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Chapter 13
Past
"No," Phoebe said firmly, shaking her head emphatically as she folded the towel she'd just taken out of the drier.
I blinked, adding my own folded towel to the basket between us. Honestly, I'd contributed to more laundry folding in the last four weeks trying to get to know her than I had in my entire adult life. She'd insisted on re-washing every single sheet, towel, cloth and curtain in the house when she moved in, claiming allergies, so I'd helped where I was able, and now it seemed like every time I came over to spend time with her she was doing a load of washing. Or dishes. Or mopping. Vacuuming. Hell, even window washing. I guess the upshot was that she was proving that she wasn't the utter slob I'd encountered at the motel the day she moved in. But it did seem excessive to be constantly cleaning the house.
"No?" I questioned. "Just like that?"
"No, not 'just like that'," she sneered, dropping the final towel on top of the pile. "I barely know you, I'm not going to marry you just because you knocked me up." She turned on her heel, striding away with a imperious twirl of her hand which I'd come to recognise as her way of commanding me to pick up the basket and follow.
Taking a deep breath, I grit my teeth, summoned up a calm demeanour and carried the basket out behind her. "I didn't say we need to get married this second," I pointed out as we entered the bathroom. "Just that we need to talk about the eventuality of marriage."
She didn't look at me as she grabbed the towels out of the basket and set them on the shelf. "It's not an eventuality, Lester," she informed me sharply. "It's an option. If I remember the flow chart you drew for me correctly, all roads did not lead to marriage."
"That's true," I conceded, following as she lead the way back out of the bathroom and into the master bedroom. "But you're starting to show, and like it or not, there's still a stigma around being an unmarried pregnant woman." That wasn't what I'd meant to say. It was true, but it wasn't the argument I'd wanted to make to try to convince her that marrying was the right way to go. It wasn't even the kind of statement that was going to goad her into coming clean about her ongoing divorce proceedings. Sighing, I sat on the edge of the bed while she filed her clothes away in the dresser. "I'm going to need to tell my parents soon, and they're going to ask about our plans for marriage," I said.
She raised a perfectly pencilled eyebrow at me in the mirror over the dresser. "Then you can tell them that I'm not ready to marry a man I don't know just to give him the benefits of medical authority and custody over me and my child," she pointed out, slamming one drawer shut and reefing open the next.
This woman! How had she hidden her true nature so well during that one-night stand and the interim week while we figured out paternity etc? If this was what all the women I'd slept with over the years were like, I was starting to question my tastes.
"Our child," I corrected, trying to maintain my calm. "It takes two to tango, Pheebs."
"Don't call me that," she snapped, turning to face me straight on, her arms wrapped protectively over the small bump of her abdomen even as her gaze shot flames across the room.
Was all this due to pregnancy hormones? Or was she really just a bitch? I shook my head to dispel the thought. Thinking like that would never allow me to get into her good graces. If I was going to step up and be the responsible father for this child, I needed to start with the mother. Even if it meant bending and scraping a little.
"Sorry," I said. "I just think we need to talk about the future. I'd hate for something to happen to you or the baby and not be able to do anything about it because, in the eyes of the law, I have not authority as a mere sperm donor. The marriage is more than just to assign me rights as the father. It's for your protection as well."
She said nothing for a long moment, just staring at me, and breathing slowly deliberately. She seemed to be debating with herself on something big, and I was pretty sure I could guess what. The problem was, should I put us both out of our misery and bring her deception into the light, or should I continue to wait her out?
The guys had been urging me to hang her out to dry from the second they found out she was married. They saw her deception as lies and betrayal and maintained that Phoebe was the least trustworthy person in the world, which was saying something given the kinds of people we encountered in our line of work. And while I was inclined to agree with them to a point, I couldn't deny my role in the situation. I habitually bedded women without learning about their history, content to believe what I saw and what I heard. I had my rules but given these latest developments I was beginning to question my methods of ensuring I stuck by them. Was Phoebe the first married woman I'd slept with?
