He debated going back downstairs to wait her out, then thought twice about it. The image of her sitting in there holding a little white stick with a plus sign on it flickered across his mind’s eye and tightened the muscles low in his gut.
Shit. This possible impending-fatherhood thing was worse than a prostate exam.
Taking a deep breath and hoping trepidation didn’t shrink his balls to the size of marbles, he leaned a shoulder against the jamb and rapped his knuckles softly against the door. “Jenna? You okay in there?”
A couple of muted scuffles followed his query and a minute later the door opened. Only a crack at first, then all the way as she stepped out into the hall.
“You okay?” he asked again.
“Fine.” The reply was blunt and emotionless, but when she lifted her head to meet his gaze, he could see it was also a lie.
She wasn’t crying now, but her eyes were rimmed with red, her nose slightly puffy and mottled.
His heart lurched. Was that a good sign or a bad sign?
Did he even want to know?
“Here,” she said, thrusting the small white stick from the test kit at him. Her balled-up fist hit him in the center of his abdomen, driving the air from his diaphragm as his hand automatically came up to take what she was offering.
The instant they touched flesh to flesh, she released her hold on the plastic wand and yanked her hand away. He tried not to flinch, but felt her rejection like a two-by-four to the back of his knees.
“Congratulations, you win again,” she said, her tone pinpoint-sharp and dripping with derision. “And you can save yourself the trouble of coming back here every day with another test, or calling and pestering me to take one, because it’s no longer necessary. I just got my period, so there’s no baby, and probably won’t be one any time in the near future. Maybe never, thank you very much.”
Her voice cracked on the last, and he caught the threat of tears brimming in her eyes just before she brushed past him and rushed down the stairs.
He’d thought he would be relieved when she finally got her period, when there was definitive proof that she hadn’t gotten pregnant during their one night of unprotected sex.
Instead, he felt oddly disappointed. He wanted to run after her, but knew she wouldn’t welcome his company at the moment, and had no idea what he’d say even if he did.
The best thing he could do now was thank his lucky stars and get the hell out of Fertile Valley before he did something stupid like kiss her, apologize, sleep with her again, or-God forbid-offer her another shot at his little swimmers just to wipe the look of devastation off her face.
No. He’d dodged the bullet once, he was not going to risk a direct hit next time around. It was done, finished, over with. Life could go back to normal… or at least what he’d come to accept as normal over the past year and a half.
And if he wasn’t particularly happy, if he came home to an empty apartment and fell asleep in front of the television every night with only memories of better times to keep him warm…
Well, he could live with that. Especially since he didn’t seem to have a choice.
Knit 17
Gage stood in front of his locker at the precinct, stowing his watch and trading his boots for an old pair of sneakers that had seen better days.
His team was going out on some undercover drug busts, so the faded jeans and white T-shirt he’d worn in could stay, but he’d add a skull-and-crossbones do-rag and a ratty, sleeveless denim jacket covered in scary-looking patches. That, along with his own personal body ink and a few other minor touches, should work to convince dealers he was up to no good and looking to score.
“Hey,” Eric Cruz, one of his buddies and a fellow undercover officer, said as he came up beside Gage to open his own locker. “Glad to have you back.”
“Thanks,” Gage offered without much genuine sentiment. He’d only been gone a little over a week, but knew from experience that when one of the guys was missing from an op, you felt the loss and it altered tactical strategy accordingly.
Gage had expected to feel exhilarated by his return to work. He’d always enjoyed his job, gotten a thrill out of almost every aspect of it. It was a rush to go undercover and play a role that got the bad guys to trust him, then drop the hammer and put them in jail. It was exhilarating to organize a bust and be there for the take-down.
So, yeah, lately he hadn’t felt quite as enthusiastic about it all, but when he’d first asked for time off to stay with Jenna, he’d been kind of pissed at having to leave. Then he’d decided that going away for a while might put things back in perspective and help him appreciate the job even more once he returned.
They hadn’t been in the middle of anything big when he’d taken leave, either, which was a plus. But the thought of distancing himself from his team, of having something come up that he wouldn’t be aware of, rubbed him the wrong way.
Then, after a while, he’d stopped thinking so much about what he was missing at work and had begun to simply enjoy relaxing, hanging out, and being with Jenna. He hadn’t even minded helping out with the alpacas, despite the fact that the little buggers spit when they got scared. A couple of them had also trampled his toes and come damn close to making him sing soprano.
Once he’d been sure Jenna wasn’t pregnant, though, and… okay, he hadn’t left so much as been kicked out… he’d thought he’d be relieved to get back to his usual routine. Instead, he’d found himself dragging around ever since his alarm had gone off that morning. Both physically and emotionally, he just couldn’t seem to generate a spark of interest in anything these days.
“You ready for today’s op?” Eric asked.
“Sure,” Gage responded automatically. “You?”
“Always, man. Gotta put the bad guys in jail and make the streets safe for innocent women and children.”
It was a much-used line and common joke within the PD, but for some reason, hearing it this time sent a stab of something cold and painful through Gage’s chest. His heart squeezed, and his ribcage seemed to tighten around his lungs.
Turning his head, he glanced at the inside of Eric’s locker. Aside from a small magnetic mirror and CPD decal, the door and sides were covered in family photographs. Eric and his wife. His wife and three children. School pictures of each of the kids as they passed through several different grade levels. Eric, his wife, and the kids all together in front of a tree at Christmas.
He had a family, seemed happy, didn’t appear to spend every minute worrying about what might happen. To them, or to him. Other officers-both in undercover or other departments-were married with children, as well, he knew.
How did they do it? How did they not go crazy with the knowledge of all the bad things that could happen to the ones they loved?
He wasn’t afraid of much in this world-hell, as a cop, he’d faced just about everything there was to be afraid of-but the idea of losing Jenna to violence, to having her hurt in some way and being powerless to stop it… He’d rather have his guts ripped out and stomped on while his heart was still beating and he was alive and conscious enough to feel every twinge.
The idea of having kids with her and having to worry about them, too…
He broke out in a cold sweat and realized his hands were curled into fists at his sides.
Okay, this could not be normal. For the first time, he began to realize that maybe his concern for Jenna and their possible progeny might be slightly over the top. What other explanation could there be, since the other men in his unit, other men in his line of work, didn’t seem to suffer the same reluctance to reproduce?
“Hey, Cruz?” he said in a quiet voice, the words scraping past his raw, dry throat.