So. Long.: Bad Boy Next Door (55 page)

Women are fucked up. A guy tries to show some concern and
they flip their shit. What the hell?

Trap me? What the fuck? Shit… trap me? Really? It’s not like
it would upset me if—Mo and
my
baby?

My lungs hitch at the thought. I slide a glance her way. A
vision of a sweet little green-eyed blonde with satin skin like her mama’s pops
into my mind. Or, what if we had a boy, sandy hair with Mo’s blue eyes? My
heart swells.

No. Stop. Don’t even go there. It’s obvious the idea is
abhorrent to Mo. She’s still got to finish school. But people do it all the
time; and she’d only have a year left by the time the baby came. It’s not
completely out of the realm of doable.

No.

Shit.

Hell’s bells. Why am I even thinking this? She doesn’t even
fucking love me and I want her pregnant with my baby?

The plastic just-in-case-she-barfs bag in Mo’s lap covers
the place a baby would thrive in her womb. I can just imagine Mo’s golden skin
stretched taut over our baby inside, all warm and safe.

Fuck yeah, I want her pregnant with my baby. I want it all.
The house, the SUV, the kids, the dogs. Hell, even a cat, if that’s what she
wants.

Now, all I have to do is make her fall in love with me.

It’s been two days since Danny scared the living shit out of
me with his question about whether or not I could be pregnant. It’s all I think
about.

Worry
about.

I’ve been sick every afternoon. Not sick early in the day at
all. Obviously not
morning
sickness. So, surely—

Well, we’ll find out. I lay the white stick with its
accusing little window on the counter. After I wash up, I creep into the
hallway, checking that Danny hasn’t come home.

Back into the bathroom.

No. Not enough time has gone by.

I sit on the edge of the bed, gnawing on my thumbnail. My
stomach is full of mean and nasty butterflies, the poisonous kind. Okay, I
don’t know if there are any such things as toxic butterflies, but the ones in
my gut must be with the way it feels.

Please don’t let Danny return in the next two and a half
minutes.

I grab a handful of crackers from the cabinet in the
kitchen, munching on them as I pace into the living room. The microwave clock
has to be stuck. I check my phone. Nope. Same time shows on both. Damn.

Finally, my timer goes off. I race to the bathroom, grabbing
the doorframe before I trip onto the tile from the carpet in the hallway. I
suck in a deep breath and swallow the trepidation trying to choke me.

It
will
be negative. God is not this cruel.

Right?

My foot hits the cold floor. The next step lands on the
plush rug in front of the sink. I stare into my reflection, avoiding the
results that’ll either free me or land me in a special kind of hell. I’m pale
beneath my tan, bottom lip tucked between my teeth.

I straighten up. “Whatever happens; it’s all right. I can
handle it.”

I pick up the stick, gripping it in my trembling hand.

“Mo?”

Fuck.

My eyes dart around the bathroom. Shit. Where do I put it?

Not the trash, he’ll see that.

The conch shell on the back of the counter has a space under
it. I grab it.

I’m just about to set the shell over the stick when his arms
slide around my waist and his chin lands on my shoulder. “Hey, babe. What’s
up?”

I droop in defeat.

Caught. The test stick in one hand, the shell in the other.

“What’s this?” He reaches for the white plastic in my hand.

I twist away from him. “Just
get out
.”

“What’s wrong?” He frowns, his eyes darting from the shell
to the stick and back.

I can’t help but look at what he’s staring at. See what he
sees. How incriminating is it?

I pull my hands in close to my body as my eyes fall to the
two items in my grasp. The underside of the shell is pink, with—“What the
hell
?”

Turning the shell to a better angle, I stare into it. A
small black device is lodged inside.

Danny lets out a groan.

I slap the stick onto the counter and pluck the mechanism
from the pink encasing it, holding it up between us. “What is
this
?”

Turning it this way and that, I study it. An even darker
gloom creeps over my day. Then a rush of anger floods me. “A camera? Is this a
fucking camera?”

TWELVE

Her face changes color. Not the pretty pink I love, but red,
like I-will-cut-yo-ass red.

I throw up my hands. “Fuck! Yes.”

That shithead. I thought I found them all. Do I tell her it
was him? Will she inform my mom? Will Mom spiral into a drinking binge she’ll
never crawl out of? What happens when Rachel finds out?

Holy shit.

