Page 106 of Where I Should’ve Been

“Oh, piss off, Josie,” Eileen grumbles. “I’m just doing my job.”

“Doing your job? Doing your job! You know, Eileen. You, of all people, with your nosy-ass tactics and years of hit pieces, you know what Clay and I have been through. What a big deal it is to be pregnant. And yet, you found it appropriate to spoil it for us in this way? How do I know this weekend’s paper isn’t going to publish my due date? For Pete’s sake, Eileen, I’m not even out of my first trimester yet!”

“Neither am I,” I add, a newfound panic at the idea that a pregnancy I never even knew I wanted isn’t guaranteed. Tad rounds the table toward me, his voice kind but commanding as he takes control in a way I’ve never experienced before.

“All right, guys. I think that’s enough for tonight,” he announces. “Eileen, take this as a warning that if you pull this shit again, the response won’t be nearly as friendly. You know I love and respect your hustle for reporting the news in a town that doesn’t make much—but this is too far.”

Eileen nods, a sadness I don’t expect creeping in at the castigation from a man she admires. “I, well…I’m not sorry.”

“Eileen!” Tad snaps, and she holds up her hands defensively.

“But! I can see where you’re coming from, and out of deference to you, Tad, I promise to take a break from reporting on the Ellis, Bishop, Hanson family circle for a little while. I’ve got a few other leads that are getting hot anyway.”

“Great,” Tad says, sarcasm tainting the positive right out of the word. Reaching for my hand, he pulls it to his chest and clutches it there subconsciously as he says the rest of our goodbyes before Josie can fly off the handle again. Clay’s holding her back ten feet away, but the best analogy I can give is like a jockey holding back a racehorse in the starting gate. Tonight may be over for us, but I won’t be surprised if Josie and Eileen go a few more rounds before it’s truly done. “Norah, thanks for the invite and for the little bit of food we managed before all hell broke loose, but it’s time for us to call it quits. I want to get Breezy home.”

As Tad turns to lead us back across the lawn while the rest of the group is left to take care of their own shit on their own time with their own minds, a relief washes over me. I’ve never had someone willing and capable of handling things for me. Never.

Beyond that, I’ve never not been responsible for handling other people too.

But with Tad at my side, I don’t have to be in charge.

It feels so good, I don’t know if I can ever go back.

41

Tad

Breezy lies back in bed, her hands on her stomach as she caresses the tops and sides and bottom with a thick, creamy lotion she keeps on the nightstand. Her mouth is upturned, despite the chaos of the dinner turned vigilante justice we spent the evening at next door, and I find myself watching her.

Soft hands move across her stomach, a slight crease between her brows forming as she shifts from one side of her hips to the other, just above the top edge of her sexy black lace panties. Her skin is supple and tight, but I know in the next few months it’ll stretch to untested capacities at an unprecedented rate. And yet, I know for a fact that she’ll still be sexy—truthfully, she’ll be even more so. The top of the lotion jar sticks as she tries to screw it on, binding on mismatched threads.

“Here, let me,” I offer. Our hands brush lightly, and I complete the task with ease. The sound of her breathing amplifies.

“I should be grateful, I know I should, but deep down in some hormonal place, all I feel is annoyed.” My smile grows as she continues, though I do my best to hide it to save myself from hidden weapons. “What is it about growing a human that has to mess with coordination and brain capacity? Like, hello, can’t we contain the symptoms to the uterus? Ugh.”

“I know it’s got to be frustrating…having your body hijacked and all. But this is the role of the man in times like these anyway. To be the doer, the getter, the fixer. You might be operating at sixty percent, but I’ll cover the forty you’re missing as best I can.”

“How?” she asks as I adjust my shoulders and the pillow behind them.

“How what? How will I help?”

“No.” She shakes her head and those blue eyes of hers peer into mine. “How do you manage to say things like that out of the blue?”

“Say things like…”

“Perfect things, Tad. The things I need to hear most. Things that put me at ease.”

Every edge, every wound, every heartache softens. “Breeze.”

“You’ve managed to make me feel comfortable in a skin I never knew I’d wear within a matter of a couple of days, and I…well, I can’t thank you enough. This could be so much rougher of a transition—going from fling to cohabitation. But you’ve managed…you’ve managed to turn it into something of a help, rather than a hindrance.” She shakes her head, sighing. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, it feels nice to be a team.”

A bolt of discomfort rips into my chest as old words, old wounds, old heartache return with a vengeance. We’re a team, Tad. My wife Abigail made a habit out of saying it, and hearing it now is a stabbing reminder of my failures.

As Breezy lies back, I count my breaths to steady them, setting my old world aside again and searching out the light. The hope, the clarity, the direction—they’re all aimed at the future. At a life to be built with Breezy, and the baby—our baby—she’s growing inside her.

I find purpose in centering myself on them—on focusing on what will be instead of what was.

I know it’s still too early to feel the baby kick or anything, but I remember…