The Someday Girl (The Girl Duet Book 2), page 19
“Every minute of every day, I am terrified.” I bury my head in my hands. My words shake. “I’m terrified to want this. I’m terrified I’ll be bad at it. I’m terrified I’ll turn out like my mother. I’m terrified of telling Wyatt and watching him walk away. I’m terrified to do this alone. I’m terrified not to do this. I’m terrified of how it will change my life. I am terrified.”
“Welcome to motherhood,” Harper says wryly. “My mom used to say if you aren’t afraid you’re screwing it up, you’re not doing it right.”
I’m quiet for a moment. “This… this…. thing… has already changed my life so much, and it’s the size of a freaking fruit. What’s it going to be like when it’s an actual baby?”
“I don’t know. But I know you. And I know you’re never one to run from a fight, Kat Firestone.” She smiles. “You can do this. If you want to do it, you can. I have no doubts.”
My smile wavers.
“You still have to tell Wyatt, though,” she insists. “And, you also have to tell…”
She doesn’t finish the thought, but we both know exactly what she was about to say.
Grayson.
God, I don’t want to think about that possibility. Not yet. Because, while there’s a slim chance Wyatt won’t freak out when I tell him, there is literally zero chance that Grayson won’t melt down when he hears this news.
The man-child, having a child.
I shake myself out of those terror-inducing thoughts.
“I’ll tell Wyatt. Soon,” I murmur. “Tonight, maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Harper. Please stop.”
“You stop.” She lifts her hands defensively. “I’m not the one in denial, here.”
“What if I tell him and…” My voice cracks with fear. “And he walks away? What if he doesn’t want me anymore, when he realizes I’m pregnant with a baby that might not be his?”
“Then he’s not the man you thought he was.” Masters’ voice cuts through my fear like a knife strike. “He walks away, he doesn’t deserve to stand by your side anyway.”
I look up at my bodyguard — I wasn’t even aware he’d been listening, but it’s clear from his expression that he’s paid attention to our every word.
His eyes are intent. “For the record, though, I don’t think he’s gonna walk away. Men who look at their women the way Hastings looks at you when you’re not paying attention… they don’t bolt. Not for anything.”
“UGH!” Harper glares at her boyfriend. “Why can’t you ever say anything mushy and sweet to me, huh?”
“Babe.” He grins at her. It’s a good grin — the kind that lights up his whole face, made altogether more effective because he reveals it so rarely. “You don’t like mushy and sweet. If you did, you wouldn’t be with me.”
She huffs, but doesn’t argue, because it’s the truth. Turning back to me, her face twists back into a mask of worry. “I’m not your mother — thank god, that woman is a tyrant — so I’m not going to tell you what to do. But I will gently remind you that you have a doctor’s appointment scheduled for noon today at a private practice downtown. If you’re still up for it, I was planning to go with you before your interview this afternoon.”
I stare at her for a few seconds, then cross the room and pull her into my arms. She goes still, clearly surprised by my show of affection. Typically, she’s always the one to initiate contact.
“Thanks,” I whisper. “For knowing me better than I know myself, sometimes. And for loving me even when I drive you crazy. Even when you hate me.”
She sniffles and her voice is thick when she responds. “I always hate you. Just using you for free fame perks, remember?”
“Oh, right. I forgot.” I pull back, grinning. “I’m going to take a shower. You’ll help make me look semi-attractive for my interview, right? We both know if I try to do my makeup alone, I’ll wind up looking like a troll.”
She nods.
“You’re a gem, Harper Kline. Don’t know where I’d be without you.”
I wink and walk out, whistling Auld Lang Syne as I go. I’m nearly to the stairs when I hear Harper’s hushed tones, full of concern as she consults her boyfriend.
“Do you think she’s okay? She hugged me. And complimented me without sarcasm. And she’s whistling.”
“She’s not okay, babe.” Masters chuckles. “She’s happy.”
Eleven
“Patience is a virtue.”
