Stellar Collision (Falling Stars #2.5) Page 5

  "I said I'd meet you there, Chris," Mia half-growls, carrying Maggie on her hip.

  "Daddy!" Maggie exclaims, grinning.

  "Come here, baby girl." Reaching my arms out, I take her from Mia.

  Mia opens the rear car door I had been leaning on.

  "You aren't pushing me away because of an argument," I state, putting Maggie into her car seat and buckling her in tight.

  "Make sure you latch the chest part," Mia reminds, opening the front passenger door and putting Maggie's backpack inside.

  "I will." Making a face at Maggie, I roll my eyes.

  She squeals with laughter.

  "I'm serious, Chris."

  "But it's so tight," I argue.

  "It's supposed to be. Unless you prefer she flies out of it if we’re in an accident."

  Straightening out of the car, I place my hands on top of the open door and look over it.

  "We won't be in an accident."

  "You better have buckled the chest—"

  "I did," I cut her off and shut the door.

  Mia starts to slip into the front seat, but I hook her by the back of her jeans and

  spin her around. Cupping her face, I kiss her. Instead of protesting or fighting me, her arms snake around my waist and hold tight.

  My girl knows exactly the reassurance I need—that she's still mine and loves me regardless of my bullshit.

  Breaking the kiss, I press my forehead to hers, and whisper, "I'm sorry I acted like a dick."

  "I know," she responds. "I'm sorry I got—"

  Pressing my thumb over her lips, I silence her.

  "You have nothing to apologize for. I fucked things up and what happens is my fault."

  Her body stiffens before she pulls away.

  "What?" Furrowing my brow, I watch her climb into the Jeep and shut the door without answering me.

  I round the car, slip into the driver's seat, and study her profile.

  "What did I say?"

  "Nothing," she mumbles.

  "If you don't tell me what's wrong, how the hell am I supposed to understand why you're mad?"

  "I'm not mad, Chris." Mia rubs her forehead, sounding tired. "We need to get going so we're not late."

  Sitting back in the driver's seat, I hold the steering wheel and stare out the windshield.

  "Chris, we need to—"

  "We're not going anywhere until you tell me what's wrong," I say, twisting my neck and raising my left brow.

  Mia closes her eyes, drops her head, and sighs into her lap before asking, "Was Maggie a mistake to you?"

  Her question stiffens my spine and chills me to the bone.

  "You fu…" I trail off, remembering Maggie is in the backseat. Taking a deep breath, I get my emotions under control, and start again. "Why would you even think that? You know I don't think she's a mistake," I growl low.

  "Then why would this baby need to be someone's fault or a mistake?"

  Remembering what I said just moments before, I release the wheel and run my fingers through my hair.

  "Christ, Mia, I didn't mean it like that."

  Her head snaps up. Feeling her eyes on me, I meet her gaze.

  "Are you sure about that?" she asks, her question as sharp as the look in her eyes.

  I open my mouth, but shut it, trying to find the right words. My hope is to avoid any further arguing.

  "That's what I thought," she snorts.

  Throwing her body back into her seat, she shakes her head.

  "Give me a minute to think," I say. "I don't want to say the wrong damn thing again."

  "Just drive," she softly implores.

  "Look, no child we ever have would be a mistake," I explain.

  Mia keeps her eyes turned toward the window.

  Taking her hand from her thigh, I bring it to my lips, and she turns back to face me. I press a kiss before saying, "I have reservations about you being pregnant and we both know why. It terrifies me to think of you in a hospital bed, in pain, and there isn't a fucking thing I can do about it."

  Her eyes flit to the back seat then to me.

  "Sorry," I mumble, apologizing for the f-bomb in front of Maggie. "Our child…children, are not, nor ever will be, a mistake. But I can't be happy about something that almost took you from me before."

  Mia tightens her fingers on my hand and pulls it to her mouth, pressing her lips to my knuckles.

  "We need to get a test," I choke out. "You can do that, right? Take a test to find out?"

  Placing our hands on her lap, she gives a small smile.

