The Alpha's Baby(11)

It wasn't that she didn't like children. It was just that she didn't have much experience with them. She'd been an only child growing up, and she was probably one of the few people on the planet who didn't have any cousins. And she had a temper too. She couldn't even put on nail polish without cussing up a storm. How could she possibly be a good mom?

Suddenly, she had the urge to puke. As vomit crawled up her throat, she bent over the toilet and gagged into the porcelain bowl. At this point she wasn't sure what was the cause of her nausea—pure terror or pregnancy. She curled up on the tile, trembling, and the cat stared back at her.

Pickles.

The day she'd found the cat on the street, he'd been an underweight, abused creature. The vet had said he'd be lucky if he survived. She wasn't sure what made her do it, but she'd stayed up day and night coaxing that damn animal to eat. His weight went up, and five years later, they were still together. Maybe comparing raising a baby to aiding an abused kitten was bad, but if she could stay up all night for an animal, why couldn't she stay up all night for her baby?

Her baby. She wrapped a hand around her stomach.

Oh God, I'm keeping it, aren't I?

Even as she laid curled up on the floor in sheer terror, she realized that she wouldn't give up her baby. Some people had to agonize for days or weeks over such a difficult dilemma, but she'd always been the kind of person who had no trouble making snap decisions.

Even stupid ones like sleeping with strangers.

And speaking of sleeping with strangers, what the hell was she supposed to do about Sebastian? She hadn't spoken with the man since they'd had their fling. Still, she believed that Sebastian had the right to know that she was pregnant with his child.

Unfortunately, when she thought of marching up to his front door and telling him, she was more than ready to change her opinion. No, that isn't right, she thought. Even if she'd only had a one-night stand with Sebastian, every man had the right to know that he was going to become a father. Sure, she doubted that he'd want anything to do with her after she told him—she'd be lucky if he didn't leap out his window and run to Mexico—but he had to know.

God, that was going to be the most awful conversation of her life…No, wait, she had to tell her parents too. Her dad was a deacon of a Catholic church. When he found out about what she'd done, he was going to incinerate her, find a way to bring her back to life, then incinerate her again. A wave of nausea came crashing over her. She was certain she was going to get sick again, but this time, she knew it was because of her thoughts.

After all, even at twenty-eight, her parents still frightened the hell out of her. And telling Sebastian about the mess she'd caused was on her top ten list of “Things I Never Want to Do” right alongside kissing an electric eel and having an intimate dinner with a homicidal rapist. She sat up, finally managing to stop the flow of tears, and took deep, cleansing breaths.

I can do this, she thought as she pressed her hand against her stomach.

She pictured holding a newborn baby in her arms. Babies were warm and soft and smelled so sweet. Even though she wanted to lock herself inside of a closet and pretend that this had never happened, thoughts of the baby were what strengthened her. She was an adult. This may not have been what she wanted, but she'd made a mistake and, for better or for worse, she had to handle the consequences.

Emmy sucked in air and teetered to her feet. As she clenched her jaw in determination, she realized that her life was never going to be the same.



****



Emmy sat in Mary Lou's apartment drinking a cup of chamomile tea. Her eighty-five-year-old neighbor was leaning against the table in a black spandex dress that even Emmy wouldn't have had the nerve to wear. Sometimes when Emmy looked at Mary Lou, she saw a young girl trapped inside of an old person's body. But not right now. Nope, right now she saw Mary Lou as an old woman—and that was a problem when that old woman happened to be wearing a dress eight sizes too small.

"Are you sure the sales clerk said that dress was your size?" Emmy tried hard not to notice that the older woman's wrinkled breasts looked like two shriveled peaches, even with the help of a pushup bra.

"She didn't say it wasn't my size." Mary Lou ran a hand down her thigh.

Emmy cringed. "I see."

"I think the dress looks pretty hot," Mary Lou said. "When I wore it to bingo last week, Filbert saw me and had a heart attack."

Emmy raised an eyebrow. "You said Filbert had a heart attack because his wife told him that she wanted a divorce."

"Well, that too," Mary Lou said. "But I bet it was mostly because of this dress."

She didn't say anything, but Mary Lou noticed her incredulous expression.