He ignored the whispering in his ear, the whispers that accompanied him whenever failure was imminent, the voice that refused to be silent whenever things went wrong, seemed to come from nowhere, telling him this was his own fault. He was getting what he deserved. Claire and the baby were better off without him. And he hated that the voice was his father’s. Jake shrugged his shoulders, willing that voice to stay in the recesses of his mind.
He knocked twice and waited. And waited. After what must have been a few minutes he tried the door. Locked. Jake let out a frustrated sigh. Claire didn’t want to see him, but he wasn’t going to give up. He took a step back and that’s when he noticed there weren’t any lights on in the house. Dusk had set in now, so either she wasn’t home or she was sleeping. She had said she was tired, and she’d looked tired. He didn’t want to leave her, though.
He made his way down the porch and rounded the corner to the backyard. Just last night he’d been here, thinking his whole life had been turned upside down. And now…well, not much had changed. Claire wasn’t there. On the off chance she was ignoring him and sitting inside her house, he went up to the kitchen door and peered through the glass. No sign of her. No lights, nothing.
He tried the door and to his surprise, the knob turned, and he let himself in. Why hadn’t she locked the door? He closed the door behind him and took off his wet boots before walking through the kitchen into the hallway. He spotted her navy heels at the bottom of the staircase. He walked up the steps lightly. There were four doors. One looked like storage, the other a spare room, and the other a bathroom. The last room had its door almost shut. Jake knocked lightly and the door swung open.
A white antique-looking bed sat on the far wall of the bedroom, with Claire sprawled on top of a pink-and-cream floral duvet. She was still wearing her suit skirt and top, the jacket in a heap beside her. She must be exhausted, he thought, as he walked across the room. The only sound was her deep, even breathing. Her dark hair stood out against the pale duvet, her cheeks slightly flushed. Without thinking, he reached out, his hands having a mind of their own, helpless as they brushed a piece of impossibly silky hair off her face. His hand flexed painfully as he made himself pull away from her.
Jake drew a deep breath, taking a few steps away from Claire. He spotted a white throw blanket on a nearby chair and laid it on top of her, grateful to have something else to focus on besides how attracted he was to her. When she wasn’t angry with him, she looked vulnerable, soft, and sweet. And as he tucked the blanket around her, another feeling took him by surprise— he wanted to protect her. He wanted to make her happy. Jake clenched his fists tightly in his pocket as he stared at Claire. He wanted to make everything right. The thought of Claire hating him hurt. The thought of her marrying someone else felt wrong.
He stared at her another moment, found a pad of notepaper and quickly scribbled that he was downstairs, and placed it beside her. A stack of books on the dresser caught his eye. Baby and pregnancy books. He glanced at his watch and then back at her. She needed her rest.
Three hours later, Jake shut the cover on What to Expect When You’re Expecting, feeling somewhat more enlightened. He felt like he had a bit of a handle on the physical changes coming their way, but he was more concerned about the emotional. There was a lot at stake for both of them. This baby meant so much more to him than Claire could ever know. The thought of her shutting him out of his child’s life, or even limiting his involvement, filled him with dread and fear. He had to make her trust him enough to marry him. He thought about it over and over again, and despite her naive notion of marrying for love, he needed her to see the merit in them getting married for practicality.
The sound of a car door slamming jarred him from his thoughts. The takeout had arrived. He glanced down at his watch, surprised at the time, and that Claire was still sleeping. He cursed under his breath, jumping off the sofa as the doorbell rang five times in a row. He had told the restaurant to knock softly and not ring the bell. He whipped the door open, ready to hammer into the delivery guy for ringing the bell, but one look at the scrawny, blond teenage boy told him it wouldn’t sink in.
“Here’s your order,” he squawked, handing Jake five large paper bags.
“I told you guys not to ring the bell,” Jake grumbled as he handed the boy enough money to cover the tip as well.
“Sorry, buddy. Nobody told me,” he answered, clearly more interested in counting how much his tip was.
“Jake?” The sound of Claire’s soft voice ended what would have been his reprimanding the boy. He swung the door shut with his foot.