  "I'm not late, Chris," she says.

  "Late for what?" My brows pull together.

  A small, quiet laugh escapes her.

  "I haven't missed my period," she explains.

  I give a nod, followed by a hard swallow.

  Maggie fusses, drawing our attention.

  "We're going, baby," Mia coos, reaching back and handing her a toy. "We need to get moving," she says to me.

  "Okay."

  Turning the ignition, I start the Jeep and pull away from the house.

  "So, there's still a chance—"

  "That you are worrying for nothing?" she finishes my question, and then answers, "Yeah, there is."

  Left hand on the steering wheel, I palm her thigh with the other.

  Chapter Six

  Mia

  "I can't believe you two," Linda scolds when we enter twenty minutes late. "First, you try to elope, and now, you're late for your wedding brunch."

  "I'm sorry," I say, handing Maggie over to her waiting arms and avoiding the elopement conversation altogether. "We got a later start and ran into construction."

  Stepping into Gwen and Nic's home, I hope my excuse is enough.

  "You look as pale as me," Gwen teases, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.

  Returning the embrace, I can't help but be reminded of all the weight she's lost. The surgery, radiation, and chemo did the job, her primary post tests showing all signs of remission, but it also stripped the glow of her skin, curve of her body, and the hair from her head. Where her caramel hair once flowed, she now wore a light brown wig. It's well made and in a cute bob style, but it's not Gwen.

  "Are you not well?" she asks, pulling back and looking me over.

  "I'm—"

  "Someone's ill?" Nic steps into the foyer. "Gwen, you should wear the mask, just in case."

  She waves him off without taking her eyes from me.

  "I don't need the mask. My counts are all up and perfect. Call Dr. Myers if you don't believe me."

  "I'm fine, just a bit run down I think," I answer.

  "Too much Vegas shenanigans." The amusement in her eyes matches the grin on her face.

  Fuck you, cancer, she's still beautiful.

  "And, you," Gwen moves from me to Christopher, "how dare you try to spoil things by eloping in Vegas."

  Chris takes her in his arms, gently embracing her.

  "Why doesn't anyone believe me?"

  He sets Gwen back on her feet and looks around the foyer.

  "It was Mia's idea." He points to me. "She's the one who put it all into motion." Looking at me, he says, "Tell them."

  With a small one-shoulder shrug, I say, "I don't know what you're talking about," and turn on my heel, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

  Entering the large sitting room, my father greets me, followed by Serena, then Laney.

  "I can't believe you're still playing the too drunk to remember card," Chris exclaims, entering the room on my heels.

  Refusing to look at him, I search for our family before continuing to greet the extended guests Linda and Gwen invited.

  Jackson sits in the far corner, Liza on his lap, with Elliott across from them, talking animatedly, his arms mimicking drumbeats. Una is a chair away, listening to their conversation and smiling, a dark skinned man standing next to her. He looks familiar, but I can't recall his name. Then, there's Jimmy. Standing at a tall window, he keeps his back to
the room and eyes focused outside. He's seems so distant and his shoulders tense when Una laughs at something.

  "I think you might need this," Kat sidles up and hands me a mimosa, distracting me from Jimmy.

  "Thanks."

  I accept the glass, but a familiar arm reaches over my shoulder and takes the drink from my hand. As Chris does this, he whispers into my ear, "Better safe than sorry."

  Twisting my head, I glance at him over my shoulder.

  With a smirk, he drains every last drop.

  I sigh and rub my forehead. So, this is how it's going to go this afternoon.

  Two hours later, after conversations, a brunch buffet, and opening gifts and cards, I could really use a drink. Unfortunately, Chris has not let up on stealing every drink he suspects has alcohol.

  "What's up with the pain in the ass?" Serena asks, sitting down next to me with Zoey sleeping in her arms.

  "Nothing," I mumble.

  "What's going on?" she asks, her motherly instincts on high alert.

  "There isn't anything going on," I defend. "She's getting so big," I say, trying to deflect.

  "Yeah, well, she's her father's daughter."

  Just when I think I've succeeded, she brings it right back around.

