Author's note: I'm starting a new story. I haven't written a fanfic in quite some time, but I decided to get back into it. This intro/chapter 1 is a bit on the short side, but I'm just trying to feel my way through the story. The plot is still developing, but I'm hoping to have a more concrete idea of where this is going when I post the second chapter. Enjoy!

xoxo,

Kaitlyn

I'm craving a McFlurry. My feet don't fit in my shoes, and I can't stand Cheez-its. He's dazzling me with unwarranted compliments and trying to give me a massage despite his shaky hands. I have the overwhelming urge to knock all of his teeth out and replace them with Bugles.

"You're. Not. Helping."

There are just so many things wrong with him right now. Everything from the way he's sitting to the tone of his voice is agitating. I want him gone.

"Jamie, please, just go get me some ice cream or something."

"Okay, but you need to call Quincy. He's been bugging me about your latest album."

"I don't give a fuck about my latest album. I give a fuck about what happens to this demon thing growing inside of me. I JUST WANT IT OUT ALREADY. Shit."

His hand is cupping my belly, somehow managing to irritate every itchy spot on my stomach. Pregnancy is the worst. "Alright, alright. Ice cream it is. Love you."

"I love you." I think. I chose you. But do I love you?

And off he goes, fumbling with the car keys, smiling nervously at me because he knows that once the car engine is a distant hum at the end of the street, I will call Tommy, and we'll talk the way Jamie and I never quite mastered.

"Tommy, hey…. Look, I can't do this right now, okay? I've managed to keep my stress levels down all day… Nope, no vomit from this diva… really? He said that?... no, I can definitely perform pregnant…. Tommy, it's the fucking Radio City Music Festival… yeah, you should come down to LA, it'll be nice to see you in the States for a change… Tom, we've talked about this… I'm not moving back to Canada! Jamie's business is here. I'm his wife. I love him. I support him. I am carrying his child… yeah, well he doesn't know that, alright?... yeah, I'll see you in a few weeks. I promise I'll send the other two songs to you by Friday…. You, too. Bye."

I love Tommy Quincy.

I hate that he still does cocaine "every once and awhile."

I hate that his ex-wife runs the recording studio he bought from Darius.

I hate that he and Jamie despise each other.

I hate that he always manages to fuck up, at least once every six months.

I hate that he's not reliable and loveable and easy to be with.

Because I am so fucking in love with him. And god, the sex was stellar.

The arrival section of the airport stinks. It has since I landed the first time in LA, but god today the stench is especially awful. I spot the cheap looking café Tommy and I broke up in. He told me I was a cunt-faced teenager and I told him he'd never amount to anything because he was fucked up beyond repair.

And three years and two (almost) albums later, we've since made up and proven each other wrong. It's weird how life works like that.

He bought Darius out.

I landed a coveted deal at RCA records here in LA.

And now I'm alone in an airport, wishing my husband had better cell reception in case I went into early labor or something crazy happens. Pregnancy is like getting a ten month dose of hypochondria. But Jamie is happily listening to the Blue Man Group on his way to our second house.

Every time he visits, Jamie retreats to the mountains for the weekend, as if to say, 'I give up trying to get in the way of you two, even though you're my wife.'

It's sickening to watch a man who supposedly loves me cower like that. Tommy would never dare leave me with another man. Tommy still asks when I'm marrying him. If I want a Spring or Winter wedding. If we should have a shebang that would make the cover of People or elope, even though that would still make the cover of People.

So far, I signed about a hundred autographs before cowering behind my bodyguard in one of those airport chairs that feels like a metal slab.

I always have to mentally prepare myself for seeing him. Resisting his scruffy grin and broad shoulders is like a P90X workout routine. Exhausting, useless, and it never lasts long.

"Jude, over here!"

I look up, see the tall, dark, handsome stud who took my virginity and melt.

"Asshole, you look like a washed up popstar. Oh wait… you are."

But my snarky quip turns into a genuine smile and I attack him, my belly resting between us, an uncomfortable reminder that we're no longer carefree lovers-turned-friends.

"I can't believe you're actually going to be a mother."

"I can't believe you're actually going to be a father."

"Have you told him?"

"No. It's going to break his heart."

The stars must have completely misaligned, leaving me thinking 'just my luck' when my phone starts to ring; the caller ID reads 'Jamie.'

"Hi darling…. Yes, he just arrived, how's the cabin?... oh shit, okay, I'll call the maintenance guy… alright alright, you do it… okay… love you, too."

We walk, drive, eat in silence, both of us unwilling to admit to the other that we're going to screw over a completely innocent man, my husband, in less than 48 hours.

"When we tell him, do you think he'll leave you?"

"I don't want him to."

And I don't. I love Jamie. He gives me reliable love. He provides a calmness and comfort that even Tommy can't do for me. Our passion was great when I was a music whore, addicted to the recording studio and Tommy's gruff voice telling me to do another take. But I'm having a baby. Reliable has to trump passion, right?

"Jude, even if he doesn't want to leave you, I have rights. I wanna see my kid."

"That makes everything so complicated, Tommy. Two months ago, you didn't even want me to keep it."

"Well, I changed my mind, okay? I want to marry you, raise our baby, make more babies…"

His hand on mine brought on a dizzy spell. "Stop it. I'm driving."

"Just think about it."

"I did. And three years ago, I made a choice. The one time I caved, the one fucking time I so much as gave you a suggestive look in those three years ended up getting me pregnant. So forgive me if I'm allergic to your touch right now."

When we shuffle into my house, I'm bombarded with pictures of Jamie and me. The neighborhood barbeque we hosted sits atop the entrance table in the hallway. I toss my keys down, give a half truthful smile to our dog, Squirt, and stomp toward the kitchen. I'm hungry again.

"Where should I put my stuff?"

"The guest room, where you always stay?"

"Great."

I see the light go out in his eyes, the hurt of my rejection. Why couldn't he look this grown-up, this sincere three years ago? Why does he have to want a family and commitment now, when I already have both with someone else?

His butt going up the stairs in those jeans juices up my nether regions. The gears in my head are already spinning, the hormones from carrying another human being making everything I'm feeling much too intense.

Not today. Not tomorrow. Not next week, month, year. Not ever.

I married Jamie. And vows mean something to me. They mean everything to me.

TBC…..