My Fake Husband by Black, L. (lightest ebook reader .TXT) 📗

in my truck. He was in no shape to drive, scared shitless for his wife and child.

“She’s gonna be fine,” I told him.

“I can’t lose her, Damon. For fuck’s sake, I buried Missy. Isn’t that enough? What the fuck?” he said. “She was fine when I talked to her at five. What if she’s been sick this whole time and was scared to tell me?”

His anguish was painful to hear. I shook my head as I drove.

“Man, my sister ain’t afraid of anything. She’d tell you. And she called you. She wants you there. You gotta be there for her and make it okay for her. She needs you.”

“Yeah,” he said, latching on to that idea. “Get me as close to the entrance as you can. I don’t want her worrying and having to wait on me.”

He was leaning forward, hand on the door before we ever got there, so anxious to get to her, to see with his own eyes if she was okay.

“It’s probably just indigestion. My mom was making pierogies tonight and Laura always overdoes it on those,” I said trying to console him.

“She’s bleeding,” he said, his voice hollow.

“Oh,” I answered. There was nothing else to say to that. “Well, she’s got good care and we’ll be there in a minute. I’m just gonna call Trixie before I come inside. I won’t be a minute,” I said.

I hadn’t even got the truck stopped by the entrance before he vaulted out and was inside the building. I parked and dialed my wife. It rang and rang and went to voicemail. I called again, still no answer. I texted her: Trix, please call me. And I waited, staring at my phone as the screen went dark again and I got no response.

I waited, drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, made excuses in my head for her. Her phone was on the charger and she wasn’t with it. She was playing with the kids and didn’t hear the ringer. She and her sister were doing face masks or some girlie shit in the other room and she couldn’t hear the phone. It wasn’t that she was screening my calls or that she didn’t want to talk to me. She’d call as soon as she got the message and say she was sorry and give me a perfectly normal reason for not answering. Never mind that I’d answered her calls and texts when I was on a goddamn moving fire truck en route to a blaze before.

Sixteen hours ago, I’d been drunk on the crackle of desire between us, my mouth at her neck, the tug of her fingers in my hair while I moved inside her. We had been as close as a man and a woman could be, and now she wasn’t even picking up when I called. I needed to talk to her, needed my touchstone, my wife. I needed her to tell me it would be okay, that I should keep her posted on how Laura and the baby were, and that she’d see me tomorrow night. I needed her arms around me, to comfort me. I needed her to know this was happening. She’d know what I should ask, how I should talk to my mom to not scare her more. I dialed one more time and got sent to voicemail. I hung up without leaving a message. I wasn’t going to say things like this to a recording. What would I even say?

Trixie, this is your husband. My sister is in the ER probably losing the baby. I want you to know. I want to hear your voice. I’m afraid she’s having a miscarriage, and afraid what it’ll do to Brody and her. I need you more than I ever imagined I could need anyone. And I’m scared because I keep imagining it’s you in there on a gurney, losing our baby, bleeding and scared, and it makes me feel like I’m dying just to imagine that. Come home to me. Please.

I couldn’t confess all that. Not to a voicemail recording. I shook my head and went inside to be with my family.

21 Trixie

“I just can’t, okay? “ I said.

“Stop being pitiful. This isn’t bad,” my sister insisted.

“Oh my God, you are the worst,” I said. “You’re so freakin’ mean on Keto. I’m gonna force feed you bread and get myself some sympathy. Don’t tell me not to freak out.”

“Well, it wouldn’t do any good. You’ve been so damn dramatic your whole life.”

“I’m older. How in hell would you know how I’ve been my whole life when you weren’t born.”

“Let’s see—Mom and Dad never mentioned that you were an unusually calm toddler and suddenly turned so extra after I came along, so I can assume you were always like this. Anything happens and you are straight up doom and gloom. I’m really just glad you didn’t go into health care. You’d scare the shit out of every patient. You’d be like, this could be really bad, so prepare yourself.”

“I’m not that bad. Okay, maybe right now I am, but not all the time,” I sighed. “I just can’t believe this happened.”

“Babe, you had a lot of sex. And you’re pregnant. That’s how biology works. I mean, technically you only have to do it once, but I think the amount of sex you and Damon had probably increased your odds of getting knocked up.”

“You are no help at all,” I moaned. “I’m on the pill. I don’t even understand how this could happen. I’m not supposed to ovulate.”

“Well, don’t yell at me, sis. Yell at your ovaries. They must’ve got excited that you were getting some action after all this time,” she laughed.

“You are snort laughing during my crisis. Leave me alone to panic in peace,” I said.

“Nope. It’s my bathroom. This is my only sanctuary to get away from the kids. I’m not leaving. You’re stuck with me. So how you feeling? Apart from shocked that you can get pregnant on