  "Now, what aren't you telling me?"

  Keeping my eyes on my chubby little niece, I say through gritted teeth, "Let it go."

  From the corner of my eye, I see her mouth open and close twice before she finally sighs and says, "You know I'm here if you need me."

  Shifting my eyes to meet hers, I smile.

  "I know. Thank you."

  "Mia," Chris slurs, loudly.

  Turning away from Serena, I watch him sway as he walks toward me.

  "You're such a lightweight," Elliott boasts on a laugh.

  "I'll get him some coffee," Laney offers, rushing out of the room.

  "I don't need coffee," he grumbles at her retreating form and turns his eyes on me. My stomach twists.

  "What I need is for you…" he comes to stand before me, leaning down to cage me into the couch, and lowering his voice, "to take a damn test before I lose my fucking mind."

  "Not here," I growl at the same time Gwen scolds him for cursing.

  Goddamn him. If Gwen heard him, did anyone else? And did he have to drink every glass he took from my hand?

  "Mia…" He rubs a hand over his face.

  "Christopher?" Dr. J appears next to him, clasping a hand on his shoulder.

  Chris straightens to full height—a full head above the doctor—in an attempt to intimidate. It never works with Dr. J, though.

  "I'm talking to—"

  "Yes, but I think we should go talk in private for a moment. Maybe share a coffee?" he offers.

  "I'm talking to Mia," Chris growls.

  "Go with him, Chris," I say through gritted teeth.

  His head snaps in my direction.

  "We need to finish talking abou—"

  "Fine," I cut him off, standing from the couch, "the three of us will go talk."

  Turning on my heel, I head for Nicholas' office, hoping he doesn't mind us using it.

  Chris and Dr. J follow close behind.

  With the door to Nic's office open, I hear Elliott say, "I don't know what's going on, but someone make me some popcorn. I can feel the emo coming off Chris like hurricane winds. Shit is about to get interesting."

  "Language!" Serena exclaims as Dr. J closes the mahogany door.

  "What the hell are you doing, Chris?" I shout.

  "Me? What the hell are you doing?" he argues back.

  "Let's calm down, all of us," Dr. J says low, stepping between us.

  "I'd be a lot fucking calmer if she'd take a damn test." Chris points at me.

  "Oh, really?" Crossing my arms over my chest, I widen my stance. "And how fucking calm do you think you would be if it comes back positive, huh? Did you think that far?"

  Chris' mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

  "Yeah, didn't really go much further than making me pee on a stick, huh?"

  "Okay," Dr. J intervenes once more. "Chris, Mia, please sit."

  He motions to the dark wooden chairs in the office.

  Dropping my defensive position, I plop down into one of the chairs. Chris takes the one next to me but turns the chair so it faces my profile. Dr. J leans against Nicholas' desk, palms pressed to the edge.

  "Now, I'm going to go out on a limb and say this tension is a result of the non-vasectomy and possible pregnancy," Dr. J says, looking between the two of us.

  "If she would just take a pregnancy test, then we'd know if it's possible or not." Chris throws himself back into his chair, bringing his arms over his chest.

  "I didn't say I wouldn't." Gripping the arms of the chair, my knuckles whiten. "But I'm not going to do it here…" I snap my head toward him, "or with a goddamn audience."

  "Why are you pushing so hard for a pregnancy test?" Dr. J asks Chris.

  "Wouldn't you want to know?" Chris barks.

  "Now, give me a real answer and not a return question."

  Sighing, Chris runs a hand through his inky hair.

  "The unknown is making me lose it. I can't handle this limbo."

  "My period isn't late, Chris." I put up a hand, stopping his next argument, and continue. "Sure, I can take the new ones that detect early, but they aren't a guarantee. What happens if I take the test and it's negative, but a week or so later, we find out it was a false negative? Or if it comes up positive and it's a false positive?"

  Burying my face in my hands, I try to hold off the tears.

  "I know a false positive would make your fucking year, but I'm not so sure I want to go through those emotions."

