Shattered & Mended (12 page)

I take a swig of the bitter, spiced coolness and chuckle along with him. “As you can see, I’m alive. I’ve just been away for a while.”

He looks at me and shrugs his shoulders as he stocks the cooler behind the bar. “That’s all I get? It’s obvious you’ve been away, but where?”

Why can’t people take shit for what it is? I mean, when I tell you a short and simple answer, just roll with it. Obviously
, I don’t want to play footsie and tell you the hell I lived in for four fucking years. “There’s not much to tell, man. I’ve just been around, keeping my distance from here. That’s all.” I take a few more swigs and check my watch; Jordan should be here in a few minutes. 

“That’s all, huh? You were just keeping your distance? From who, Allie?” he asks in a smart-ass tone.

“What would make you think I left to keep distance between me and Allie?” I hiss.

“I know what it did to her when you left. Yeah, you didn’t think she’d run back into my arms, did you?” he smirks. My hand’s gripping the neck of the bottle, and my fist’s twitching to reach up and slam it into his snarky-ass face.

“She didn’t fucking run to you. You only wish she did,” I seethe.

“Oh, she did,” he brags, sucking his teeth. I reach over the bar and pull him to me by his shirt.

“Don’t fuck with me, Taylor. I will bash your face in, you lying motherfucker,” I spit. 

“Oh, fuck it to hell … Let him go,” JoJo demands, pinching the meat on the back of my arm.

“Dammit, JoJo, that shit hurts,” I complain. Turning around, I take her into my arms and pick her up from the floor. I give her a tight squeeze, and she flicks my ear.

“That’s enough, put me down.” She’s never been a squealer, or hug
ger. I find it odd that she’s a fantastic nurturer, yet she hates to be touched. “You haven’t changed a bit,” I laugh. She eyes me from head to toe and back up again. “Can’t say the same about you. Damn, son, you’re a tank,” she acknowledges. “And these,” she points out my tattoos; “I know you whimpered like a little bitch, didn’t you?” she teases with a wink.

She takes my arm and leads me away from the bar, settling on a table over by the window. She makes sure I sit with my back facing Taylor. She orders our wings and beers then begins her interrogation. “Where have you been, Wyatt?” Would it hurt for her to say ‘’Hey buddy, missed your ass like crazy, how’ve you been?’ Anything but that damn question.

“Overseas,” I reply. Short and simple, but not good enough.

“Oh-kay, what for? Tell me the truth,” she urges.

“Kyle joined the Marines. I followed him, and now I’m back. That good enough?”

She crosses her arms and leans on the table. She cocks her head and her eyes search mine. “Depends. Is that all you’re willing to share?” she asks.

“Yeah, that’s about it,” I nod.

She slouches in her chair and sighs, “I guess.” 

“Good, because that’s all you’re getting’.”

JoJo a
nd I are drinking brewskies, catching up, and laughing our asses off. The pain and emotional wreck I’ve been is beginning to fade. I tell her about Kyle’s goofy ass and how I miss him. She tells me about her endless break-ups and how no one can handle all she’s packin’.

Then she brings up a name; the person I brought her here to talk with her about. “What about

Allie? Have you been by to see her?”

I nod. “Actually, that’s why I needed to see you. You know, get some guidance. You’re a chick, right?”

She laughs and grabs each of her breasts. “Yeah, I’d say so.” Thankfully, she’s like one of the guys. Jordan grabbing her breasts is no different than one of the boys flipping their dick. 

JoJo and I drink our beers, and I explain my situation with Lacy and Allie. Just as Jordan’s opening her mouth to give me some feedback, I see a perfectly-round, tan belly peeking out from a tight white top. I lift my eyes and come face to face with Allie, scowling viciously between me and Jordan. “Hey, Al, this is Jordan,” I introduce, standing from my chair and placing my hand to the small of Allie’s back. Allie and Jordan have never officially met. I would talk about Jordan to Allie, but I think Allie believed she was just one of the guys.

“And I’m the girl who doesn’t give a fuck,” she snarls, slapping my arm away and stomping to the bar.

Of course, I chase after her. “Allie, wait. It’s not what you think,” I try to explain. 

“Like I said, I don’t give a flying fuck that you’re here with some bitch after proclaiming your undying love for me. Even if it was only two hours ago,” she seethes between her teeth. 

“Will you calm down and just listen?” Taylor comes over and hands her a white to-go box. She goes to pay him, but he refuses and tells her it’s on him. She reaches up and gives him a peck on the cheek and a genuine smile. She thanks him and attempts to walk away, but I refuse to let her leave without hearing my explanation. “I’m not here with her. She’s just a friend. Baby, listen.” 

