Fugitive: A Bad Boy Romance (Northbridge Nights Book 2) (12 page)

“Hitchhike again,” I said. “Unless you have a better idea.”

“How about we steal a paramedic van?” Rachelle asked, her eyes glinting mischievously.

“I'm crazy, but not that crazy. They need those to save lives,” I said.

Rachelle nudged me with her shoulder. “I was kidding, Kieran. Lighten up.”

“I wish I could lighten up. Unfortunately, I have cops probably looking for me and a woman waiting for me in Seattle,” I said with a grim frown.

Rachelle tugged on my sleeve. “How about we grab some food inside? I'm starving. Acting is hard work. We can have a good chat, then hit the road again.”

I shrugged, scanning the barren landscape. Barely any cars passed us. “Fine.” I could use a break. We walked through the hospital's automatic doors and followed the signs to the cafeteria. I wasn’t sure what to say to Rachelle, so I held back. What could I say in an unconventional situation like ours?

“Is Bianca you're...girlfriend?” Rachelle asked.

I shook my head.

“Ex-girlfriend?”

I shook my head again. “She's my ex-girlfriend's sister.”

Rachelle pursed her lips. “How about we clear the air once and for all and you tell me why you're risking everything to see your ex-girlfriend's sister?”

“She needs money,” I said, dragging in a sharp breath.
Was I really ready to tell Rachelle everything?

“Okay...But why does she need it from you?”

“It's for Kara.”

“Kara?”

“Yes, Kara, my daughter.”

“
I
’ll get
an abortion if you want me to,” Trisha said, gaze affixed on her lopsided shoelaces. She was wearing those neon Nike sneakers that I hated and sitting on the edge of the rooftop, looking out at the Northbridge skyline. The sun was setting, and the sky looked like a sheet of watercolor paper, watery pinks and violets melting into one another. A romantic setting for a very unromantic conversation. She’d just dropped a bomb in my lap and I was trying to defuse it. Something told me, this was a problem that wouldn’t just go away.

We were going to have a baby.

Every once in a while Trisha would scratch her dry elbows, agitation written all over her face. Gentle breezes flirted with the edges of her dirty, dyed blond hair. The fake, streaky highlights made her look cheap.

I wrapped my arms around her waist protectively. “No. No, Trish. This is our baby. We're not going to kill our child,” I said, stroking her hair the way she liked. “I want to keep it.” We
had
to keep it. I didn’t want this on my conscience. It was heavy enough as it was.

Trisha’s legs dangled freely over the edge, her heels knocking against the building’s brick exterior. We were twenty stories up and it was very windy. It looked like it was about to rain. Halloween was just around the corner. Every Halloween, Trish got a little wilder. Inched a little closer towards sociopathy.

Today was no exception.

Every word that escaped her lips was gloom and doom. Pessimistic and narrow-minded. Selfish thoughts from a selfish woman.

Trisha had caused nothing but trouble these past three weeks. Maybe it was all the pregnancy hormones, but she was fucking bipolar, I swear to God. One minute, she’d be sobbing hysterically, the next, she’d be thumping my back and screaming at me. After venting, sometimes for almost an hour, she’d calm down and withdraw into her inner darkness…curl against a corner of the room and hyperventilate. It was impossible to deal with her, and she refused to see her shrink. No one could help her. No one. I was no fucking hero. I didn’t ask for this kind of responsibility.

Now she was carrying my fucking kid.

The devil laughed in my ear.
Just push her off. Say it was an accident and be rid of her forever. No one will miss her. No one will even care if she dies.
I shook my head, trying to clear my mind. Trisha was pregnant. With my kid. What the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t that desperate. Maybe we could still make this work. We had to make this work, for the baby’s sake.

Trish began hiccuping. Her entire body lurched forward and she gagged a little. “But you—We—I thought we agreed not to have any kids,” Trisha mumbled, tears already streaking down her face. “We’re not ready. We’re too young.”

“That was before,” I said, placing a palm on Trisha's belly. “This is now.”

Trish turned to face me. “Are you mad, Ki?”

“A little. But I'm more happy than mad.” I smiled and squeezed Trisha's hands. Wind teased her hair into knots now. She brushed it from her face and chewed on her lower lip. “You're going to be a great mom,” I continued. “Don't worry about a thing. Just take care of yourself. Your
health.
That’s all I want.”