  The screech of a chair brings my face out of my hands. Chris has scooted so close, his legs so wide apart, the chair and I are between them.

  "Mia, baby…" his hand comes to my back and rubs, "what about a test at the doctor's office? Is that more accurate?"

  Deep down, I know he doesn't get it. There's no way for him to understand my feelings, my head…my heart. Not with this.

  While another baby isn't the best news right now—not with the upcoming release of Hush’s second album, my possible role in a Broadway play, and planning our first world tour—deep inside, the idea of our baby is taking root in my heart. Where he'll do cartwheels at a negative result, I'll feel the loss of what could've been. And I'll feel it alone.

  "Yeah, sure," I mumble, standing.

  "Where are you going?" he asks, grabbing my hand.

  Pulling it out of his grip, I wrap my arms around my waist.

  "I need to be alone," I say, walking toward the door.

  "But—"

  "Chris, let her go," Dr. J says, stopping him from following me.

  Exiting the office, I sneak down the hallway and into the guest bathroom.

  If I am pregnant, will I have to choose between the man I love and our unborn child? And what the fuck would I choose?

  Sinking onto the closed toilet lid, I bury my face in my hands.

  Christopher

  "Take a seat, Chris," Dr. J instructs from behind me.

  "I need to go after her."

  I don't get more than a foot closer to the door before his hand grasps my shoulder.

  "Take a seat, Chris." His firm order draws my eyes from the closed door to his face.

  "She's not going to marry me," I state, but it sounds like a question to my own fucking ears.

  Turning around, I move back to the chair. Dr. J's hand falls away as I sit back down. Elbows on my knees, I press the heel of my hands into my eyes.

  "I'm going to lose her no matter what I do," I say, choking back tears.

  "Why do you think you're going to lose Mia?" Dr. J asks, taking a seat across from me.

  Without moving my hands, I say, "Because I'm fucking broken."

  "Nobody's perfect, and I think Mia, of all people, knows your flaws." His words aren't reassuring.

  "Yeah," I snort, "and
I'm sure she's fucking tired of dealing with my shit."

  "Let's talk about your shit."

  Dropping my hands away from my face, I slouch back into the wooden chair and level a look at the doctor.

  "If you want to put up your walls and deny this conversation, I can't stop you," Dr. J states, knowing my look of defiance all too well. "But if you don't work this out, I can assure you things will not get better."

  "What shit are we talking about today?" I verbally whip him with the question. "How Mia is out there somewhere, angry and tired of my shit, while I sit in here having a psycho's powwow with your ass? Or how, if she is pregnant, there's a fucking chance I'll lose her during the birth?" My voice rises with each question.

  "Or we could discuss what you're really afraid of, the deep and irrational fears you're harboring."

  "I've told you already what I'm afraid of," I snap.

  "Maybe," he says flippantly.

  Damn shrinks.

  "Maybe?" I growl the question, straightening my spine.

  "Christopher, I realize your fear of something going wrong during the pregnancy or the birth, but you have escalated your fear to a borderline irrational level. I think there's more to this panic than what you're saying."

  Gripping the wooden arms of the chair, I prepare to push out of the seat. Fuck this. I need to find Mia.

  "Why didn't you tell Mia about your missed vasectomy?" His question throws me off.

  "I told you. I forgot about it, and…"

  How could I just forget about something like that? What the fuck would stop me from letting her know and rescheduling?

  "Why do you think it was so quickly pushed from your mind? I mean, during previous sessions, you were adamant about no more pregnancies and getting, as you put it, your balls sliced," he inquires, using words I said to him just months ago.

  Furrowing my brow, I settle back into the chair.

  Why the fuck would I forget?

  "I don't know why," I admit.

  A heavy breath leaves Dr. J, drawing my attention to the thin smile on his face.

  "Good."

  "Good? That's fucking good?" I ask, my voice rising again.

  "Yes, Chris, it is. I don't know how many times I have to tell you there is no right answer. Not every question has a definite response. The point is for you to think about the question, mull it over, and search within." He rests his elbows on the arms of his chair.