Page 76 of Ghosted By Texas

“No. Please, take me home – to my home.” I reiterated in a frantic tone.

“What?” He slowed the truck, realizing that I was dead serious, and it wasn’t up for negotiation. “Why?”

“You really need to ask me that?”

“Becs, I don’t understand. I really wanted to show you something at the house. That can’t happen unless you go there.”

“If you think, for even a minute, that I will step foot inside that house ever again without there being a life-or-death emergency involving my son, you are sadly mistaken.”

“You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

Austin sighed, then checked his mirrors and blind spot before pulling a U-turn and heading back toward my house. “I explained that Jordan had no part in helping with that house, it was another one of her lies.”

“It was also where we fell apart. It’s the reason I have to plan on being a single parent. It’s the reason I couldn’t even function for weeks until I realized someone else was counting on me to pull my shit together,” I yelled at him as I clutch my belly to indicate who that ‘someone’ was I had to get my stuff together for.

“Becs, Jesus. What the hell am I supposed to do to fix that? I own my home.”

“Good for you, I guess.”

“I planned on one day being able to bring my son and you home there,” he tried to explain.

“Not happening.”

It may have seemed stubborn, but that place had too many crappy memories attached to it. I didn’t think I could even stomach looking at it from the street, let alone being forced to go inside.

“I don’t get it, Becs. We’ve been getting along so well.”

“How can you not get it? The last time I was there, you chose her. Our future together, the happy one I’d been dreaming about where I’d one day be your wife before we ever started a family, ended that last day I was at your house. I don’t ever want to go there again.”

“You know why. I thought she was pregnant and that I had to cut ties with you for my baby – not her! It was never about choosing her over you. I’ve told you that before.”

“I was owed a damn conversation, Austin. I don’t care why you did it. You just left me alone with my imagination and the last place I had to imagine you in was that house. The one I left you alone in with her. The one that was the last memory I had of you until I saw the two of you looking so much like a couple at the movie theater, then my imagination of what went on in that house grew by leaps and bounds. It doesn’t matter what you say to me now. It doesn’t matter that I know the truth is different. I had too much time to picture what was happening between the two of you, and that house was the backdrop for every single one of my nightmares.”

“Fuck!” He yelled. Not at me, at himself, I think.

We both remained silent for the rest of the ride to my house. When he walked me to the door, I expected him to turn around and leave, but he shocked me by walking right inside behind me.

“I’m not going anywhere. Our problem is that one of us always runs from the nightmares instead of fighting them. I’m staying. We’re not even going to talk about it. It’s been a long night, we’re both beat, and we need some sleep. I want to do that while holding you. We’ll figure everything else out in the light of a new day, okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed quietly. He was right. One of us was always taken the silent road. The first time he ghosted me, I’d ghosted him, too. It was just easier to forget my part in our lack of communication. That needed to change.

Over the next few weeks, Austin and I talked about what we wanted for the future. He was very adamant that he still wanted to be a family unit. I was still on the fence. While that had been the dream, our past left me worried about how long it would last before something spooked him or held more importance for whatever reason.

My hormones weren’t helping with the decision-making process either, as I pointed out to him every time I shared one of my irrational fear flights of fancy.

“What nightmare scenario did you dream up today?” He asked when he came to pick me up for my appointment.

“I have to take a gestational diabetes test today,” I admitted.

“Okay and what’s that exactly?”

“They give you this sugary drink, make you chug the whole thing, and then test to see how long it takes you to process the sugar. I think.” I shrugged because I wasn’t a fucking doctor and didn’t really know the mechanics behind the test. “I will have to wait an hour between drinking the crap and being tested. Are you sure you want to hang around that long?”

“I think I better because you haven’t gotten to the weird part yet.” He grinned at me as I gave him the stink eye.

“Well,” I hedged, because of course I had a weird fear of the stupid test that every pregnant woman had to take. “What if the test is what gives me the diabetes?”

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