I thought of my parents, and what they would say if they knew. They were already at odds with my chosen lifestyle and I didn't relish the idea of their deepening disappointment. I'd prefer to have concrete answers about my plan for proving I was more than just some serial ladies man before I revealed to them the fact that they were due to become grandparents. I knew what I wanted to do, but Phoebe was making it real hard.
As she finally returned to putting the last of her clothes away, I heaved myself to my feet and walked slowly to the sliding glass door that lead out to the backyard. How many hours had I spent staring out at this view over the years? It usually brought me such comfort to be in the quiet stillness of my home, but that was gone now. Phoebe's presence was a disturbance in the force and would continue to grate on me until such a time as we could be honest with each other.
The sooner the better.
"I know about your husband," I said into the ambient quiet that had settled over the room. My voice was quiet, controlled, void of emotions, but it sounded like a shout inside my head. Maybe because I'd been mentally yelling the words at her every time we met for the last month.
The sounds of Phoebe's movement behind me as she tidied the already spotless room ceased. What I wouldn't give to see the look on her face right now, to see the expression of horror, surprise, shock cover her features, but I'd sprung for the anti-reflection windows, so the only way I'd be able to witness her unravelling calm would be to turn around and face her.
Long moments passed and neither of us moved. I was barely even breathing, waiting for her reaction. Eventually, the soft rustle of fabric alerted me to the fact that she was on the move, the plastic laundry basket clattered to the ground and the rustling increased as she sank down onto the bed. "Ex-husband," she wheezed.
"Soon to be ex-husband," I corrected, still not turning around. "Your divorce isn't finalised yet."
*o*
Barely able to contain the rage swirling inside me, I stormed into the third-floor gym like a hurricane spoiling for a fight. Bypassing the various machines and even the punching bags, I made a bee line for the doors on the other side of the room that lead to the sparring area. I didn't pause, or look around, just kicked off my shoes, tossed my keys and wallet aside, slammed my fist into Woody's jaw and stepped onto the mats, beckoning for him to follow. Before I could make it to the middle of the soft floor, though, Hank and Tank were on either side of me, each grabbing a bicep as they strong armed me back toward the door.
"No, you don't," Tank rumbled as he kicked his way through to the gym proper.
"Not again," Hank added.
"I just need to blow off some steam," I gritted out, though I couldn't find it in me to struggle against their hold. Now that I had a second to step back (metaphorically of course) I realised that punching Woody unprovoked probably wasn't the best way to request a sparring session.
Hank shook his head as they dragged me down the hall. "I still have bruised ribs from the last time you needed to blow off steam," he pointed out. "Try talking about your issues."
And with that they shoved me through the door to Bobby's medical suite. The man himself was at a cabinet on the far side of the space, reaching for an item on the top shelf. He froze when I barrelled through the door, slowly turning his head to stare at me. I just stood there, fuming, allowing him to take in every inch of the volatile bomb Tank and Hank had just lobbed into his office.
"I take it your morning with Phoebe didn't go well?" he asked, turning his attention back to the container as his hand closed around it. I hated that he trusted me so much not to lose control even when I was in such a state. I wanted wary. I wanted guarded. I wanted a fucking fist to the gut so that I could at least explain away the pain already radiating there.
"She agreed to marry me," I growled.
He nodded. That had been the objective for me going to see her today, so it came as no surprise to him. He knew better than to assume success by my words alone, though. Anyone faced with the mass of my fury would have been stupid to believe I'd merely achieved my desired outcome. He set the box on the counter and turned to face me again. "Buuut…?"
"Well obviously there's the minor inconvenience of her still being married to her husband," I snapped.
"Right," he agreed. "But we already knew about that."
I kicked the leg of the exam table just to expend some energy. "And now she knows I know about it."
His body language was carefully calm, but I could see the way his eyes were constantly roving, assessing not only my physical state, but any sign that my mental state was about to come to a head and cause me to snap. Leaning his hip against the counter, he folded his arms over his chest. "So… progress?" he tried to cajole.