“Don’t call me baby! Honestly, I don’t care who you’re here with. It just took me off guard running into you,” she lies.

I take a few steps toward her and take her face into my hands. “You may not care, but I do. She’s a friend from college, okay? No interest in her, at all. I’ve already told you, you’re the only one for me,” I remind her, placing a kiss to her forehead. Her breath hitches as my lips warm her skin. When I pull back to look into her eyes
,
I notice they’re closed. “Butterfly, open your eyes,” I urge.

“Remove your hands from my face,” she whispers. I do as she instructs, and she takes off toward the exit, running into Jordan before she makes it to the door. 

“I think you got the wrong impression of me, over there,” JoJo says, nodding to the table where I introduced them. “I’m an old friend,” she informs.

“Really? Because I know all of his friends, and you aren’t one that I remember,” Allie snaps.

“Honey, if you’re worried about me being a threat to y’alls situation, don’t. No offense, Wyatt, but beat meat freaks me out,” Jordan assures her, crinkling her nose in disgust. Allie remains silent as if she needs JoJo to write what she’s trying to announce on paper. “Darlin’, I’m lesbian. Not interested in that,” she assures, motioning up and down my crotch.

Allie’s face relaxes. “Good for you. Now, if you’d kindly move out of my way, I have an ultrasound to get to.” Jordan waits for me to give her the go ahead before she steps aside. As soon as Jordan moves, Allie’s gone, on the way to see her babie
s with a man who should be me.

Sixteen

~Allie~

God, the nerve of that man, thinking he has the right to touch me and call me baby. And, damn these cravings. I knew I should’ve settled on a burger, but when I get the taste for something specific, like Duck’s wings, nothing else is appetizing. All I wanted was to run in and out, get my lunch, and head to the hospital. The last person I expected to see was Wyatt, having lunch with another woman.

“Babe, the bones aren’t edible,” Blake jokes, handing me a napkin. I take the napkin and wipe the tips of my fingers clean. “Would you at least take these and get a drink? I don’t need you spittin’ flames later. Remember last time?” He reaches into the console and pulls out the Tums. Remembering the indigestion I got from these damn things the last time I scoffed them down causes my appetite to vanish. The intensity made me convinced that I had the capability to cough up fireballs the size of Jupiter. It was horrible.

We were supposed to meet my mom for lunch after the ultrasound, but I had to eat now. Who in the hell considers it lunch at three p.m.? That’s a midafternoon snack; at least for me, it is. As per Dr. Wilters’ diagnosis, I haven’t gained nearly enough weight with this pregnancy, and he advised me to eat at least every three hours. He said that healthy weight gain can reduce the risk of preterm labor, and I’m already considered high risk because of my weak cervix. 

Today, we’re going in for my twenty---week ultrasound. It feels like just the other week I discovered I was pregnant, and now I’m halfway through the pregnancy. Twenty weeks down, and twenty weeks to go, if I’m lucky. I was blown away when he told me women who carry twins usually deliver before thirty-four weeks, and that scared the shit out of me. My mind flashes back to Lacy; how tiny she was, how difficult it was for her to breathe or eat on her own, and the machines and tubes she was connected to. I don’t want to go through that terror again. 

As we’re walking through the halls of the hospital, making our way to the imaging department, I run into Carson. “Allieeeeee,” he squeals. He reaches out to hug me, but stops and looks down to my belly. “Damn, girl, that baby on steroids?” he asks seriously.

“Shut up!” I give him a playful push, “No, mean ass. There’s two of them.” Carson takes a step closer and rests his hands on my stomach.

“Twins?” he gasps. I nod in confirmation, smiling at him like I wish I could smile at Sophie. I haven’t spoken to her since the hospital. She’s called and texted several times, but unlike Wyatt, she’s finally given up.

“Awwwww! Come here,” he insists, waving me into him. I lean in and wrap my arms around his thick neck. And even though I’ve only spoken to him twice—both times being in this hospital— I feel like I’ve known him my entire life. Maybe it’s because he’s a spitting image of Kyle, or maybe it’s the way his attitude resembles Sophie’s? Either way, I already love him. 

Once we’re separated
, he eyes me up and down, puckers his lips, and shakes his head. “Umm, why haven’t you called me? Besides ‘Dr. McHotness’ right there,” he begins, pausing to undress my man with his eyes, “I know I’m the best man who’s ever walked into your life,” he finishes.

“Carson, you’re hardly considered a man,” Blake chuckles.

