Rome (Marked Men #3)(37)
Author: Jay Crownover

Every night after that I woke up either screaming or choking on blood and tears that couldn’t fall.

Bolting upright on the bed, I forgot all about the fact that I was holding on to Cora. I had cold sweat pouring off my arms and chest, and I felt like I was suffocating on blood and sand even though the desert was a lifetime ago. My lungs billowed in and out, my chest heaved up and down, and I knew I had to get away.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and scrambled to find my pants. I could feel Cora shifting on the bed behind me. I flinched away from her hands when she went to lay them on my back. All I could see was crimson and dust. All I could feel was loss and desperation. I didn’t want her anywhere near any of it.

“I have to go.” My voice sounded like I was talking over razor blades and salt.

“What?”

She reached for me again and I lurched off the bed. I pulled my shirt on over my head and refused to look at her. I heard the sheets rustle as she sat up in the bed.

“Rome, what’s going on?”

Her voice was quiet, like she was afraid she was going to spook me. She had no idea about the terrible stuff rolling around like a silent movie behind my eyes. It was so horrific.

I grabbed my phone and keys off her nightstand and made my way to the door. I couldn’t even look at her. I needed to say something, to try to explain, but the crazy, the pain, the memories were too close to the surface and I just couldn’t get to her through them. I was being an ass**le, but it was either bail on her or break down in a sobbing pile of goo on her bedroom floor. I couldn’t let her see me like that, didn’t want her to be a part of the stuff inside me that was so ugly and hard to forget.

I didn’t start to breathe normally again until I had the Harley under me and the wind in my face. The nice thing about the bike was that it didn’t matter if some of the emotion working its way to the surface leaked out, the night air just whisked it away. I felt like I was never going to sleep again.

CHAPTER 9

Cora

This Thursday-night girls’ night was unlike any the three of us had ever spent together before. Ayden was propped up in the doorway of the bathroom off my bedroom alternating between texting on her phone and staring at me with concern. Shaw was sitting on the toilet practically bouncing up and down; her green eyes were huge in her pale face and I knew she was just dying to say something. I was sitting on the edge of the tub trying to decide if I wanted to scream, or throw up, or cry, or pull all my hair out, or just laugh. Maybe a combination of all of the above. What did I know about trying to raise another person? I had spent my entire childhood shuffling from one random adult to the next. I had no idea what being a full-time parent even looked like.

“Well?” Shaw just couldn’t stay quiet any longer.

The little white stick on the edge of the tub next to me stared back at me with two glaringly bright pink lines. Not that I was really surprised. I had been tired and moody for the last two weeks, and not just because Rome had pulled a disappearing act and wouldn’t return any of my calls. I was also queasy, and it was just my luck that forgoing Mr. Perfect was going to end up biting me in the ass for the next eighteen years. I had really started to think he was worth the risk of letting that dream of someone steadfast and secure go, that I was tough enough to weather the storm that came with him, only now I was high and dry and looking back on my long-held dream of perfect and shaking my head.

Ayden snorted and walked farther into the room to pick the pregnancy test up from where it was resting next to me.

“Seriously? Look at her face. It’s totally positive.”

Shaw let out a noise that was between a gasp and a squeal. I glared at her and she clasped her hands over her mouth. Her eyes were bright and shining at me from over the tops of her fingers and I wanted to smack her. Ayden leaned against the sink and frowned at me.

“So what’s the plan?”

I groaned and shoved my hands into my eye sockets. What was the plan?

“You mean besides never, ever having sex again? I don’t have the first idea.”

Having kids wasn’t something I ever really thought about. When I was with Jimmy I just figured it would be something that came up after we were married for a couple years and in a financially secure place. Now … well, now, other than wanting to murder Rome and his stupid perfect face and body, I had no clue what the plan should be. But the funny thing was that from the second it even occurred to me that I might be pregnant, there was never a moment when I considered anything other than having this baby. The alternatives are definitely there—and maybe there was a time when I would have gone down that route—but the very idea of a baby inside me meant that this child was all mine and I was going to give it the best chance possible. And I would never let a child of mine feel unloved or unwanted. I would never let my kid feel lost in a sea of adults because I wasn’t able to give them a home. I just wished with everything inside of me I could say Rome felt the same way about parenthood. The fact of the matter was, I had no idea what he thought about anything right now because he wasn’t saying anything.

Shaw bit her bottom lip and said so softly I almost didn’t hear her, “You have to tell Rome.”

I sighed and pushed my eyes even harder. Of course I had to tell Rome. Eventually.

Telling Rome was going to be a lot easier said than done since the big idiot wasn’t quite finished with his epic freak-out. I wasn’t exactly sure what had happened the other night; all I knew is that he had run from my bed like the sheets were on fire, he was shaking and the color of paste. That was ten days ago, and I hadn’t heard from him since. The first couple of days I called and called, sent text after text, and worried myself into a concerned lather. By the end of the week I was good and pissed and clearly had more important things to worry about than Rome Archer because I was pretty sure I was carrying his baby. I had heard from Asa he was spending all his time at the Bar and that his venture into sobriety had taken a nosedive. Apparently he was back to drinking like a fish and grumbling and growling at anyone that got within breathing distance.

I had enough pride, and enough bad history, and a healthy dose of fear working inside me, that tracking his stubborn ass down and making him talk to me wasn’t a workable option. I refused to be in yet another relationship where I was the only person invested in the outcome. I figured he knew where I worked and where I lived, so if he wanted to make things right, he knew where to find me. Admittedly I thought he would have come around a lot sooner, but now it looked like the choice was going to be taken out of my hands.