Chapter 10

Past

"Are you sure about this, man?" Bobby asked, not for the first time, as we piled into my truck Saturday morning. He'd been skeptical from the second I announced the plan, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't agree with his viewpoint at least a little. Phoebe may be the mother of my unborn child, but I hardly knew her, and at this point almost everything I did know about her landed her squarely in the untrustworthy column of acquaintances. And yet I'd offered up my home anyway.

"Do you have a better solution?" I said, my voice flat. It had been doing that a lot more often than usual in the last week. I just couldn't muster up my same vibrant zest for life knowing that nearly ever detail of it was set to change dramatically over the coming months. I'd gotten a girl pregnant, and now I needed to man up and do the right think. Whatever the hell that was, because at this point everything seemed wrong.

"Yeah," Bobby said. "I do. You could let her stay in that hotel a while longer until she works out a more permanent solution on her own dime."

He was pissed. Possibly more annoyed about the situation than I was, which was saying something, because I was absolutely livid with the way things were turning out. Not only had I unwillingly allowed myself to sleep with a married woman, she'd somehow gotten pregnant, and now I was stuck dealing with the consequences. Not only that, I was entirely unconvinced that any of this was an accident. And Bobby's mood wasn't helping matters. I'd never known him to hold such strong opinions about my life. Sure, he'd always been there for support and advice, but he'd never judged. Not like this at least. He could barely contain his contempt for the woman.

I sighed, backing the truck out of the parking space and swinging it towards the exit. "You saw the place she's staying," I reminded him. "You said yourself it's a health hazard. I have a responsibility to make sure she and the baby are safe and healthy." It wasn't often that I was the level headed, rational half of a conversation, and that fact that I was now only added to the storm cloud hanging over my head.

"I'm just saying," Bobby said, after a slow breath to calm himself down – maybe he was hating this role reversal as much as I was. "That there are ways to ensure her health and safety without inviting her into your sanctuary, at least until you know her a bit better."

He was right, of course. I could have helped fund an apartment for her to stay in while we ironed out the many kinks in the whole situation, but as far as I was concerned, that was just delaying the inevitable. I may not have wanted to settled down just yet, but I'd be damned if I was going to let anything keep me from being a good father now that the choice in the matter had been taken away from me. I had to work with what I had, and what I had was a woman how had lied to me almost every time I'd spoken to her, and who posed a major flight risk if I so much as hinted at not being okay with this baby.

Bobby may be concerned about me opening my home to this perfect stranger, and while I shared his hesitance to a degree, I couldn't deny the strategy behind the offer. My home was monitored by one of Rangeman's state of the art security systems, so at least if she was staying there I could keep tabs on her to a point. Between that and the tracking device I had in my pocket to plant on her car, I felt confident that I'd at least have some warning if she did decide to do a runner.

I said as much to Bobby as I wound my way through the streets of Trenton to the worst motel I knew of in the area, and that seemed to placate him somewhat. Along with the knowledge that I had moved anything valuable at the house to my Rangeman apartment, including any arms I'd had stashed in the vault. The house was now essentially little more than an empty shell, ready for her to move in.

Phoebe was clearly suffering from morning sickness when we arrived at the motel and knocked on the door to her room. She was pale, almost grey in complexion, and was not at all as put together as she had been every other time we'd met. Her hair was in a messy bird's nest on top of her head, something I'd seen Steph do from time to time, but where Steph made it look almost elegant, on Phoebe it gave the impression of a drug addict in the throes of withdrawal. Add to that the sheen of sweat on her forehead, the dark circles under her eyes and the overall greyish pallor and I was genuinely unsurprised by the brief thoughts of zombie special effects make-up that flitted through my mind. What the hell was I getting myself into?

"Morning," I greeted when she just squinted at me in the bright sunlight. "Ready to get this show on the road?"

Her reply came in the form of distinct intent-to-vomit face as she dashed away, leaving us at the open doorways as she disappeared into the ensuite bathroom.

"Guess not," Bobby murmured.

"Anything you can do to help?" I asked, casting him a glance over my shoulder as I crossed the threshold, taking in the general disarray filling the room. I'd expected her to have everything packed so I could just put it in the truck; a quick transfer, in-and-out mission. Clearly, my expectations were too high. Note to self: organise to spend more time with Phoebe. I should really know the woman I will be co-parenting with a little better.

"I'll see if this dump has any vending machines that work," Bobby said. "Some electrolytes and plain crackers might do her good, but there's nothing I can offer to stop it entirely."

