Page 110 of Embracing the Beat
“I haven’t talked to her much. A text here or there. But Sawyer says she’s okay. He’s keeping an eye on her.”
Don’t they know she’s pregnant?
I’m confused. Wouldn’t Sawyer tell them everything? If he didn’t, why not? Lifting a hand, I massage the bridge of my nose.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I choke out. “Just a headache.”
“I’ll let you go back to…wherever you’re at. An apartment by now, I’m sure. You’ll have to tell us all about it over dinner.” She stands, pulling me with her once again. “Stop ignoring my calls, okay?”
“Okay.”
She wraps me in a tight hug and steps back with strict instructions to go home and take something for my headache before she leaves me staring after her on the sidewalk.
What the hell just happened?
??????
Every day I think about calling Michaela. I imagine hearing her voice, fumbling my way through an epic apology. And at the end of every one is the rejection I know I deserve. Fear keeps me from contacting her.
While coward echoes through my head on repeat, I wait on the results I don’t need. Two weeks. Then another. It could be another month or more based on the information the lab gave me.
I sit through my interview for the department head job, caught up in thoughts of Michaela. How she’s doing. How our baby is doing. Somehow, I doubt my chances at getting the position, but I’ll have to wait to find out for sure.
I avoid Kelly’s dinner invitation, even though she calls me at least three times a week. I tell her I’m busy with after-school activities, historical society events, grading papers. But my excuses are running thin, and I’ll have to go back to avoiding her calls again soon.
I’m so caught up in those thoughts that as I trudge up the stairs to my hotel room, I miss Sawyer until I’m nearly on top of him.
“Sawyer?” I blink my eyes like he’s a mirage brought on by fatigue and guilt.
I don’t see the right hook that connects with my jaw, knocking me to the ground.
“Congratulations, asshole, you are the father,” he growls and drops an envelope on my chest before stepping over me.
Stars dance in my vision, and I sit up quickly, clasping it to my chest. He’s walking down the stairs I just came up.
“Wait. Sawyer. How did you know where I was?”
Nobody does, including the school, since I opened a post office box for district correspondence.
“You act like I don’t have experience tracking down deadbeats.” He doesn’t turn around.
I wince at his description, but a part of me understands why he would say that.
“Have a nice life, asshole.” He takes another step, but I stop him again.
“How’s Michaela?”
The look he gives me makes me second-guess my choice to ask.
“None of your fucking business.”
“Sawyer, come on—”
He’s in my face before I can finish the sentence.
“Keep my sister’s name out of your mouth.” He all but breathes fire, nostrils flaring, teeth bared.
