Little Secrets: Unexpectedly Pregnant

Just finished dinner with my agent. I’ll come to you.

Okay. I’ll wait.

Tyce stepped off the pavement and raised his arm to hail a taxi, cursing when the cab cruised past him. He jammed his bare hands into the pockets of his leather bomber jacket.

Another yellow cab turned down the street and Tyce held up his hand, thinking he’d lose it if the cab didn’t stop. It did and he yanked the door open and climbed inside, tossing the address to the driver. He dropped his temple to the cool window and, staring at the rain-soaked city, he became aware of the headache pounding his temples.

Too much talking, he thought. His argument with Sage left a sour taste in his mouth and a stain on his soul. Every time he felt like they were moving forward, Sage pushed them backward.

Tyce felt the hard knot of tension in his stomach, knowing it was there because he was sure that she was going to call it off, to put them firmly in the friends and co-parent category.

He couldn’t blame her because how could they keep taking five steps forward and six backward?

They’d been together for nearly a month and their expiration date was closing in on them. Sage had to be feeling antsy and, like before, she wanted out.

Tyce ordered his heart to pick itself up from the floor. Breaking up wasn’t a bad move, Tyce rationalized, because he knew that being alone was so much easier. When he was alone he didn’t feel drained. Lonely? Sure. Emotionally exhausted? No.

He hadn’t been so at sea since before his mom died, and he’d forgotten what it felt like to feel. It wasn’t fun. Tyce felt like he was walking along the edge of a precipice, one slip and he’d crash and break. Yeah, he could move on from this fight but there would always be another, and another…

He’d escaped a life of emotional drama; he’d run from relationships because he hated feeling like he was a vessel constantly being emptied and never refilled.

These fights, dealing with Sage’s issues, sucked him dry. His thoughts were a million miles from his art, from his livelihood and he couldn’t afford to be distracted. He had a bank account to replenish and he’d need every ounce of energy he had to deal with becoming a dad, being the best father he could.

So when Sage called it quits, he’d kiss her on the cheek and walk away because, dammit, he was better off alone. He knew how to be alone. Loneliness didn’t scare him; emotion did. When he lived his life alone, he had control, he was in his comfort zone.

Sage, this up-and-down relationship, took him way out of his comfort zone. He’d started to rely on her when he’d only ever relied on himself.

That scared the living hell out of him. What had he been thinking?

Enough of that, Tyce suddenly decided. He couldn’t, wouldn’t do that anymore.

If she, he, they, called it quits today—and that was going to happen—then they’d have four or five months on their own to get used to the idea of not sleeping together—of not sharing a life together. They’d be able to act like mature adults as they figured out a way to raise their child together.

But he’d always want her…

Don’t think about that, dingbat. Don’t go there… You have to do this or else you are going to be miserable for the rest of your life.

Okay, more miserable, he clarified.

His decision made—God, it might be the right one but it still sucked—Tyce moved on to problem number two. Before the week was out, their lives—all their lives, his, Sage’s, Lachlyn’s and the rest of the Ballantynes’—would be turned on their heads. Turned on their heads? Tyce snorted at his choice of words. There was a crap storm coming and there was no hiding from it.

Earlier Lachlyn called and told him that she’d been accosted by a reporter on her way to work and had been subjected to a barrage of questions. Was she Connor’s daughter? Did the Ballantynes know? Was she owner of Lach-Ty, the company that’d made bulk purchases of Ballantyne shares? Lachlyn sounded like she was on the verge of tears and Tyce could hear the relentless yapping of the reporter in the background. He’d rapidly changed directions to go to Lachlyn, to see who was harassing her and to try to ascertain how much the reporter actually knew.

The guy knew a lot more than Tyce was comfortable with. When he arrived on Lachlyn’s doorstep, Tyce got into his face, demanding to know where he’d stumbled across this information. The young reporter, at least a foot shorter than Tyce but ridiculously confident, refused to divulge his sources. Tyce endured fifteen minutes batting off his pointed questions, hoping for a hint of the source, but he earned nothing more than a headache.

After the reporter left, he spent another hour with Lachlyn, watching her pace her living room and listening to her rambling commentary about the Ballantynes and whether she wanted to become a member of the famous family or not. Of course she did; she liked all of them. She was just rattled by the reporter’s verbal attack.