Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Beau looked down at me. “Go lock yourself in the bedroom. I’ll handle this.”
“You don’t have to.” I was shaking, already letting her words break me.
“Go. Please.”
I nodded and walked away, my mom yelling my name. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself to keep going.
“Move back,” Beau said firmly. “You’re not getting through this doorway.”
“That’s my daughter! Don’t you dare touch me, you bastard.” She screamed and I heard a scuffle that sounded like her pounding her fists on his chest.
“I’m not touching you, but I’m not moving from the doorway. You need to go or I’ll call the police.”
“Shelby! Shelby!”
I put a hand on my belly, rubbing it as I walked into my bedroom, closed the door, and locked it. Closing my eyes, I sat on the edge of my bed and cried, making myself breathe in and out. After a couple of minutes, there was a soft knock on the door.
“Hey,” Beau said. “Can I come in?”
Silently, I got up and walked to the door to unlock it and open it. As soon as I did, he put his arms around me and I relaxed into him, emotionally worn out.
“You did the right thing,” he said. “There are places she can go for help.”
“I know,” I said through my tears.
“It still hurts, though.”
I nodded as he rubbed my back and kissed the top of my head. Turning her away had been every bit as painful as finding out she’d stolen from me, but this time was different.
This time, I didn’t have to go through it alone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Shelby
“Almost!” Marlowe ran over to her phone and stopped the video she was recording.
“Ugh, I’m hopeless. You should just do it by yourself.”
“No way, TikTok dances are for at least two people.”
I scoffed. “I am two people right now. I’m also thirty-five weeks pregnant and deeply uncoordinated. Where are the Doritos?”
She grinned and set the camera back up in the spot she’d been using to record us doing this dance for half an hour now. It had taken me an hour just to learn it and I was ready to throw in the towel.
“I happen to have a brand-new bag of spicy Doritos stashed in my kitchen for you.”
“Unopened?” My commitment to quitting wavered.
“Yep. You know how much you love that first chip out of the bag. All fresh and spicy and delicious.”
“It’s the baby who loves it. You’re denying the baby food over this dance.”
She laughed. “It’ll be worth it, I promise. You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen dancing with your Buddha belly.”
“Fine,” I said, scowling. “But after this, Doritos.”
Trying to get the dance right was a good distraction from the false contractions I’d been having. I’d grabbed my hospital bag and driven myself to the hospital yesterday, convinced I was in labor. Then I’d driven myself back home a couple of hours later, defeated and feeling like a dumbass.
I just hoped I wouldn’t have five weeks of false labor contractions until my due date. It was hard to focus on anything but the discomfort. Fortunately, it was Saturday and I was off work. Beau had a game at home tonight that Marlowe and I were planning to watch on TV.
He’d invited us to go in person, and we had planned to go, but now I wasn’t up for it because I was uncomfortable, and I didn’t think I’d fit well in an arena seat at my current size.
Marlowe started the music on her phone—“Uptown Funk” —and we both watched the timer on her phone counting down. As soon as it started recording, we busted out the moves we’d been practicing. I concentrated on every move, motivated entirely by being done with this so I could sit down on Marlowe’s couch with the Doritos I’d been promised.
We were just a few seconds from nailing the dance from start to finish when a I felt a warm gushing between my legs. Water poured onto the floor between my feet and I shot Marlowe a panicked look.
“Oh my god!” I cried. “Did my water just break? What’s happening?”
Her eyes were round. “Okay, uh…don’t panic. Should I call an ambulance?”
“I don’t know! I’m supposed to be in false labor!”
“I’ll google it!” She lunged for her phone.
“I need to get to the hospital,” I said, doubling over from a sudden shot of pain. “Holy hell, this hurts.”
“The hospital!” She looked up from her phone. “We need to get you to the hospital. Where are my keys?”
“You can drive my car,” I said, groaning in pain. “I don’t want to get…birth fluids all over your car interior.”
“Mine’s parked closer; we’re taking it.”
I cried out as a contraction gripped me. “Marlowe, what’s happening? Am I in labor?”
“Based on watching every episode of Grey’s Anatomy, I think so.”
“No,” I wailed. “This is supposed to happen at the hospital.”