She spins on her heel as she shoves the camera into my
chest. “You are un-fucking-believable.”

Wait. What? “You think
I
put that there?”

She storms into the closet and throws my clothes out,
hangers clattering as she rips shirts and jeans off them. A pile grows on the
bedroom floor.

What the hell? “Why would I need a camera? I get to see you
naked every day.”

She leans out of the closet, glaring at me like I just lit
the house on fire. “Who else would do something like this, Danny?”

I clench my fists at my sides. “I didn’t do this, Mo. I
can’t believe you’d think I would.”

She stands with one foot in and one foot out of the closet,
arms crossed. “Then who? You tell me and I’ll take it up with them.”

Fuck yeah, she would. And the rest of my family would fall
the fuck apart. I should’ve grabbed the cock sucker and choked him out when I
had him by the throat.

I grind my teeth as my stomach hardens. I’m stuck between a
rock and a hard place, screwed no matter what happens.

If I tell her, she’ll still hate me—it’s my fucking father,
after all. Plus, my mom will probably go on the bender to end all benders. And
I’m not even sure how this would affect Rachel.

Shit. Mo might even quit talking to Rach, considering it’s
also her dad who’s the perv responsible for this—this—cluster fuck of epic
proportions. How did I get stuck in the middle of this?

I push my fingers through my hair.

She tromps over my clothes to the dresser where she pulls
open the two drawers my things are stashed in. Mo dumps each of them over the
growing pile of my shit. “I can’t believe I actually started to think you
weren’t as bad as I thought. That maybe—just
maybe
, I was wrong. I’m so
stupid for letting you into my life like this.”

There are no words to fix this, not without creating another
mess.

I try to grab her around the waist, but she swings away from
me. “No. Don’t you—don’t touch me. Ever.”

“Mo. Please. I wouldn’t do this. You have to believe me. I
love you. I’d never do something like this.”

She lets out a huff of a breath. “Right. And you’d never
fuck a girl in the hallway of your parents’ house, or on the hood of your car,
in the driveway where God and everybody can witness it. You would never ever do
anything so perverted.”

Mo pushes past me, back into the bathroom. I’m not even a
full stride behind her. “I’m not leaving.”

She tries to close the door, but I wedge my foot in just in
time. I push it open, and she backs up to the edge of the tub, shooting daggers
with her eyes. Then they dart to the counter top. That stick she had earlier
lays there.

Mo lunges for the stick, but I beat her to it, holding it
above my head. Why would she want this so bad? “What is it?”

She holds out her hand. “Nothing. It’s mine. None of your
business. Give it to me.”

I step back and glance at what I’ve got. Just a plastic
thing a little bigger than a thermometer. I turn it over. The oval screen
screams one word. I read it aloud. “Pregnant.”

She throws her hands up with a loud exhale. Pushing past me
out the door, she mumbles. “Great.”

I follow her into the bedroom where she pushes open the
window and pops out the screen.

“Is this yours?” I ask, unable to think of anything else to
say.

She stoops over the load of crap she’s piled in the floor,
grabbing an armload. “No. It’s the mail lady’s baby. Asshole.”

Baby.

Holy fuck.
Our
baby?

The images I had before flash back into my mind. The smile
that pushes up my cheeks comes out of nowhere and can’t be contained. Even when
Mo throws my shit out the window it stays put.

I cross my arms and nod. “We’re having a baby. Oh my, God.
This is—”

She throws me a look. “This is
terrible
. Tragic. A
travesty. And
we
aren’t doing anything.
I
am. Maybe.”

“Maybe?” What does that mean?

She tosses the second half of my stuff out onto the lawn. “I
haven’t made any decisions yet. I need time to think.”

The smile slides off my face to join my stomach on the floor
at my feet.

“Think? What’s there to think about? It’s our
baby
.
You wouldn’t—” I swallow hard and shut my fucking mouth before I push her to
make a rash decision.

“I’m not sure. Knowing you’re a douche who’d video me
without my knowledge or consent doesn’t exactly make me think having your baby
is a good idea. I’m not convinced I want to be tied to you for the rest of my
freaking life. All I know
right now
is you need to go. Go far, far
away.”

My hands fall limp at my sides while my throat tightens. In
one fell swoop my entire dream for the future has been swept out from under me.
The backs of my eyes burn.

