Page 29 of Breakaway

I wouldn’t say I’ve accepted my circumstances, but I’m no longer living in a state of denial either. I have decisions to make, and keeping my head in the sand only puts us both at risk. But just the thought of saying it aloud makes me queasy, so I slip beneath the water and focus on scrubbing myself clean. Ten minutes later, I’m standing in Raiden’s closet, rummaging through a stack of his old T-shirts. I choose one that’s several sizes too big, the pair of lounge shorts I’m wearing completely hidden underneath it. My options are limited when it comes to keeping busy, so I decide to move to the living room for a change of scenery. After choosing another sitcom to get lost in, I head for the kitchen and toss a bag of popcorn in the microwave. I’m so lost in the scene playing out on the TV, I don’t even realize something’s burning until the smoke alarm starts blaring.

“Shit!” I swear, snatching a hand towel off the counter.

I quickly pull a barstool over so I have something to stand on, then vigorously wave the rag to try and clear out the smoke so the stupid thing will stop screaming at me. Leave it up to me to nearly set an old firehouse ablaze. Out of nowhere, the front door flies open and bangs against the wall. The sound startles me so badly I lose my footing. A scream claws its way up my throat, but my feet have barely left the stool when I’m swept up and secured against a hard chest. Relief washes over me, and then it’s ripped away when I realize that Briggs’ hand is cradling my stomach. We stand there frozen, neither of us saying a word for what feels like ages. Eventually, he sets me on the ground, his movements slow and precise, as if he’s trying to confirm what he’s actually feeling.

“Angel,” Briggs rasps, his voice strained and full of confusion. “I don’t want to be a presumptuous bastard, but that felt a lot like…” he trails off, his gaze bouncing back and forth between my face and midsection.

“Like a baby?” I choke out, confirming his suspicions. I fix my tear-filled eyes on the damp spot my hair left on his shirt, too scared to see his reaction.

“Yeah,” Briggs deadpans. “Exactly like a baby.” My heart sinks from the blunt and detached way he’s speaking, but then he’s on me, pushing my shirt up as he drops to his knees. “What the fuck, Angel?! Since when the hell are you pregnant? I sleep here every night and not once have I caught sight of this. Hell, I even watch you sleep sometimes, so please explain how I missed this?” My jaw drops in shock, silence hanging between us as I sort through the onslaught of information he’s just hurled at me, but then my brain and body finally get with the program, and I slap his wandering hand before righting my shirt.

‘We’ll come back to you watching me sleep like a creeper,” I snark with a scowl. “But to answer your other questions, since seven months ago. And you missed it because I’ve worked really hard to keep it a secret.” I shift from one foot to the other, my nerves frayed and sensitive.

“Seven months?” Briggs repeats, his eyes boring into mine while he climbs to his feet. “S-E-V-E-N, seven? One, two, three, four, five, six, SEVEN?” I nod, reflexively biting at the skin on my thumb in an attempt to self-soothe my anxiety. “Have you lost your fucking mind?!” He explodes, his fingers tugging at the inky strands of his hair as he begins to pace. “You’ve gone more than half your goddamn pregnancy without any prenatal care! And who knows how long you would’ve kept up this charade if I hadn’t found out unexpectedly. Was that your plan, Angel? Just fucking wing it and hope the kid doesn’t come out with any life-threatening issues that could’ve been remedied in utero if you’d just gotten proper treatment?”

“Stop yelling at me!” I scream right back, my frustration reaching its tipping point. Tears flood my eyes, but I don’t fight to stop them, knowing it’s a pointless battle I won’t be winning. Briggs is right, and hearing him give voice to the very real concerns I’ve been losing sleep over only solidifies how selfish and immature my lack of action has been. Having him, of all people, chastise me about my life choices is a new level of low, considering he barely has his own shit together.

“Damnit, Angel,” Briggs swears, his words a gruff whisper. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I’m just…really fucking confused. How long have you known?”

“Before this conversation goes any further, can you please close the door?” He glances behind him, clearly unaware that we’ve been discussing this very private matter without any privacy.

“Don’t worry, the guys are still at work,” he replies while toeing the door shut. I nod, taking a deep breath to center myself before attempting to speak.

“I’ve known since the compound was raided. I had some bloodwork done at the hospital, and then an ultrasound to confirm gestation, which was determined to be twenty-four weeks. I guess I’m a late shower, which is why I managed to surpass the first trimester without any inkling I was pregnant.” I turn and head towards the bedroom without explanation, going straight to the spot I hid the black-and-white sonogram picture. Proof in hand, I return to the living room and hand it to Briggs. “I tried really hard to pretend it wasn’t real. I mean, how much bad luck can one person have?” He snorts, the sound lacking any humor, and I get the impression he’s asked himself the same question a million times.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, his fingers tracing the image in awe. “There really is a baby in there.”

“I wish the acceptance stage had been as easy for me as it seems to be for you,” I laugh lightly, my throat growing tight as I think about how difficult these past six weeks have been as I tried to cope on my own.

“Why the secrecy, Angel? You had to know it’d come out sooner or later, and prolonging the inevitable only leaves you both vulnerable to possible complications.” Briggs stares at me expectantly, his dark eyes searching my face for an answer that makes sense, but all my reasons for keeping quiet feel like excuses now.