“Oh, please, I got my proof of that. I’ll show you anytime, Doctor,” Carson purrs, clawing at Blake’s chest. I erupt in laughter, and then immediately go silent from the look on Blake’s face.

Kill me dead, right now. Is B homophobic? His body’s stiff as stone.

“Calm down, big boy, you’re not my type. I prefer a man, who’s rough around the edges, a man with some scruff. But you, you’re pretty. Besides, I’m more than you can handle,” Carson teases.

Blake shakes his head in silence and takes my hand in his, leading us down the hall. Carson takes his tongue to probe
s
the inside of his cheek and points from me to Blake, insinuating I should make him happy. Of course, he does this behind Blake, which causes me to look like an idiot when I burst out laughing hysterically. “I need your number,” I call down the hall, just as Blake picks up speed.

“Check your phone. It’s under Ass Slappin’ Daddy,” he bellows back.

I. Can’t. Breathe. I’m laughing so hard. 

“Babe, don’t encourage him. He’s not funny,” Blake pouts.

“Oh, but he is,” I argue. Actually, Blake’s right. Carson isn’t funny; he’s hilarious. A make
-you-pee-your-pants type of comedian, literally. Thank God above I had enough sense to put on a panty liner, because I’m pretty sure I just pissed myself.

Blake signs us in and comes to take a seat beside me. “Am I really that big?” Carson had eyed me like I’m a freak of nature, and in my opinion, I’m not that big.

“No, babe. If anything
, you need to do what Dr. Wilters suggested and gain some more weight,” he responds. He’s lying. I know this because Carson’s eyes bulged from his sockets when he saw my growing globe, and I was nowhere near this size with Lacy this early on. In fact, I’m almost as round now as I was the day I delivered her. 

We get called back, and the sonographer begins her prepping. She lubes my belly and works her magic while she describes what she’s doing to the student standing beside her. Blake and I sit back and watch her take the measurements. Every so often, she has to shake my stomach to get one of the babies to move so she can measure its legs or arms. “You want to know the sex?” she asks.

I look to Blake, wanting to know his thoughts. Surprisingly, we’ve never discussed if we wanted to know the sex of our babies. With Lacy, I had to know, but with these little ones, I think I want it to be a surprise. He shrugs and smiles. “I don’t know. Do you want to know?” he asks.

“Let’s try something. I’ll count to three, and on three we’ll shake our heads either yes or no. If we both agree, that’ll be our answer. If not, we’ll figure it out later. Cool?”

He nods in agreement. I count, and on the count of three
, our heads go in different directions. He’s a yes and I’m a no. The technician giggles. “I can tell just one of you, if you’d prefer. As long as he thinks he can keep it a secret.” I glare at Blake to see if he believes he’s capable of keeping a secret from me.

“You know what you could do?” the student asks.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“My sister’s husband kept the sex of their baby a secret and revealed it to her and her family the day of their baby shower. She was having a boy. They had a pink and yellow cake. As she cut it down the center, it revealed blue cake, indicating she was having a son,” she explains.

I absolutely love the idea of having a reveal shower. “That’s a great idea. If Blake promises not to tell me, you can tell him,” I announce.

“I won’t tell her,” he promises.

She plays around with the babies until she finds their special parts. She nods Blake over to her side and whispers their gender into his ear. Blake’s smile takes over his entire face. His cheeks squish his eyes shut, and he’s blushing from happiness. Blake’s not a man who blushes, and this lady’s clearly made his day. Now, I want to know why he’s so happy. He’s not supposed to show emotion. He’s never expressed if he preferred a boy over a girl or vice versa; he only asks for healthy babies.

“Tell me,” I demand.

“Oh, no, baby, you have to wait.” Okay, we both know I can get the answer out of him, but I can’t do it in front of these women. 

I turn my attention to the technician who’s prepping that damn plastic, rocket-sized wand. “Tell me. I want to know,” I tell her.

“Please, don’t put me between you two. Y’all had an agreement. This is between the two of you,” she replies, rolling a condom down the massive sensor.

“What are you doing with that?” I ask, eyeing the woman like she’s suddenly grown horns.

“We need to check your cervix, and this gets a better view,” she informs me.

“I know what it does, but I had it the last time I was here,” I tell her, agitatedly.

“Yes, I’m aware. However, with your history, and since you’re carrying twins, we need to make sure your cervix is holding up.” She positions the wand between my legs and waits for me to give her the okay before probing me. I nod and tell her to go ahead. I toss my head back and close my eyes as I wait for her to finish, but this time is longer than the last. “Do you feel that?” she asks, concern masking her voice.