“Kieran, I'm so sorry I fucked up.” Tears chased one another down Trisha's cheeks. “It’s all my fault. I’m so stupid. Stupid me, stupid Trish. Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

I hugged Trish tighter, pressing myself against her backside. “You have nothing to be sorry about, baby. We're in a committed relationship. We love each other. Everything will be fine,” I lied. Truth was, I wasn’t sure if still loved her. The definition of love had long since been erased from my dictionary. All I felt was overwhelming responsibility crushing me between my shoulder blades. A terrible burden I pretended was a blessing.

I didn’t ask for this. It was her fault. All her fault. She forgot to take her goddamn birth control pills.

Trisha dragged in a sharp breath, bringing her fist to her sternum and slamming down on her chest over and over. “But—But I've been drinking so much and—I fucked up…I-I can’t—”

“Now's the time to quit,” I said. “Did you fill out the forms for—”

“I don't think I can do this, Ki. I just...I'm not strong enough to raise a kid.” Trish leaned forward, looking down at the streets below. All the vehicles and pedestrians looked like dots and dashes chasing empty dreams and stolen moments.

My head spun. “You have me. You have a Kieran. We'll be strong together,” I said, bending down to kiss her stomach. “We have to be.”

Trish sighed, wiping away her tears. “Are you sure you want to do this? Wouldn’t it be easier if—”

“Positive,” I said. “In fact, we should look through a book of baby names, for fun.”

Trisha arched her brow. “Don't you think that's a bit premature?”

“We're having a kid!” I said, mustering up an enthusiasm I didn’t feel. I looped my arm around Trisha's shoulders and pulled her in close. Away from the ledge. “I'm going to be a dad,” I murmured into her hair. “C’mon, let’s head back inside.” I turned to go.

Trish angled her body toward me and shot me the saddest smile I’d ever seen. Her wet lips quivered as she mumbled to herself. “Stupid Trish, stupid, stupid, stupid.” Her eyes betrayed her pain and fear and cowardice. Finally, she said, “I can’t do this, Ki. I’m sorry, I just…can’t.”

Then her fingers let go of the ledge and she fell.

I instinctively jerked forward, grabbing her left wrist before she fell further. She dangled precariously, legs flailing…her nails leaving bloody grooves in my palm. “Let me go, Ki. Let me fucking go.” One of her sneakers fell off her foot and disappeared into the darkness below. Raindrops began smattering across our faces.

“Fuck, no. I’m not giving up on you, ya hear?” I started pulling her back up but she resisted. My arms scraped against the rough bricks, my palms sweaty. “We’re…going…to…be a family…dammit,” I grunted.

“Ki, I-I’m not cut out-to-to be a mom,” Trish cried, her restless feet kicking the air. “I’d be better for all of us if I was dead.”

“Just get back up here, then we’ll talk,” I mustered, my whole body shaking. Inch by inch, I began pulling her up until her knees hit the stone-cold ledge. Her feet scrabbled for purchase, finally landing back on the rooftop with a thud. We both let out a simultaneous gasp, then a tired sigh.

“You scared the bloody shit out of me,” I cried, hugging her close. I could hardly catch my breath and my heart thundered in my ears. “Don’t ever pull that fucking shit again.”

“You saved me, Ki,” Trish sobbed into my chest. “You saved my life. You really love me, don’t you Ki?” Then, she crumpled over and threw up all over my lap.

I threaded my fingers through her dirty weave, choking back tears. The stench of her sour vomit stung my nostrils. “Trish, you need to get help. We need to get you some help, baby.”

Trish said nothing, her fat tears drenching my t-shirt. It wasn’t until a minute later that I realized she’d pissed herself and passed out.

* * *

A
week later
, we went to Tots and Tiaras and picked out a thick book of baby names. All the miniature toys and clothes excited Trisha to no end. She was mad about onesies, and I indulged her by playing along. Even though my smiles were fake, they still placated Trisha, who was too busy to notice the reluctance in my body language. We didn’t once talk about what happened on the rooftop. I didn’t want to ruin her happy mood. It was a rare occasion when Trisha Mallory had a genuine smile on her face. When she smiled, the whole world seemed to be a better place. It was the smile of a survivor. Too bad she hated her smiles; ever self-conscious of the small gap between her front teeth.

Thumbing through the thin pages of ‘1001 Baby Names’, my fingers landed on the letter ‘K’. It’d be nice to have a kid with a K-name. Like me. I asked Trish, “What do you think about the name 'Kara'? If it's a girl. K-A-R-A.”