“I don’t know,” I state dejectedly, my response vague but honest. “I don’t know anything, and I’m scared and sad and so fucking pissed that Tobias has taken my choices from me yet again!” My chest heaves from the force it takes to get that out, to finally say what I’m feeling, but putting words to those riotous emotions gives me the faintest hint of relief.

“I know it feels that way, but he doesn’t have any say in what happens from this point forward. You don’t have to keep this baby if you don’t want to. If that’s the route you decide to go with, we’ll start researching adoption agencies and get the ball rolling, but no one but you decides the outcome of this pregnancy,” Briggs insists, his steadfast resolve making my heart lurch with appreciation.

“I was so angry after finding out, but then my thoughts turned dark, and I feel ashamed for ever contemplating such horrid things,” I confess, my admission leaving a bitter taste on my tongue.

“Like what?” Briggs asks, his body inching closer to mine. “What sorts of things have sullied that pretty head of yours?” I fix my gaze on the floor, but he places a finger beneath my chin, forcing my attention back to him. “Tell me.”

“I thought about taking a tumble down the stairs. How awful is that? Women struggle with fertility every day, but here I am, plotting ways to get rid of a baby that’s nothing more than an innocent casualty in all of this. And while my brain recognizes the truth of that, my heart questions if I could ever love a child who shares DNA with Tobias. I hate him, Briggs. I hate him so much I’m afraid I’ll hate this baby, too. I’m so torn on what to do, and that in itself is proof of how incompetent I’d be as a mother.

“A part of me thinks this baby would be better off with someone else. I have nothing to offer, no means of supporting myself, much less an infant, and this kid deserves a fresh start. Someplace far away from the wreckage that Veritas has left in their wake. But then I picture it, the actual moment I’d give my child to strangers, trusting that the people they present themselves to be on paper translates to who they actually are in real life, and I can’t imagine going through with it.”

“I think you’re forgetting the most important piece of information in this emotional tug-of-war,” Briggs states, his fingers toying with a strand of my hair before tucking it behind my ear. “This baby is half his in DNA only. When it comes to everything else, that’s your kid. He’ll never lay eyes on him or her, and he damn sure won’t have any part in their upbringing. So whatever choice you make, do it with that in mind. It doesn’t have to be today, or even next month, but don’t let fear push you into something you might regret. And as far as monetary support goes, don’t sweat it. That’s an easy fix we can address at a later date. Right now, we need to find you an obstetrician who has availability as soon as possible.”

I have to blink a few times to clear the tears pooled along my lashes, my perception of Briggs shifting so quickly it gives me whiplash. I’ve seriously underestimated the man standing before me, his tender gaze at complete odds with his rough exterior. There’s so much more to him than the apathetic asshole I’d pegged him as. I’ve witnessed how indifferent he becomes when Colsen shows concern over his well-being, how careless he is when it comes to his actions affecting those around him. But tragedies come in all shapes and sizes, and something tells me his aloofness was bred, not born.

“Thank you,” I choke out, a rush of warmth flooding my system. “I’m not sure how you knew what to say, but it’s exactly what I needed to hear.” Without warning, I step forward and wrap my arms around him. He’s completely stiff as I grip the back of his T-shirt like my life depends on it, but I can’t bring myself to pull away. I need this hug, and when his body finally loosens and he returns my embrace just as fiercely, I sag against his chest, taking comfort in the simplicity of our contact.

We spend the next few hours searching the internet for obstetricians in the area, but it takes several tries to find one who’s taking new patients and isn’t booked out for weeks. My appointment is scheduled for next Thursday, and when I question Briggs about how I’m supposed to get there, he assures me that transportation won’t be an issue. I should be concerned with how easily I’ve allowed him to swoop in and save the day, but I had no idea it’d feel this nice to give my worries to someone else for a change.

Even as a kid, my thoughts were constantly plagued by adult responsibilities. I never had the luxury of partaking in anything childlike, even the things that were intended to be experienced by children. I have no idea what it’s like to wake up on Christmas morning and find presents from Santa, but I can attest to how embarrassing it is to have a stranger at the playground ask me about the gifts I was given and not have a clue what they were talking about. My confusion was likely chalked up to faith-based reasons, but the truth was far sadder.

When I’d gathered all the information I could from the woman who certainly regretted asking me the innocent question to begin with, I quickly put the pieces together. I never knew about Santa because Danny and Prissy never intended to play the part. I was five years old and hadn’t yet realized how different my family was in comparison to everyone else's, but there was no denying it after that. I wish there were moments I could look back on with fondness or nostalgia, but there isn’t a single thing I miss about my parents because I never had them to begin with.

While Briggs steps out to make a quick trip to the pharmacy, I search my meager pile of clothing for an outfit that isn’t too revealing. It’s Friday night, and the guys are hosting dinner at their place once again. I’ve just finished changing when my phone starts to vibrate on the bedside table. It’s likely Raiden calling to let me know he’s on the way, but when I glance at the screen, my stomach drops.

“Hey, Seth,” I greet him in a rush, my pulse spiking with fear. “Is everything okay?”