I take a deep breath. “I’ll clear out. But I did
not
put that camera there. And I’m not giving up on us, Mo. I won’t. I
can’t
.”

Danny took every trace of himself when he left.

Everything except the tiny life inside me.

I cross my arms and double over, curling into a ball as I
drop my face into my pillow. The tears come from warm eyes, coursing over
hotter cheeks. Humiliation bears down, leaving me with nothing but shame and
hard choices to be made.

How could he do it? Why would he think it was okay? Do I
have
stupid
written on my forehead? After the ordeal with that idiot
Paul, I would never have imagined Danny could do something like this. But he
did. There’s no other explanation.

My rage fades with the light. Night falls as I stare into an
empty corner of my room. My eyes have dried, but my skin aches and my heart
cringes with every shaky breath.

I whisper, “Oh, little baby, I’m so sorry I chose badly. I
really messed up, didn’t I?”

The smile Danny wore when he realized I’m pregnant…any other
time that smile would’ve lifted me to the heights of heaven, but it wasn’t any
other time—it was today.

After I found that surveillance equipment.

After I learned what a douche he really is.

After
my world crashed around me.

Now all I can do is pick up all the slivers and shards, put
them in a paper sack to piece together another day, and get on with it. I sit
up, swing my legs over the side of the bed, and pull my shoulders back. I’ve
seen plenty of women who’ve got it worse than me.

I’m not completely broke. I’ve saved some money. It’s not
optimal timing, but life rarely throws a soft ball. At least, not my life.

All I need to do is find a place to call home. Because I
sure can’t live here, not without knowing whether there are other cameras
hiding, watching, recording my every move.

I can’t face Danny’s parents, so I send an email to
Charlotte explaining I feel it’s time for me to get out on my own. I’ve managed
to avoid her and Dave, though I’m not sure exactly how.

I load some of my clothes into the back of my car. I don’t
have any furniture to speak of. No dishes, not too many knick-knacks. Moving
turns out to not be such a big deal.

Slade carries out the last suitcase and tosses it into the
bed of his beat up truck. “You ready?”

I lock the door and exhale, shoulders slumping.

When I turn, Danny stumbles around the front of Slade’s
truck.

Crap. I thought we’d get out of here before he came down.

He points at me as he weaves closer. “You shloudnut leave,
Mo. Don’t go. I wan you t’stay.”

My heart seizes.

Slade steps between me and Danny. “Hey, buddy. This is
happening. You sober up and give her a call tomorrow.”

Danny pushes Slade with both hands right in the chest.
“Fluck you, man. Mo’s mine. She’s—she’s wit me.”

To his credit, Slade just blocks Danny from dodging around
him. “Mo, get in the truck. Lover boy here can crawl back up to his house.”

I edge toward the truck. “We can talk tomorrow, Danny.” Or
not.

For a drunk, Danny’s fast. He manages to slip past Slade’s
arm and grabs hold of my hands. “Please. Jus lis—listen. Dad did the cameras. I
didn’t do anythling.”

Slade grabs hold of Danny by the shoulders, moving him
around until Danny’s legs twist together and he falls over.

Danny raises his hand as though he’s reaching for me. “It
was him. All Dad. He’s the perv. I love you, Mo.”

My face grows hot. Unbelievable. I cover my mouth, shaking
my head. “God, Danny. Really? That’s the best you could come up with? You’re
going to blame your dad? He’s a freaking preacher.”

Danny bounces up like a kid’s blow-up punching toy. Again he
tries to get around Slade, his expression hardening when I get into the truck
and close the door.

He says something I can’t hear because the windows are up.
Then he throws a punch at Slade, who ducks to the side. Danny’s fist lands on
the wheel well of Slade’s old truck with a loud thump. He rolls to the ground,
but doesn’t stay down.

I fling the door open. “Danny, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Not dicalous! This guy’s goin’ take you away.” His fist
flies through the air again.

This time Slade steps into him, catching Danny around the
waist when he almost falls over from the momentum of his own swing.

Slade says, “C’mon, man. Don’t make me have to put your ass
down.”

My lungs are tight, and my stomach rolls.

Danny’s eyebrows shoot up. He points to himself. “Put
me
down?”

Slade bows up, chest out, fist ready. “If I have to.”

“You ain’t leaving with my girl, dickwad. We’re havin’ a
blaby.” He pulls back and bashes his forehead into Slade’s nose.