She moans next to me and pulls out her phone.
“I need to time them,” she mutters to herself. “The midwife told me to time them.” I assume she’s referring to the contractions.
“What’s your name?” I ask. I can’t remember if she told me before because my mind has been everywhere.
“Jacinta.”
“Do you want me to call anyone?”
“I have no one,” she says sadly, and I feel bad for her.
“What about his parents? Do you want them there?”
“No. No way. They already want to take him from me.” She moans then and drops her head. I try not to speed, but it’s hard. Especially since she is having a baby right next to me. And no way in hell do I want to deliver a baby.
“What about Anderson?” I ask.
She takes a few deep breaths, then turns to me.
“Do you think I should?” She looks to me for guidance. Not really something I can give her. That is her decision, not mine.
“Maybe?” I voice it as a question for her to come to her own decision. She grabs her phone and opens to his number. After pressing call, she puts him on speaker.
“What?” he barks into the phone. Asshole.
“Hey, it’s me.”
“I know who it is,” he says, not losing his attitude.
“Well, I’m on my way to the hospital…” She holds the phone out as another contraction hits her. I take it from her hand before she drops it.
“I don’t have time to play this shit,” he snaps.
“Anderson,” I say into the phone.
“Rylee?” he asks, surprised.
“Yes. Jacinta is about to have your baby. Get to the hospital.”
“Why are you with her?” he asks. “Will you be there?”
“Just get there and stop being a dick.” I hang up on him and then put the phone down as we near the hospital.
“Thank you, I owe you,” she says tiredly. “He’s only coming now because he heard your voice.”
“Good thing I won’t be here, then,” I answer as we come to a stop. I leave the car running in front of the emergency entrance and get out to help her. She clings to me as she leans out of the car.
“Thank you, Rylee, really. Thank you.”
“Sure, no problem.” I peer at the doors. “You’ll be fine by yourself?” I ask her.
“I’ve lived most of my life by myself. Now I am anything but,” she says, rubbing her belly as a wheelchair is brought out.
She’s only eighteen and about to have her first baby all by herself because let’s face it, Anderson doesn’t do anything unless it serves him.
Jacinta waves to me as they wheel her in. I get back in my car, and as I start to pull away, I see his car pull in. He stops right next to me and stares. I look away. The last person I want to interact with is him.
Fuck Anderson.
Okay, well, I’ve done that serval times, and it sucked.
My sister calls as I drive off, probably wondering where her food is. I don’t answer. Instead, I drive to the one place I have been avoiding.
Chapter 8
Rylee
Sitting in the car, parked out the front of August’s house, is a mental bitch.
Get out.
Don’t get out.
Stay in the car.
Don’t stay in the car.
The keys to his house sit in my hand, and the house stares back at me, closed with no one inside.
My phone starts ringing again. This time, I answer it.
“Where are you?”
“I won’t make dinner,” I say and hang up on her.
My hands are sweating, and I don’t know why. Nerves, maybe. It’s not like he’s in there. I know this. But it doesn’t help the fact that every time I went into that house, it had to do with him.
I bet it even still smells like him.
Leaving my things in the car and only carrying the keys and my phone, I walk up to the front door. As I reach it, someone yells, gaining my attention.
“He’s not in there, you know.” I turn to find an older lady next door focused my way.
“I know,” I say, turning away from her and unlocking the door.
“That’s breaking and entering, kid,” she shouts.
“I have a key,” I yell back, not sparing her a glance as I enter. I close the door behind me and lean against it.
August.
It smells of August, just as I knew it would.
In the kitchen, I see my things neatly stacked on the counter. On top of the pile sits a white piece of paper. Reaching for it, I see his handwriting, which I might add is some of the nicest I have ever seen.
Rich girl,
Go to the bedroom, collect what is yours.
Take it. I made it for you.
No signature, but the demands are him. I know it. Scrunching up the note, I keep it in my hand as I walk up the stairs to his bedroom.
I keep my hands by my sides, careful not to touch anything because I’m afraid of the memories it may inflict on me.