I nodded my understanding. I knew this wasn't his area of expertise, and that there wasn't much that could be done to prevent morning sickness, but hopefully some hydration and plain food would help settle her stomach at least enough to give Bobby and I some direction in sorting through and packing the mess of her belongings.

The belongings that would soon be occupying space in the home that had become the equivalent of Superman's fortress of solitude for me, I realised. It was where I went when I needed to relax and disconnect from the world. To be alone. Well, not anymore. Maybe Bobby had a point. Maybe I'd been too hasty in offering up my personal sanctuary to this woman. But I just wanted to make sure I was doing the right thing. Regardless of whatever backstory there was that she wasn't telling me, I was partly responsible for the life brewing inside her. My mama would be appalled if she learned that I'd allowed the mother of her first grandchild to live in this disease-ridden motel when I had a perfectly good house that she could stay in.

One way to ensure she didn't find out was to not allow it to happen in the first place. So while I was far from ready to tell my parents about Phoebe and the baby, they were already guiding my decisions.

They'd always tried to instil good morals in me, which had served me well thus far. Even if they weren't pleased with the coping mechanisms I'd developed, they could at least concede that I was careful, courteous, thoughtful and responsible in my approach. And now, with Phoebe, I was trying to do the right thing, even if it meant sacrificing some of my own privacy and comfort to do so.

"That's what being a parent is all about," I recall my dad saying when I'd thanked him for everything he'd done for me. "Sacrifices to give your child a good life."

I looked a little closer at some of the items strewn around, trying to determine if I could safely start packing for her while she was indisposed, but ultimately decided I didn't know her well enough, nor had I built up enough of trust with her to paw through her belongings without permission. Between the secrets I knew she was keeping from me and the flighty behaviour she'd exhibited when we met at the diner earlier in the week, I wasn't willing to risk an adverse reaction by jumping in to help where I wasn't wanted.

By the time Bobby had returned with an armful of food-based nausea remedies, the retching noises that were drifting out from the bathroom had ceased, replaced by the squeals of old plumbing as water gushed from the faucet. She emerged a moment later, face damp and looking like death. I definitely would not have slept with her if she'd presented me with this side of her.

"I got a few things that might help soothe your stomach," Bobby said, stepping forward with his vending machine spoils while I just stared. "Gatorade for hydration and electrolytes, plain salted chips, a packet of saltines and a can of Sprite."

Phoebe screwed her nose up at him. "You brought me, sugar, artificial flavours, and carbs," she told him none too kindly. "D you know what that does to your body?"

Bobby cut his eyes to me and though he'd managed to keep his face free of expression, I'd seen that glance often enough to correctly interpret the question hidden beneath the surface. He was questioning Phoebe's seriousness on her statements, and probably, my sanity for not only sleeping with her, but allowing my life to be come so firmly entangled with her own.

What can I say? The crazy doesn't usually matter for the activities I usually undertake with these women. It doesn't matter if they have strict rules about sugar and carbs if all we're doing is fucking each other's brains out. It was one of the major benefits to my lifestyle.

At least it had been until I made the fatal error of getting a married woman pregnant.

I just shrugged. They're not good for you in large quantities, no," I agreed with her, hoping that if I played good cop to Bobby's bad, she might trust me a little more. "But in small amounts they're not so bad. It's about balance. If you drink or eat these now, they might help you feel a bit better quicker, and allow you to eat healthier later in the day when your stomach isn't upset."

She just stared at me for a long moment, and I have to admit, the heat of her glare was scorching, but I'd endured much worse from people who were intent on breaking me, so it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. I kept my face passive, waiting for her response. Eventually she sighed and held her hand out towards Bobby. "I'll take the Sprite," she said. "But you can keep your gluten and food dyes. I have some green apples in the bar fridge."

Relief washed over the both of us as we sprang into action, Bobby juggling his armful to hand her the Sprite, and me hopscotching my way across the room to retrieve an apple for her. We allowed her a few sips and a bite before bringing up the issue of packing.

Much to my relief she didn't seem to hold any concern with us helping to gather her belongings and in twenty minutes into the few suitcases and boxes she had. While Bobby carried them down to my truck, I did a final walk through of the motel room to make sure we hadn't left anything behind and accompanied Phoebe, who was gaining colour by the minute but still did not appear well, to the front desk to check out.

When we met Bobby back in the parking lot and Phoebe had to make a dash for the bushes near by to throw up in, the decision was made to divide and conquer. Bobby would drive my truck, and I would drive Phoebe in her car. It served the dual purpose of getting her and her belongings to my house quickly and easily without the need to rely on GPS directions or the follow the leader method, and prevented her from having a morning sickness induced accident of either the car or personal variety.