- Someone defending their lack of other virtues.
Two hours later, my happiness is gone.
All I feel is nervous.
I stare up at the fluorescent ceiling light. The paper sheet crinkles beneath me each time I fidget. Suddenly, I’m wishing I hadn’t forced Harper to stay out in the waiting room of the discreet clinic downtown where I’ve come to get my first glimpse at the tiny dictator. It might be nice to have someone in here with me, holding my hand.
If I’m being honest, though, it’s not Harper I want holding my hand. It’s Wyatt.
This might be his baby, and he’s missing it.
I should’ve told him, should’ve trusted him. No matter what happens, I’m telling him tonight. No more excuses. No more fear.
No more secrets.
“Are you ready, Katharine?”
The doctor with the ultrasound machine smiles down at me in a perfunctory sort of way. She’s not exactly warm, but she’s not cold, either. She’s exceedingly professional in a way that suggests she likes her job, but has been doing it for long enough that the shine is starting to wear off.
I nod. “As I’ll ever be.”
“Are we waiting for someone? Husband, boyfriend…”
“No.” I swallow hard. “No, I’m alone. It’s… just me.”
Her eyes soften a bit. “All right. This is going to be a bit cold.”
There’s a squirt sound, like squeezing the last bit of ketchup from the bottom of the bottle. A dollop of chilly gel lands on my stomach. Goosebumps appear on my arms, though they could just as easily be from nerves as the cold.
“Okay, this will just take a minute… If it’s still early, it can take a while to find a rhythm…” She’s looking at a monitor as she moves the ultrasound wand over my stomach, seeking something. My eyes press closed and as the seconds tick by, a thousand thoughts flit through my head.
Maybe it was a false positive.
Maybe I’m not actually pregnant.
Maybe all this worry and stress and heartache has been for nothing.
I’m not sure whether that possibility instills more relief or regret inside me. Before I can figure it out, a foreign sound makes my eyes fly open. Twice the speed I was expecting. Muffled, like it’s coming from underwater… but, undeniably, present.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
“There.” The doctor is smiling. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat.”
I turn my head to the screen, wide-eyed and breathless as I take in the sight of the blurry, black and white image.
“Right here.” She points to a tiny shape that looks a bit like a kidney bean. “That’s your baby. Do you see it?”
“I…” I suck in a sharp breath, trying to keep my emotions under control. Tears fill my eyes anyway. “Yes. I see it.”
I see it.
I see you.
Hello there, tiny dictator. I can’t wait to meet you.
Harper and I are sitting so close in the backseat our hips are practically fused together. We’re on our way to my only press tour event of the day — a talkshow interview about Uncharted for an episode of Late Night with Reggie that will air sometime next week. She’s staring down at the picture in my hands, a look of awe on her face.
“That is one good looking grape,” she murmurs.
I roll my eyes. “It’s a blurry smudge of black and white. We have no idea what it looks like. For all we know, it could pop out looking like Al Pacino.”
“Hey!” she protests. “Leave Al Pacino alone. He was a legend in his prime, and he’s arguably quite the fox now.”
I roll my eyes.
“Anyway,” she adds thoughtfully. “There’s no way this kid will be anything but hot. Whether it’s Wyatt’s or Grayson’s, the potential gene pool is frankly almost unfairly attractive to the rest of us.”
“Please, stop talking.”
“It’s true,” she insists. “You’ll end up with the cutest spawn on planet earth. Your eyes, Wyatt’s hair… your spunk, his smile… Can you imagine?”
Yes. I can, actually. That’s what makes this so hard.
“Don’t worry, babe.” Masters catches her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Our kids will be cuter.”
She blanches. “We’ve been together a month. You have to stop saying things like that.”
“Nah,” he says, merging left onto the highway. “Don’t think I will.”
I giggle.
She tosses her hands up. “He’s impossible.”
