you knew how much I loved you—”
“I need you to love yourself now. Realize you’re a good man, a compassionate man. Someone who doesn’t need the game to define who he is.”
“I don’t have a choice in this.”
“Then neither do I.” I held the tears back with gritted teeth. “The baby is due in two weeks. I’ll start looking for a new apartment.”
“Don’t do this to me.”
“We’ll say it was amiable. That we broke up because we wanted different things. At least…that will be the truth.”
“But I only want you and the baby.”
“I love you, Jude. And I want to take care of you…but first you have to decide to take care of yourself.”
He didn’t answer. I escaped to the guest room and clutched the sweet teddy bear he had bought for Genie. The little fuzz-ball had his jersey, and I knew it would be her favorite toy—if only because he gave it to her.
I waited well into the night before I ventured out of the room.
The mattress, fully-inflated, propped against my door. I brought it inside and rested on it.
Jude was right. It was comfortable.
If only it could have cradled my broken heart.
22
Rory
I wasn’t used to being the one prodded on the exam table. Of course, Doctor Fawna offered to let me check my own dilation and effacement at thirty-nine weeks. She then laughed as I attempted to bend, roll, and yoga stretch my way down under.
Yeah. It wasn’t going to happen.
I could hardly shave my legs, let alone twist in the right way to even see that part of me. Hell, I was lucky if I even wore a matching pair of shoes.
Uh-oh. I grunted and kicked my feet up. Nope. Two different colors.
Oh, well. It wasn’t like I had anyone to impress.
The Rivets stayed in a hotel for the week to focus on the championship game. I hadn’t even said goodbye before Jude left. I didn’t know what to say. And I couldn’t worry about it, not when I had to concentrate on Genie.
I reclined on the chair and gave up trying to unstick the hygienic paper from the back of my thighs. I tucked the sheet around me and preemptively scooted into the stirrups.
Nope. Didn’t help my back pain. Now I was just uncomfortable.
Fortunately, this was probably my last visit before the big day. My blood pressure was good, and, as much as I enjoyed a good urine sample, I celebrated this final time to pee in a cup. Just wish I had something better to use to toast the lab tech.
All that remained was counting the days until I got to meet my daughter.
And then we’d figure out what to do from there. Hopefully, she’d be born with a plan, because I was scraping the bottom of the optimism barrel.
The door opened. I tucked the blanket over my waist and greeted Doctor Fawna.
“Is there any way we can start on the pain-killers now? I really don’t want to have any pain…”
I turned.
It was not Doctor Fawna who decided to look me over. My step-mother decided it was time to cross-examine me.
“Mom!” I slammed a hand against the sheet and squeezed my legs shut. “What are you doing in here? I’m sorta…busy.”
“You realize, Aurora…I delivered both of your step-brothers naturally?”
“Oh, that explains a lot.”
I shifted, but my butt ripped the paper as I struggled to sit up. Screw it. I wasn’t going anywhere. Besides, the flash of my hooha wouldn’t scare Regan—pretty sure that’s what she saw when she looked in the mirror.
“You’re wise to ask for the drugs,” she said.
I waited. No backhanded insult swung around. No—I wouldn’t expect you to handle it—or—you could plan for a perfect birth…or you could do it your way. I frowned. Something must have been wrong.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
Regan paced the room. She surveyed the equipment and checked to ensure that the office was tidy. “Labor is a trying ordeal. It’s good that you’re planning what you’d like to happen in the delivery room now.”
“Yep.” I prepared for the insult, the declaration of my faults, the expectation for me to replicate everything Regan had done for her sons.
She gave me nothing.
I clutched the sheet. “Shouldn’t you be…working? Children to save, villages to burn, gold to hoard?”
Regan twisted the stethoscope in her hands.
Jesus. Something was wrong. Since when did my step-mother…fidget?
“I haven’t been a good mother to you,” she said.
O-kay. I expected a journey down the birth canal, not a guilt trip.
This was not a conversation to have when I