Page 3 of Cloud Nine Love

“Yeah, sure.” I nodded, feeling a little off-balance from the exchange.

It was like the moment we touched, my entire world tilted on its axis. Even though I knew I was only human and would obviously find people attractive, I felt like an asshole because I’d had such a visceral response to this stranger. I was engaged. I loved Misty. The world around me should not disappear when I look at another woman. My world shouldn’t be shaken to its core by an accidental touch.

I sat staring down at the glass of water that had been the catalyst of this tectonic shift, contemplating how shitty I felt, when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

“Excuse me.”

I turned my head and saw a woman who, with her wavy white hair and rosy cheeks, could easily be cast as Mrs. Claus.

“Is someone sitting there?” She pointed to the empty stool beside me.

I stood and pulled out my stool for her. “Yes, but here you go.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, no, I’m fine.”

My phone, which I was still holding in my left hand, began to ring. I looked down and saw that it was Misty.

“Um, please, take my seat. I need to answer this, but could you watch these bags and save that seat for a woman in a green shirt?” A green shirt that matched her eyes perfectly.

“Of course, dear,” she replied with a sweet smile.

“Hey.” I turned and answered the call, but realized I couldn’t hear anything. “Hold on one sec; I just need to get somewhere quieter.”

I walked outside to the patio area off the bar, which was empty due to the weather. Thankfully, there was a tiny overhang that kept me out of the rain. When the door closed, I said, “Sorry about that. I’ve been trying to call you. I’m not sure when I’m going to get home. This weather is?—”

“I’m not going to your sister’s wedding,” Misty blurted out.

I hadn’t been expecting to hear that, so it took me completely off guard. “Oh, okay. Are you okay? Are you sick?”

“I’m pregnant.”

I stood silently, not sure how to process that news. Hearing she wasn’t going to the wedding had been a shock, but the news she was pregnant was a bomb. We’d talked about having kids after we got married, but never any sort of specific timeline. Since we’d been engaged for five years, we clearly weren’t great at timelines.

“Oh… um, are you sure?”

“I went to the doctor today. I’m eight weeks pregnant,” she said as she sniffed.

“Eight weeks,” I repeated as I tried to do the mental math.

I hadn’t gotten much sleep the past four weeks because the training had been outdoors in the wilderness, and we weren’t glamping. So, I knew I wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders, but if I hadn’t been home in over three months and she was two months pregnant, then…

“So, I’m not…”

“No. You’re not the father.”

If being pregnant was a bomb, me not being the father was a nuclear bomb.

“I’m sorry, Remi. I didn’t want to tell you like this. I wanted to tell you when you got home before you flew out to Texas, but?—”

“Who’s the father?”

“Jagger.”

“From CrossFit?”

“Yeah.”

Jagger Spence owned the CrossFit gym where I trained when I was home. He was a retired NFL player who, ironically, I’d introduced to Misty at my birthday party two years ago. I had no clue that they’d stayed in touch.

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