Page 7 of Five
“Fucking asshole!”
I grab a case and stuff it with all the clothing that will fit, then grab a large holdall and add other items, like my laptop. I thumb through my phone to call a taxi but when I put it to my ear all I get is a recorded message.
‘Sorry, this line has been disconnected.’
If that bastard thinks this will cause me to crawl back home with my tail between my legs, ready to do his bidding, then he’s wrong.
I head down in the elevator to the floor below, and my friend, Carlton Foster.
“Hey, man, can I bunk with you for a couple of weeks?” I ask when he opens the door.
He looks away, shuffling awkwardly. “Umm… Well, it’s not really a good time right now.”
I narrow my eyes at him, but he can’t meet my gaze and I don’t need to know any more. “So, my father got to you, too, huh?”
“Look, I, ah, have to go. I have a… thing.”
I slam my hand angrily on the door as he tries to retreat. “Well, I hope you can sleep with your conscience while I’m bunking at the fucking homeless shelter,” I yell as he pushes it closed.
I get the same response from another couple of guys I know. It’s good to know who your real friends are. I guess this has weeded mine out, if nothing else.
But daddy dearest has underestimated me. I’d rather live on the streets than have anything to do with the man who has deliberately tried to put me there.
This man is supposed to love me, care for me.
But these kinds of manipulations? Fuck that. He’s dead to me now.
The trouble is, with every avenue cut off from me, the street is looking like one of the only options left to me.
JESSE
ThePast.
“Jesse, what have you done?”
I look around from where I’m adding the final touches to the redecorating of our spare bedroom.
Maria’s been away for the weekend, visiting her family, and I took the opportunity to paint it a unisex pale green, to which I added a cute cartoon animal border.
I’m just hanging a matching mobile which plays a lullaby.
“Hey, you’re back early,” I say, climbing off the stool and moving to give her a hug and a kiss. I was supposed to pick her up from the airport a couple of hours from now.
Her expression shutters, and she’s stiff in my arms. I wonder if the trip to tell her parents she’s pregnant didn’t go well.
“Umm… surprise!” I gesture around the room that I’ve been busy turning into a nursery while she’s been gone. It’s not quite the grand reveal I planned, but I’m hoping it will cheer her up because whatever’s happened, Maria is clearly not happy.
My hand automatically falls to her stomach where our baby lies, even though she’s not showing yet, but Maria twists away and skewers me with a glare. “I can’t believe you’ve done this!”
I back up, bewildered by her attitude, raising my hands to placate her. “Hey, I’m sorry, okay? I thought you’d appreciate it since you didn’t seem to have much interest in doing it yourself.”
She scowls at me, and I hurry to reassure her. “Which is absolutely fine. I know how sick you’ve been, and I assumed you wouldn’t want to be around the fresh paint smell, but if you don’t like it, we can totally change things. I was just trying to make things easier for you.”
“Well, you didn’t,” she huffs out, and there’s a glassiness in her eyes like she’s going to cry.
I’ve had a crash course, recently, in the whiplash hormonal mood swings of pregnant women, but I really did think this was something she’d welcome. Looks like I was wrong—again.
“Come on, Maria. It’s just a bit of paint. It’s easy enough to change. Hell, we can even find out the baby’s gender at your scan if you’d prefer something a little more personalized.”
