The Truest Thing - Hart's Boardwalk

I refused to be intimidated by the heated energy pouring off him. “Our entire relationship, if you can even call it that, has been you making all the decisions for both of us.”

“Not fucking true,” he growled. “If that were true, you’d be in my bed every fucking night.”

“Argh!” I raised my fists at either side of my head in frustration. “That’s such a male thing to take from this! My point is”—I glared at him—“you made all the decisions in the past. We couldn’t be together because it wasn’t safe for me. Was I given a voice in that discussion? Was I allowed an opinion? NO!” I yelled, and Jack flinched back in surprise. “I am so tired of you deciding what’s best for me without asking me what I think is best for me. And that, Jack Devlin, is another reason you and I will be co-parenting.”

His face was mottled with anger, his eyes like fiery blue chips. His throat worked as if he was attempting to halt words from pouring out of his mouth.

It didn’t surprise me when he whipped his head back around and pulled back onto the road without another word.

We drove the rest of the way in seething silence.

Through my anger, sadness filled me. I saw a future of handing our child over to Jack every second week. That meant a future of twenty-six weeks a year of utter loneliness. Alone without our kid and without Jack. The image of a faceless woman standing beside Jack as I dropped off our child made my gut twist.

Would we have a son who looked like Jack?

Would our child be angry at me when they eventually found out I was the reason Jack and I weren’t together? Would our kid resent me for it?

Would I resent me for it?

I wondered all the time what our baby would look like. Be like. I was excited to find out. I was excited for days on the beach, holding tight to a little hand, watching chubby little legs take their first steps in the sand.

Yet, I realized ruining all my excitement was not just the fear of being a bad parent, of not being prepared, but anger. I was so mad at Jack for giving me reason to distrust him. And I was so mad at myself for not being able to get over it.

When we pulled up to the hospital buildings, I got out of the truck before Jack could help me down. I hurried toward the entrance of the building that hosted the OB/GYN offices, but he caught up quickly. He wrapped his strong hand around mine and I glared up at him in surprise. He glowered at the building, not meeting my eyes.

I tugged on my hand, but he wouldn’t release it. “I’m mad at you,” I stated the obvious. “I don’t want to hold your hand.”

Jack scowled. “I’m mad at you, but I always want to hold your hand. Therein lies the difference between us.”

Pain and guilt hit me fierce and quick, and my eyes filled with tears before I could stop them. I looked away and stubbornly refused to let the tears fall.

“Sunrise.” Jack squeezed my hand, his tone remorseful.

“Forget it.” I jerked away from him as we reached the elevator and hit the button for our floor. How come I was always the bad guy? I wasn’t the one trying to force decisions on us.

Aren’t you? a little voice whispered. Aren’t you the reason you won’t forgive and forget?

Yes. But I had my reasons. Jack had just proven that in the truck.

We stepped inside, alone in the elevator.

The tension was palpable.

He didn’t reach for my hand again.

If the technician who came out to greet us noticed the aggravation between me and Jack, she didn’t show it. She introduced herself as Amy and hopefully took our strained smiles and quiet demeanor for nervousness. It was our first baby scan after all.

Once I was situated on the bed, Amy asked me to lift the hem of my top and unbutton my jeans. I did, feeling intensely aware of Jack’s eyes on me. I chanced a look at him and saw he was staring intently at my belly.

“You’re not showing too much yet,” Amy said, “but that’s normal for week twelve. Although that’s what we’re here to determine. If you are twelve weeks.” She smiled and then gestured to my belly. “As for the bump, you’re tall with a longer abdomen, which might mean you’re not going to show for a while.”

I nodded. I’d already looked that up. Apparently, some women with longer abdomens had more space for the uterus to develop upward rather than outward, which meant a smaller bump.

“Okay, let’s get started.”

I jumped as she gently pressed the ultrasound wand to my belly. I turned my head to look at the screen set up by the bed.