Page 172 of Perfect Pitch

No longer his.

Maybe it’s waiting to become one with our child.

I lose sight of Mitch and begin to panic. Terrified he’s waiting just beyond the booth door to demean what we were some more, I do what I’ve never done since taking the booth at Redemption.

I call for an escort to leave.

I don’t open the door until Louie comes up. After one look at my ravaged face, he won’t take no for an answer when he tells me he’s personally driving me home. “I want to make sure you get there safely. Christ, Kensington. What the fuck happened?”

“Great question, Louie. I wish I could tell you.” I wish I knew myself. I curl up into a ball and mentally drift as Louie travels to downtown Manhattan to deliver me into the elevator.

For tonight, I have peace.

* * *

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

If it’s done right. That’s why we love Beckett Miller too.

—Viego Martinez, Celebrity Blogger

“Hello?”

“Mama?” I manage, just before my voice breaks and sobs wrack my body.

“Austyn? Darling? What’s wrong?” I hear my mother excuse herself to a colleague. “Stay on the line, sweetheart. I’m going into my office.”

I try to control myself enough to reply, but the effort seems useless when I know the minute I start explaining what happened last night, she’s going to lose her mind.

There’s a definitive click and then my mother’s voice encouraging me. “Calm down, sweetheart. Take deep breaths. Inhale.”

I try. I do. But every time I exhale, more tears escape. I draw up the recollection of Mitch’s hands and body pressing the woman against the wall. “Mama,” I choke out.

“Whatever it is, I’m right here.”

“I-I k-know.” I reach for a bottle of water and take a small sip to calm myself.

“Nothing and no one loves you the same way I do.” My mother’s soothing tone washes over me.

Will my child? I think. There’s silence on the other end of the line. “Oh god,” I moan.

“Oh, sweetheart.” There’s no condemnation in my mother’s voice. Just understanding. Then Dr. Paige makes an appearance. “You have to calm down, Austyn. This kind of turmoil isn’t good for a baby’s development in the first trimester.”

“Mama, I’m over five months along,” I blurt out.

“Five months?” Her voice is faint before turning shrill. “That’s... why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Somehow, her anxiety settles mine. “I just found out.”

“What does Mitch have to say about it?”

Her simple question sets me off. I curl up in the middle of my bed bawling, holding our child, praying last night was a nightmare and knowing it wasn’t.

Stiltedly, I force out the words. I hear her exclamation of anger when I share what Mitch shouted at me, how he emotionally pushed me away. She grits out, “I’m going to kill him.”

“You can’t. He protects Dad.”

I hear her teeth snap together before she says, “The minute I share this, your father will hurt him.”

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