to watch the kid while you’re in class or while you’re doing homework. Shit, I’ll be a stay-at-home dad and watch him all the time, if you want me to—”
I grab his face and pull him to me, kissing him before he can finish. “I love you.”
“I love you.” He places a tentative hand on my stomach and looks up at me, his green eyes filled with hope. “Does this mean we’re keeping him?”
A million different thoughts raced through my head as I watched that little heartbeat on the monitor. The main feeling I had was shock, mixed in with a healthy dose of awe, but I never once thought of not keeping it. Yes, it will be hard, and no, I’m not at all prepared for it, but it’s me and Declan. We essentially created a person out of thin air, and that’s . . . amazing.
I have a miracle growing inside me right now, and I can’t wait to meet it.
“Of course,” I say, smiling despite the tears running down my face.
“Oh, thank God,” he breathes, dropping his forehead to my shoulder. “I was so afraid that you blamed me.”
I let out tiny, hiccupped laugh. “Well, I didn’t get myself pregnant.”
“You know what I mean,” he says, pulling back. “We haven’t even talked about kids, and I figured, yeah, someday we’d have them, but I also thought that’d be years from now, not months. And I know it’s your body and your choice and I know the timing’s not great and that there are a million other reasons to wait, but he’s here now and I want him.”
His rushed, heartfelt words have me crying so much I can’t even see him anymore. I love that he keeps referring to the baby as “him,” even if it ends up being a “her.” It just shows how much he wants it.
“I want him, too,” I say, futilely wiping my cheeks. “Or her.”
He leans in and kisses my forehead. “I don’t care what it is, Kitten, so long as it’s half you.” When he leans back to look at me, he sighs. “I really want to ask you to marry me right now, but I’m not going to.”
At my cocked brow, he says very matter-of-factly, “I’ll have you know that I was planning on proposing to you for a while now. Way before this little guy came along,” he says, rubbing my belly, “and I don’t want you to think he’s the reason I’m asking, so I’ll wait.”
We’ve never been good at waiting, but I humor him and ask, “Till our next date?”
“Oh, yeah,” he says, making a “well, duh” face. “All bets are off on our next date.”




Acknowledgments

First off, I want to thank my husband. He is…amazing, for lack of a better word. He’s my best friend, my sounding board, and my #1 cheerleader. He likes to tell people I’m a novelist (to which I blush profusely, because I will never, ever—no matter how many books I write or sell—feel comfortable calling myself that) and his support and pride in me just astounds me. I could live a million lifetimes and never feel like I deserve all the love this man has for me.

Thank you to my daughters, who sacrifice time away from me while I write. They’re still too little to understand why mommy’s always on her computer, and it breaks my mommy-heart. And thank you to my mom and mother-in-law for helping out with the girls so I can write. My sanity appreciates it.

Thanks to my beta readers, Nevaeh Lee, Ashley Ray, and Kristen Wilkins, for helping to make my books the best they can be. And a huge, heartfelt thank you to all the bloggers out there who took a chance on a relatively unknown indie like myself and decided to give Down and Out a shot. There are too many to name individually, but know that your support and enthusiasm mean the absolute world to me.

And last, but certainly not least, thank you to anyone who actually buys my books and reads them. I’m still amazed that people do. You guys are the reason I do this. For real. I love, love, LOVE you guys. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for allowing me to have my dream job. You guys rock!






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