Last week, I had been outside looking around the area where they started digging for the pool, when Asher ran outside like the house was on fire. I stumbled and almost fell into the hole when he caught me and made me go back inside, saying that they had sprayed some kind of chemical in the area and I couldn’t be in the backyard. Once again, I agreed, but was noticing that the list of things I couldn’t do was becoming quite long.
Then, this morning, I was on the phone with the salon in town, making an appointment to get my highlights touched up and to have a manicure and pedicure, when the phone was yanked out of my hand and Asher proceeded to tell the salon that I had to wait until after I had the baby to get my hair done, but that I could get a mani pedi. Then he kissed me senseless, and left the room before I could clear the fog and yell at him. Now he is out somewhere on the property, and I am on the back porch in front of the grill with a lighter and the book that seems to be the root of all my problems. I am ready to kill him. I love him and am over the moon that he is happy about this baby but he’s driving me insane. I know that he means well, but I swear, he won’t be happy until the doctor puts me on bed rest for the duration of my pregnancy.
The doorbell chimes and I look down at the book and sigh while putting everything down. I plan on coming back to it as soon as I get rid of whoever is at the door.
“Stay,” I tell Beast as I go into the house through the sliding door. I walk through the living room and look out the peep hole. I can’t believe my eyes. How the heck did she find me? I look out the peep hole again, just to make sure that I’m not seeing things. Nope, not seeing things. My mother is standing on the other side of the door. I get off my tiptoes and take a step away from the door.
“Who’s at the door, baby?” Asher asks loudly from behind me. I jump and spin around, putting a finger to my lips and using the universal symbol for ‘be quiet.’
“Who is it?” he asks again. This time, his eyes are narrowed. The doorbell rings again and my mom yells through the closed door.
“I can hear you in there.”
“Crap,” I hiss, glaring at Asher for blowing my cover. He walks to the door and unlocks it before I have a chance to block it or tackle him to the ground.
“Can I help—” Asher starts to ask but my mom cuts him off.
“Where’s November?” my mom snaps.
Crap! Crap! Crap!
“You are?” Asher asks in a low growl.
“Her mother.” The air changes and I can feel the angry energy beating against my skin and it is all coming from Asher.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks and I know this is going to go badly. I bend my head under Asher’s arm that is holding the door open.
“Mom, what are you doing here?” I say and her eyes come to me.
“I’ve been calling you and you haven’t answered.”
“You came to Tennessee because I haven’t answered my phone?” I ask in disbelief.
“No, I came here because your fiancé’s in the hospital,” she says and my eyes narrow.
“Her fiancé is standing right in front of you.” Asher growled, taking his hand off the door and pulling me into his side.
“How did you find out where I live?” I ask, completely ignoring the fact that she said my ex was in the hospital. I hope that he isn’t going to die or anything, but I’m not going to go to New York to sit at his bedside.
“The boy from the lawyer’s office told me.”
She looked up at Asher when his voice rumbled. “Nick?” My mom nodded. “I’m going to fucking kill him.” Asher was pissed.
“I’m her mother. Why wouldn’t he tell me where she lives?” she snaps, looking at Asher then back at me. “Why haven’t you returned any of my calls?”
“The last time I saw you, Mom, you made it clear that you were not interested in having a relationship with me.”
“You’re my daughter.”
“Yes, and you have never acted like my mother.” What the heck is going on? I feel like I’m in the twilight zone when I see tears form in her eyes.
“I’ve been worried.” My eyes narrow.
“What’s really going on?” Just then, my cell phone rings in the kitchen. I look up at Asher in a silent plea for him to not let her in. He nods and I hope that we are on the same wave length. I walk to the kitchen and pick up my phone, seeing that it is Mr. Stevenson.
“Hello,” I answer.
“November, this is Tom Stevenson.”
“Hi, Mr. Stevenson. How are you?”
“Could be better, darlin’.”
“Um, sorry to hear that,” I mumble, looking toward the front door to make sure Asher hasn’t let my mom in.