“Kara. Kara…Kieran and Kara,” Trish repeated to herself. “I like it.”

I slid the book back on the shelf. “Well, that was easy. I didn't even need to buy the book. Saved myself $12.99.”

Trisha laughed, weaving her fingers through mine. “What if it's a boy?”

I shrugged. “I have a feeling it'll be a girl. A beautiful girl who looks just like you.”

“I hope she looks like you,” Trish said, flashing me a glimpse of her gap-toothed smile. “She’ll be the cutest little princess. A daddy’s girl.”

“As long as she’s healthy, I don’t care who she looks like,” I said, heart surging with pride. I was going to be fucking dad! And we would be a happy family; I’d make damn sure of that. “Come on, let’s go grab some dinner.”

“
B
aby
, look what I bought?” I said, setting the colorful shopping bags on the floor. Though Trish was only at twenty-three weeks, I couldn't help but pick up a few toys and books every time I stopped by Tots and Tiaras. This time, I'd gotten a toy xylophone and a few high-contrast board books. They were surprisingly expensive, and I never went a day without wondering whether or not we'd be able to support this baby. But I didn't voice any of my concerns. Trish had enough on her plate. I had to be strong for both of us.

Her anxiety had been getting out of control again, and in the past month, she'd suffered from three major panic attacks. During her panic attacks, I couldn’t do anything other than hold her and make sure she didn’t hurt herself. She’d hit herself over and over and scream that she was dying, that she could see Jesus. Sometimes she’d roll back and forth across the floor and once, she even suffered from a mild seizure. I was terrified by her flood of emotions, which ravaged her like a tsunami. Each time, her episodes left damages that could never quite be repaired. Cracks in her crumbling soul.

But I could still save her. This baby would save both of us, I could feel it in my bones. I thanked the lucky stars she didn’t try to kill herself when I was away at work every day. Curbing her suicidal thoughts had been a huge step forward for us.

I found Trish sitting by the open window, a lit cigarette between her shaking fingers. Puffs of blue-grey smoke escaped her nostrils. A trail of ash dotted her lap. She hopped off the ledge and quickly stubbed out her stick against the peeling wallpaper. She fanned the air around her, trying to disperse any incriminating evidence. “I wasn't expecting you until later.”

I balled my hands into fists. “You know you're not supposed to smoke while pregnant. The nicotine goes into your blood and that mixes with the baby's blood. It's fucking poison.”

“It's just this one time, I swear.” Tears were already welling up in Trish’s eyes. “I'm just so fucking stressed out and scared, Kieran. I'm all nerves. I needed this. You understand, right? Right?”

“Trish, if you think this is bad, what's going to happen when the baby comes out?” I asked.

“I'll be better. I'll be so much better by then, trust me. I've been going to AA meetings and it's just this one ciggie. Seriously. I haven't even touched my pack for three months.”

I approached Trisha, suddenly feeling exhausted from listening to her lies. Her clothes reeked of booze and cigarettes, and her hair was sticky with grease. She was unemployed, had been for almost four months now. Relentless morning sickness hit her hard throughout the day and it really showed in her complexion. Her skin was sallow, her teeth brittle and gray. She was a shadow, a wisp of the woman she once was. And she was digging her own fucking grave.

How could I help someone who’d already given up on herself? Someone who didn’t want to be saved anymore?

Do it for the baby
, I answered myself.
Love Trisha for Kara’s sake.

“No more lies, Trish. I asked Pastor Brown. He says you stopped coming after the first week.”

My body tensed as Trisha rushed toward me. She cupped my cheeks and tried to kiss me. I turned away in disgust. Her large baby bump made the hug awkward and strained. “You still love me, right Ki, right? I'm sorry...I'm just so sorry...I'm pathetic, I know. But you still love me, don't you?”

“Trisha, I want to love you...But how can I love someone who doesn't even love herself? You need to respect your own body if you want me to respect you.”

“I will, I swear,” Trisha cried, her eyes crazed and bloodshot. “I’ll respect my body from now on. I swear.”

“Treat your body like a temple,” I said more softly, “and let's focus on improving this family. I want our daughter to have the best start in life possible.”

“Me too. I want that too,” Trisha nodded. “More than anything. I love Kara. I love her so much.”

“Prove it, Trish. Get better.”

“I will, Ki, I will.” She muttered a few more ‘I love Kara’s’ before wandering to the bathroom to vomit.