Page 41 of For The Chances We Take

“For God’s sake, that was rhetorical. I’m not gonna punch you. I’m not that schooled on relationship matters, but I don’t think having a concussion is the answer. Besides, you don’t wanna forget.”

“But I do. I need to,” I pleaded.

“No,” she retorted placatingly, as if talking to a child. “What you want is to take a shower. Actually, I want that. You stink. Let’s settle on we both wanting that.Wewant you to take a shower.” She grabbed me by the hand, guiding me to my bedroom. “Then you’ll wanna get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, you’ll want coffee. Lots of coffee. Black, strong, hangover-killing coffee, with a side of drenching-alcohol food. I’ll even cook you breakfast.”

I nodded helplessly and followed her inside my bedroom and to my bathroom, where she turned on the shower. “Remember your first step? Shower.” She pointed to the bathroom stall, already filling with steam. “I’ll be just outside if you need me. After all that, you’ll talk to Isabella.”

“I can’t talk to her,” I whined.

“But you want to, remember? You wanna make things right. But you can’t make it right in your state. So make yourself clean and pretty for her. Deal?”

I nodded again, a little too hard, and my stomach revolted.

“If you want, you can tell me what you plan to tell her. We can work on that so you have all the best words. What do you say?” She sounded cheerful, and I wanted to agree to it all and make her happy, right before my stomach revolted again. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

But instead of words coming out of my mouth, it was all the booze and food I ingested that did.

Right on her.

Despite my shame, I felt lighter than I ever remembered feeling. More than the previous night’s ingestion, I expurged something dark that lurked inside of me. I had a new sense of understanding.

I knew I was bound to screw things up again. Years of feeling like shit didn’t go away with a throw-up and an argument. But I had a new purpose, and for the time being, that was enough.

Be a braver man, earn Isabella’s trust, prove I could be a damn good father for my baby, and win my girl back.

It was time to take a chance.

A couple of days went by when I felt mostly numb. If not for my morning sickness, I would’ve probably not felt a thing. I was either broken inside or deliberately ignoring the wreck my heart had become. Most likely the latter.

I knew I needed to react and do something. For instance, look for a gyno, start taking prenatal vitamins. As much as I wanted this baby, I couldn’t find the energy to move along and take charge of what was important. When I wasn’t feeling numb, I was feeling guilty for not being a better mother.

My most dreaded fear was that I’d become my own mother along the way—a selfish woman who lived with the sole purpose of making her child feel unloved and inadequate.What if I never love my baby the way he deserves? What if I resent him and make him feel like a nuisance instead of a blessing?

I mused these and other happy feelings over and over in my head. Besides telling Ben, I haven’t told anyone about my pregnancy. Talking about it would make the whole situation way more real than I was ready to face. Seeing as how the last time I told someone about it, things went epically wrong, I wasn’t all too enthused to do it again.

Not that I had that many people to tell. I was avoiding my mother like the plague. I needed to tell April. I was definitely telling Mr. Cross; after all, he was the one to call it right.

It was sad how lonely I was. More than ever, I missed having someone in my corner. A true friendship, a person I could count on. Growing up, that was something that always left me upset, if not bitter. I never had girlfriends. Women to ride or die with. I felt like I was too old for that, right when I needed the most.

So, I immersed myself in my shop. I looked for new recipes. If I wasn’t manning the counter and dealing with customers, I was tucked in the kitchen, creating new things.

I was allowing myself to take some time to be me again, to wrap my head around my situation. I still had a good few months ahead of me to make the necessary changes and get used to the—scary—idea of being a mother.

I could only imagine how frightening it must be for the women who were forced to go along with a pregnancy they didn’t want. Because no matter how much I wanted it, becoming a mother was terrifying.

And becoming a single mother was petrifying. Despite my resentment, I had to give props to my mother for keeping me alive—albeit despising me in the process.

I was about to close Beans, seeing out my last customer. I was busy dealing with the cashier when I heard the door open. I was tired, but I wasn’t about to send away a paying customer.

Before I could build my professional smile, I heard his cautious voice.

“Isabella?”

I hated that my numbness ran away just by hearing him say my name. He was the one who left me in that state in the first place. It was fitting that he was the one to get me out, but I didn’t wanna give him any more of my emotions. So I schooled my features and tried to hide the fact that my heart was galloping inside my chest.

“Benjamin, what a surprise.” I was proud of myself for my steady voice. “What brings you by? Are you here to tell me about your latest conquests? Or to make sure I understand mynoplace in your life?”

His contrition at my mockery shouldn’t have touched me. As much as I was relieved to feel anything other than numbness and guilt, I was also mad that he still had that pull over me. I also hated that his disheveled appearance, three-day beard, and the circles around his wary eyes tugged at my heart, giving me hope.

---