“Feel what? The pressure from the torpedo you’re moving around? Yes. It’s kind of hard not to,” I reply. 

Blake stands and makes his way in front of her monitor. He eyes the screen and bites his lip. His jaw tightens, and he closes his eyes as if he’s thinking, maybe even praying. “Besides the pressure from the wand, do you feel anything else? Any cramps?” she asks again.

I shake my head and turn to Blake. “B, what’s wrong?” He doesn’t answer. He holds his finger up and jogs out of the room. “Okay, y’all are making me nervous. Is it the babies?” I ask, my voice becoming strangled as I think of the possibility of losing one of them.

“No, the babies are fine. Just lie back and relax,” she insists. I can’t relax, not with the fear I saw in Blake’s face as he rushed out of here. 

When Blake returns, he’s with a doctor. Well, I assume that’s what he is. He’s wearing a long, white lab coat, and to the left is his name followed by fancy letters, which I’m assuming represents his specialty. The technician stands as the doctor puts on his gloves. He stands by my feet and takes the wand into his hands. His eyes wander the screen as he scrunches his brows, causing me to become extremely nervous.

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on? I’m the patient, in case everyone’s forgotten. Check the chart, Allie Anderson. Yup, I’m the one housing these bad boys and silently freaking because none of you will tell me what’s happening.” He removes the wand and urges me to sit up.

“I apologize, but neither of them is privileged to tell you what’s happening on this screen. Allie, you’re having contractions. They’re mild and aren’t strong enough for you to feel them, but they’re strong enough that they’re affecting your cervix.” He pauses and demonstrates what’s happening to my cervix with his hands. He brings his hands together and points his fingers to the ground, and then slightly spreads open the heels of his hands. “Your cervix is beginning to funnel, and we don’t want this to happen. I’m going to send you up to labor and delivery, have them put you on some monitors, and chart the strength and frequency of your contractions,” he informs me, with kindness in his voice.

Nervously, I nod and agree. When the techs and doctors leave the room, Blake helps me off the table. Once my feet are on the ground, he wraps me in his arms and kisses the top of my head. He then lifts my face and captures my mouth with his. He kisses me tenderly; assuring me everything’s going to be okay. 

Once we’re settled in our room, they hook me up to the appropriate monitors while Blake calls Mom to inform her that I’ve been admitted. She immediately freaks out, thinking I’m in labor, but Blake calms her down and explains that I’m here for observation. She tells Blake that she’s clocking out early and will be up in a few minutes, but she decides to finish her shift after he reminds her that he has things under control. This isn’t the first time he’s had to remind Mom what he does for a living. She’s just being a typical mom and worrying about her baby girl. 

After two hours of being hooked up to the monitors, Dr. Wilters comes in to give us an update. He tells me I’m having irregular contractions, and my cervix is more incompetent than he believed it was. “Allie, what I’d like to do it give you a few shots of Terbutaline which will hopefully stop the contractions you’re having. Also, we need to do a cervical cerclage; that’s where we go in and stitch your cervix closed. Do you have any questions?” he asks.

Uh, yeah, lots of them. “Is there any harm to the babies if I have the procedure?”

He nods. “As with any procedure, there are risks. However, I will say that the benefits outweigh the risk in your situation,” he expresses. 

“I don’t want to put them in harm’s way, not even a little,” I tell him. If there’s even the slightest chance that something can happen to either of the babies, I don’t want to have it done.

Blake bends down and stares me directly in the eyes. “Baby, you’re having this done,” he orders.

I open my mouth to disagree, but his fingers clasp my lips together. “No, just listen. If you don’t have the stitch, the babies will come, and they won’t survive. They’re too small, and their lungs aren’t even close to being mature. You trust me, yeah?” I nod, because I do. I trust him with my life, our lives. “Then you know I won’t let anything happen to you or our babies, and I wouldn’t encourage you to have this done. If I thought for one second you or our babies would be in any danger, I wouldn’t stand for it,” he promises, kissing the bridge of my nose. 

I look to Dr. Wilters and agree to have the procedure. He goes through the possible risks, and I almost reconsider it, but I trust Blake. And if I tried to run out of here, I’m positive Blake would hold me down and place the stitch himself. Dr. Wilters tells me they’re going to give me the injection of Terbutaline and continue to monitor the babies and my contractions for the next several hours. As long as the medication stops the contractions and they remain nonexistent, he’ll proceed with the cerclage. I sign all the paperwork to give consent for treatment, and then the nurse comes in and administers the injection.