"If you call the fact that she used me as a glorified sperm donor progress, then sure!" I bit out.
That got his attention. He said nothing as his professionally blank expression slammed into place, marred only by the twitch of his jaw.
"She wasn't just out randomly cheating on the guy," I explained agitatedly as I commenced pacing like a caged tiger. "She was deliberately sleeping with men that bore a vague resemblance to her husband in order to get pregnant! Apparently, she wanted a baby more than anything in the world, but her husband didn't want kids, so she decided to take matters into her own hands."
"That bitch," Bobby muttered.
Understatement of the year as far as I was concerned, but I continued on as if he'd said nothing. "She slept with me, sabotaged my fucking condom, got herself pregnant, and when she revealed the happy news to her husband, he knew it wasn't his. He KNEW that she'd cheated on him BECAUSE HE'S FUCKING STERILE!" I yelled the last, punching the nearest cabinet door, barely registering the pain in my knuckles as the wood splintered around my hand.
Bobby didn't move, despite the fact that I knew every fibre of his being wanted to check my hand for splinters and wounds. I was too worked up for him to get any closer than he already was without receiving that same fist to any part of his body that happened to come within range. "So that's why he kicked her out?"
I stopped in my tracks, throwing my arms wide. "I can't say I blame him!" I exclaimed, probably my face was an ugly shade of maroon from all this yelling, but I couldn't care less at this point. "I'm this close to kicking her out myself!" I added, holding up my thumb and forefinger less than a centimetre apart. If it weren't for the fact that I was worried she'd disappear if she had to leave, I'd have done so, but I couldn't let her drop out of my life as suddenly as she'd dropped into it. I may not have been planning on becoming a parent any time soon – if ever – but I couldn't deny the sense of duty I felt toward the life I'd set in motion. I had to protect it. I had to prove I was the man my parents had raised, even if that meant being unhappily married to a devil of a woman to do it.
"Shit man," he breathed. "I'm sorry. That's fucked up."
"Tell me about it!" I agreed."
"So, what happens now?"
And just like that, all the wind left my sails on the sound of a groan as I collapsed onto the exam table, face down. "I don't know, man," I moaned. "It's so much worse than I thought."
He sounded like he was smirking as he plopped down into his desk chair. "Regretting not running that full background check, now?"
"Majorly," I said, flipping my head to the side so I could glare at him. "But she was angry enough about me 'spying on her life.' I can't imagine what she would have been like if I'd figured out all those details she threw at me."
He shook his head. "She had no right to be upset after what she did," he assured me kicking his feet up on the desk and unwrapping one of the lollipops he kept in the drawer for when he had to treat Steph. "How did you get her to confess it all and then agree to marry you, though?"
I scoffed. "Apparently the guilt was eating her alive," I explained, recalling how she'd burst into tears midway through the story. I couldn't bring myself to comfort her, not with the pain radiating through me from my twisted gut, but thoughts of my parents had prompted me to ask her about marriage again. The surprise of her changed answer barely registered as I fought to maintain my cool, collected exterior.
"Once the divorce goes through, we'll have a civil ceremony at the courthouse," I'd told her. "I'll arrange it all, you just let me know when, and think about who you want as your witness." I paused, jaw clenched as I stared at her shrunken form, curled on the bed. "You must be tired; I'll let myself out. I'll call you tomorrow, I know you said your parents don't want anything to do with your or the baby, but we'll need to tell mine before too long."
And with that I'd let myself out of my house, making sure to lock and alarm it behind me, and drove like a bat out of hell back to Rangeman where my friends hadn't even afforded me the leisure of beating the shit out of something to get my anger out.
"Right," Bobby said thoughtfully. "Well, being a self-centred bitch'll do that to you."
Like always, he knew just what to say to slap me out of the dark place I'd found inside my head. I let out a bark of laughter, flipping onto my back. "How dare you!" I accused. "That's my future wife you're talking about!"