Her nipples ached.
Frustrated with herself and her susceptibility to this rock star who’d never loved her, she put her cup on the black marble of the freestanding counter in the center of the kitchen. “We might have a problem.”
Abe raised an eyebrow in a silent question as he leaned back against the counter opposite where she stood, his hands braced behind him.
“I missed my period.”
CHAPTER 17
HER WORDS FELL LIKE a bomb into the silence of the kitchen. Suddenly the ticking clock on the wall was all she could hear, each movement of the second hand a jagged, bright sound that scraped across her already raw nerves.
“It’s probably nothing. I’m probably just late… only, I’m never late,” she said past the slightly sick feeling in her gut. Having this conversation with Abe, it was a nightmare repeating itself. “I wasn’t lying about being on the pill. I did everything right this time!” She’d made sure to take the pill like clockwork, having no intention of ever again falling pregnant. Not after Aaron. “But I was on the final day of some antibiotics for—”
“Sarah.” Abe strode forward to grip her gently on her upper arms. “I know you didn’t lie about being on the pill.”
“Right, okay.” She nodded her head like a marionette. “I just didn’t want you to think I’d been trying to trap you or anything.” Her body began to shake. “I can’t do it, Abe. I can’t be pregnant again. I can’t.” She’d lost two babies already, her womb an apparently hostile place.
“Hey, hey.” Abe drew her close, but she couldn’t allow herself to rely on him. Not when he’d thrown her away so easily. Not when he’d forgotten her in a heartbeat.
Wrenching back, she touched a trembling hand to her face. “It might just be stress-related.” Sarah hoped that was it. “But I can’t face going to the doctor alone.” Yet instead of calling one of her friends for the needed moral support, she’d come straight to Abe.
She couldn’t explain why except that her head had started spinning when she’d realized she was late enough for it to matter, and the spinning hadn’t stopped since. Her brain clearly wasn’t firing on all cylinders. “What was I thinking? You can’t come with me. If the media—”
“Fuck the media.” Abe’s harsh tone sliced through the air. “I want to be there for you.”
Sarah took a trembling breath, glanced at that ticking clock. Abe’s mother had given it to them as an anniversary present, and Sarah had always loved it. Simple wooden hands on a carved background of a darker wood polished to a shine, it had been handmade by an artist who worked with the natural grain and patterns of his chosen medium.
“Sarah, let me do this.”
Regardless of her panic at the idea of being hounded by the paparazzi, Sarah knew Abe deserved to learn the truth alongside her. She cleared her throat, said, “The appointment’s in thirty minutes.”
ABE TURNED ON THE RADIO TO COVER the silence in the SUV as he drove Sarah to a doctor in the suburbs. Whatever her original reasoning for choosing that doc, a man she’d told Abe was her normal GP, the unintended result was that the media was unlikely to spring them. Good. Because he was not having anyone upset Sarah today.
His heart boomed like David’s drums.
The idea of a kid…
Emotions crashed through him: joy, fear, grief, excitement, sheer terror… and shame.
He squeezed the steering wheel. “I’m sorry about our first time around.” Sarah’s miscarriage had been early on in the pregnancy, but she’d known, been devastated. It hadn’t felt as real to him—maybe because he’d already been going down the rabbit hole, but still, he’d done okay then. He’d held her, listened to her talk out her grief, made sure she ate. But none of that mattered after the ugly words he’d flung at her the night he drove her away.
How the fuck did a man make up for that?
“It’s fine.” Sarah smoothed her hands over the skirt of her dress, her voice quiet. “Let’s just get through this.”
Abe wanted to reach out, touch her, convince her she never had to worry he’d repeat his drug-fueled behavior. “Whatever happens, I’ll be there.” Stopping at a light, he turned and spoke to her profile. “I won’t cut and run. Not now, not ever.”
Another jerky nod, her hands twisting on the strap of her handbag. “Light’s green.”
He drove on. The two of them didn’t speak again until he’d brought the car to a halt in the small underground garage of the building where the doctor had his office. “Which floor?”