Page 32 of Save You

“Xander, if you don’t tell me, I’ll…” I falter, not even having the energy or the capacity to finish that sentence because I’m the size of a hippo, exhausted, and fed up with living with my big, moody, sulker of a boyfriend. The bastard even smirks when he realizes I’m lost for words. He’s clearly dicing with death and playing chicken for his own amusement.

“Just tell me!” I shout, before throwing what’s left of my bread roll at him. “Please don’t keep secrets from me; I thought we were in this together!”

“Ok, ok,” he finally concedes, putting both hands up in defeat, “Casey was attacked a few days ago.”

He sighs as I gasp over the horror of his revelation. When he finally braves it to look at my face, my mouth is still wide open in shock; I already know who will have been responsible for it. A wave of guilt crashes over me and I begin to hyperventilate as the room sways in my line of vision, causing me to feel nauseated. As my hands drop to the tabletop to try and steady myself, Xander rushes to my side and throws his arms around my shoulders.

“See, this is why I didn’t want to say anything! Just breathe, baby,” he says softly, then begins inhaling and exhaling deep and slow, trying to get me to follow suit.

“I-is she ok?” I ask as I force myself to try and copy his soothing exhalations, feeling completely stupid for making this all about me when he’s the one with his twin sister in hospital.

“She’s ok, now,” he soothes, kissing my hand as he talks, “she’s more shaken up than anything else, but-”

“You need to go see her,” I declare as I nod through my tears, “disguise yourself and go see her!”

“I’m not leaving you here alone, and there’s no way I’m risking you coming with me!”

“Xander, she’s your twin sister!” I cry out, then grab his cheeks to force him to look into my eyes. “Go, you have to.”

I brace myself to argue with him, to make him see how important this is, but he surprises me by nodding his head, all the while he stares at the floor. I can tell he’s reluctant to go, but I also know how much he cares about Casey and how being away from his family is killing him. I can’t blame him; I’m feeling it too. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I offer him what comfort and reassurance I can.

“I’m sorry, Xander, so sorry!” I whisper, feeling a hollowness in my chest that feels responsible for all that has happened, even if none of it was my choice. It’s still all happened because of me.

“Stop it!” he snaps, pulling back to tell me off with just his eyes. “Don’t even say you’re sorry for loving me, Beth!”

“But this is all my fault! You should be back home, living a normal eighteen-year-old life. Instead, you’re being held up in a cabin with your baby mama, while on the run from her nutcase fiancé!”

“Beth, I regret nothing,” he whispers as he takes hold of me again, “I’m in this with you all the way. This is our problem, our decision, and our baby! Now stop it, or I’ll stop helping you to put your slippers on in the morning!”

I giggle against him, not really feeling the mirth in it, but it’s enough to release some of the tension that’s been building over the last few weeks. The fear, the anticipation, and exhaustion of what-ifs have been plaguing both of us ever since I hit thirty weeks.

Eventually, I roll into bed, taking the weight of my swollen ankles off from my feet while Xander goes out to call his uncle. I emit the most ridiculous groan when I take a few moments to savor the comfortable mattress beneath my back, which is making me feel like I’m about ninety-four million years old. Pregnancy sure likes to remind you how weak your muscles and bones can be under the right pressure.

After a while, I pick up one of Carol’s ‘What to Expect’ books, so I can try to get information about labor without freaking out at the same time. The mention of a ‘mucus plug’ has me grimacing and chucking it back down to the side of me like it’s made of something just as vile. Xander seems to be taking much longer tonight, making me suspect that his uncle Stephen is thoroughly against the idea of him returning home to see his sister. He has to though, if only to appease his own guilt. He won’t be at peace until he does, and it will only be for a couple of days. Besides, I’ve still got a month to go, and Carol is only a phone call away should anything happen.

Another twenty minutes or so passes by before my tired-looking boy saunters back inside, looking like he’s gone head-to-head with Mike Tyson. I watch him slump onto the bed with a heavy sigh, before falling back to rest his head on top of my lap. He looks so wiped out at this moment, I begin to give him a little head massage, as well as stroking my finger pads over his face. He moans softly with a lazy grin on his face, and when I try to stop, his brow furrows and he pouts in protest, forcing another giggle out of me. His eyes dart open at the sound of my laughing, and he gifts me with one of mischievous grins.

“Come with me,” he says and suddenly jumps to his feet.

“Ok but given how much help I need to haul myself out of bed, this better be worth it, Fenton!” I whine as he pulls back the bedsheet and helps me up so I can waddle behind him into the living room.

I’m left to rock back and forth on my feet while he sets up his phone on the wooden sideboard, one that has definitely seen better days.

“You once told me you thought your dad was lucky to get to go and see LiveAid, so I thought we could have our own little concert right here, in this cabin.” He grins and presses his phone, so music begins to play. I breathlessly laugh over his playfulness when the sound of Dire Strait’s Romeo and Juliet flows out softly through the small speakers, reminding me of Friday nights back at home. My parents often played their favorite songs at the weekend, pretending they were still dating, even though Riley and I were very much a part of their lives. They’d both dress up, make a posh dinner, and turn the music up loud. This track was one of Mal’s favorites because his mother loved it so much. And so, now it is one of my favorites too.

Xander begins walking back toward me, crooking his finger in a come-hither motion that has me melting against his strong, protective body. Given that my stomach is the size of a house, we aren’t altogether successful when he tries to hold me in front, so he sidesteps behind me and instructs me to back up. I playfully slap at his arm when he makes the sound of a reversing, heavyweight lorry, but we soon fall into a contented silence. His whole-body wraps around my waist where he cradles our little one and begins to sway in time to the music. I cup his cheek and lay my other hand on top of his, feeling happy and warm against his chest. It begins to vibrate a little as he hums along to the song. His voice is deep and low, almost as gruff as Mark Knopffler’s singing.

“What are we going to do once we’re in England?” I whisper, giggling when he smiles against my skin and tickles my neck.

“Live happily ever after,” he mumbles, “have lots of sex.”

My giggle turns into a laugh, loud and free in the confines of our little cabin in the woods, where we can be openly in love with one another. Sex stopped at seven months, nearly four weeks ago when he felt too uncomfortable to do it with me. We’re both missing it, but to be fair, I can’t say I feel particularly sexy at the moment.

“What shall we call this little one?” I ask, rubbing his hand, which is still lying on top of my belly.

“Xander, if it’s a boy; Beth, if it’s a girl,” he relies, shrugging against me as if this is a given.

“How original!” I reply sarcastically. “I kind of liked my grandmother’s name, Rosalie, but it’s ok if you don’t.”

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