I start to say something else, but my words are drowned out by the sound of an engine revving close behind us. We turn around to look through the back windshield and spot a man on a motorcycle racing toward our bumper, a large camera strapped to his saddlebag. His features are concealed by a visored black helmet.
“What the hell?” I mutter, totally at a loss as the man comes up alongside us, trying to peer into the backseat.
“Is he chasing us?” Harper exclaims.
Masters doesn’t say anything, but I notice his hands are gripping the steering wheel a bit tighter. He presses down on the gas pedal to increase our speed, attempting to lose the paparazzo as we race down a stretch of four-lane highway. We turn to watch as the motorcycle falls behind, but a moment later the rider’s gloves curl around the handlebars and he rockets forward again. He swerves and shifts lanes without signaling, trying to come up on our opposite flank. Two cars beep angrily, braking hard to avoid a collision as he cuts across the highway like a madman.
“Oh my god, he is!” Harper hisses, sounding excited. “He’s chasing us!”
“I don’t know what he expects to see.” I shrug as if my heart isn’t pounding twice its normal speed within my chest. “The windows are tinted.”
“He probably wants to be the first one on the scene when we pull up at the studio. Really gives a new meaning to the phase chasing down a lead, doesn’t it?” She snorts.
I, for one, see very little humor in the situation as we careen too fast around a bend, the SUV leaning at a precarious angle, the motorcycle keeping pace with us despite Masters’ evasive maneuvers.
“This is my mother’s fault. She’s been stirring the press into a frenzy with all these stories about me and Grayson and our decade-long love affair.” I shake my head. “There’s a new tabloid story out every day.”
“I thought you didn’t bother reading those?” Harper asks.
“I don’t, usually. But I was checking to see if there was anything new about Helena.”
“Have you heard from Grayson?”
“Not a word.” I wince at the thought. “Today will be the first time seeing him since that night at Limbo. Hopefully he got Helena some help. When we saw her she was…”
“Emulating Angelina Jolie in Girl, Interrupted?” Harper supplies.
“Basically, yes.”
Masters hits the gas pedal again and I feel my stomach lurch as we take a sudden exit off the highway. The motorcycle, not anticipating our departure, misses the turn and flies past our left side.
“Lost him,” Masters mutters.
“Yeah, well, I almost just lost my lunch all over your seats,” Harper grumbles. “Can we please focus on getting there in one piece? We’ve got a baby on board for god’s sake.”
I roll my eyes. “The tiny dictator is just fine.”
“That’s my god-baby grape, in there.” She gestures at my stomach.
“I don’t technically think godmother duties start until after the in-utero part of the program.”
“What kind of crap is that?” she asks. “I plan to watch out for it every step of the way. Even when it looks like an alien.”
I decide it’s best not to argue with her.
Thankfully, no more paparazzi attempt to tail us as we make our way to the studio. We pull into an underground garage without fanfare and take an elevator upstairs to the recording stage. A production assistant greets us with bottles of water before leading us to a small lounge to wait. Settling in on one of the plush chairs, I ask if Grayson has arrived yet; she’s not sure. I ask when she thinks we’ll start filming the interview; she has no idea. I ask if we can expect a debrief with Reggie, the show host, before we start recording; she can’t say definitively.
Essentially, she is utterly useless as a PA.
“I’ll come get you a few minutes before we start. It shouldn’t be too long,” she informs us blithely, drifting out the door with a dreamy look.
“Who did she bang to get this job?” My best friend snorts.
“Harper!”
“What? I’m genuinely curious. There’s no way she landed this gig on merit.”
“Go find your seat,” I implore her. “Please.”
“Fine.” She sighs. “But if there’s a makeup person backstage, don’t let them cover you with setting powder. It makes you look like you sneezed in the warehouse of a cocaine cartel.”
Masters winks at me as they disappear out the door to find their seats.
Alone at last, with no one around to mock me for my sentimentality, I pull out the ultrasound picture and stare at the black and white image. A strange sensation creeps over me as I trace the tiny shape with the tip of my finger. There’s no single word to describe what I’m feeling.
Fearjoyguilthappinessanxietyterrorhoperegretlove.
I slide it back into my purse and grab my phone, scrolling to Wyatt’s name and sending a quick text message.
Kat: I miss you.
He responds almost instantly.
Wyatt: I miss you more, guaranteed. These meetings are a slow death.
Kat: Sorry. I’ll revive you tonight. How does Thai takeout sound?
Wyatt: Perfect.
Kat: And then maybe we can take a long hot soak in my giant bathtub…
Wyatt: You’re killing me.
Kat: Don’t die yet. I need you to fuck me first. Preferably in the tub.
Wyatt: Baby…
Kat: I like when you call me baby. I like when you do all sorts of things to me.
Wyatt: Fuck, Katharine.
Kat: …That can be arranged.
Wyatt: That’s it. I’m cancelling my last meeting.
Kat: Good. We can have a meeting of our own. My mouth. Your cock.
Wyatt: I’m hard as a rock.
Kat: That was my intention.
Wyatt: Did I mention I’m in a meeting with three AXC executives? Including my father.
Kat: LOL!
Wyatt: Not laughing over here.
Kat: I’m sorry!
Wyatt: You can make it up to me later. I have a few ideas…
Kat: Keep brainstorming, love. I’m all yours.
Wyatt: Good luck at your interview, beautiful.
Kat: See you tonight. xx
I’m still grinning like an idiot when the door swings inward. Grayson’s familiar frame fills the entryway. His gaze finds mine instantly.
“Hey.”
“Hi.” I tilt my head at him as I shove my phone back inside my purse. “How are you?”
I only ask because he looks like a total wreck. There are deep shadows beneath his eyes, making his emerald irises stand out starkly in their sockets. If I had to guess, I’d say he hasn’t slept since I saw him last.
He shrugs. “You know me. Always good.”
I’m not buying it. “Grayson…”
“Kat. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it,” I say bluntly, climbing to my feet. “How’s Helena? Did you get her settled in?”
His mouth opens to respond, but he doesn’t have a chance to answer because the spacey PA appears in the doorway.
“Reggie is ready for you,” she informs us. “If you’ll just follow me…”
We walk in silence down the hall and find ourselves backstage. I can hear the crush of voices from the live audience upstairs as they file into their seats. Nervous jitters take hold of me.
Grayson reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. I startle at the sudden contact and his hand drops away.
“Sorry.” He swallows hard. His eyes are on mine, and there’s a lost look in their depths. “You nervous?”
“Always,” I murmur.
“You’ll be fine. Reggie is a ratings shark, but he’s not a bad guy. His jokes are pretty terrible, though.”
“Hey! I heard that!” A nasally voice interjects. “Blame my writers, not me, hombre.”
We turn to face the man himself — Reggie Vasquez. His late-night show dominates the ratings year after year, in part due to his ever-rotating roster of celebrity guests.
He looks so much smaller in person than he does on a television screen. Not a particularly handsome man, nonetheless he has a certain kind of charisma that commands your attention. His dark brown eyes are locked on me, appraising.
“Katharine Firestone,” he murmurs, extending a hand. “It’s great to meet you.”
I slide my palm into his, trying not to flinch at the sweaty warmth of his skin. “Thanks for having us on the show. I’m excited to be here.”
His grip tightens, not releasing mine. “Excited to have you.”
A fissure of unease spirals through my chest. Grayson shifts closer to me, sliding an arm around my back. I notice he doesn’t shake hands with the host — they trade taciturn nods of greeting instead. As the seconds tick on in silence with me trapped between the two of them, I begin to feel like a doomed chew toy caught in a game of tug-of-war between two rival dogs.
“Reggie.” Grayson forces out, shattering the stagnant moment.
“Dunn,” Reggie returns, smirking like he’s won something as he finally releases my hand. “Happy to have you back. It’s going to be a great show.”
Grayson smiles, but it seems forced. “Always is.”
