VEGAS follows you home (35 page)

"Alright, the results should be in," Mercedes says, looking at her watch.

"Do you have to make it sound like the elimination round of a reality show?" I mumble, standing from the edge of the tub.

"Sorry." She blushes and looks over the sticks.

"Which one is the one-minute test?” Felicity asks Ced. “We should check that one first."

"I don't think it matters." Ced's tone is quiet, but resolute.

I look down at three positive results and lose all air from my lungs.

"Breathe, Olivia. Breathe." Felicity wraps an arm around me and helps me sit back on the edge of the tub.

Tears slip over my face. I want to scream. Scream in frustration and anger. Anger for being so stupid and careless. And my inability to control myself where Damon is concerned. A couple of drinks and all my walls tumble under his persistence.

I drop a hand to my stomach, feeling scared and worried. How and when do I tell Damon? Do I tell him at all?

Three days later, I sit in the exam room of the second closest free clinic, waiting for results I don't really need. However, I need the reassurance of medical tests and exams, as well as the anonymity of the free clinic.

When did I become such a paranoid person? Oh, yeah. Since Damon.

The walls of the little room are covered in posters about adoption, HIV, Genital Herpes, and safe sex. Suddenly, I feel like a fifteen-year-old girl sneaking to get birth control. A knock and twist of the doorknob pull me out of my throwback thoughts.

A middle-aged woman in a white coat enters, giving me a once over. Once she's had her fill, we start discussing what I already know. I'm pregnant. I try to stay focused on her lecture about options, prenatal care, vitamins, diets, and so forth.

A doctor delivering the result, rather than a plastic stick, puts me in a zombie-like state. I barely remember dressing and leaving the clinic, so finding myself standing just outside the bakery window, jars me. I glance around, trying to remember the walk here.

Did I forget anything at the clinic?

I pat my pockets and run my hands over my messenger bag. Relief settles my panicked heart rate until I recall my thoughts during my journey home.

Did he do it on purpose? Would he do this just to further tie himself to me? It's possible, right? Right.
I shake my head and rub my temples.
How do I tell him without giving him more of a reason to fight me on the dissolution? I could keep it to myself.

I fist my hands in the hair at the sides of my head.

No, I can't just keep it from him.

Then, for just the briefest moment, the thought of something I would never consider blips into my consciousness. Guilt instantly claws at me from within and tears blur one eye.

Never. I lost one child. How could I even…? Jesus, Olivia, quit being a fucking coward looking for the damn easy way out. But isn't that what you are also doing with Damon?

With a deep resolute breath, I push the thought far from my mind and will it never to enter again. With my hand on my stomach, I enter the shop and greet the patrons and Mrs. Dorn before stepping into the kitchen.

"Hey, Liv," Sarah greets, smiling over a large creampuff cake.

"I just need to run upstairs real quick. I'll be right back, okay?"

She nods, her attention remaining focused on the cake.

Moving fast, I toss the plastic bag with prenatal vitamins and care brochures onto my dresser. With a quick change of clothes, I'm back in the bakery and the familiar bustling sounds of pans, music, and conversation. Everyone is so involved in their work, they don't acknowledge my return. Instead of disturbing them, I go search for Mercedes.

Entering Mercedes’ office, I find Alex seated on her lap in front of the computer. They both look up as I walk in.

"Momma." Alex smiles before returning to whatever has his attention on the screen.

"Hey, how did it go?" She chews on her bottom lip.

"Nothing I didn't already know." I shrug.

"Momma, look." Alex points to the computer monitor.

Reaching out, I twist the screen and see Sponge Bob dancing.

Alex giggles. "Bob so funny."

Both Mercedes and I laugh, too.

And it feels good to laugh for a change.

After an update on the bakery schedule, I take Alex and place him in the play area before burying myself in work.

Two days pass before I hear from Alfonso. He tells me the date for the mediation, where Damon and I will discuss the appropriate terms of custody. I decide to keep my pregnancy a secret, even from Alfonso. I'll tell Damon, but I won't tell him until the marriage is dissolved. No way is he using this child to fuel his fantasy.

The weeks leading up to the mediation have my nerves on edge and stomach in knots. Kneeling in a public restroom at the courthouse isn't ideal, but what other options do I have? Coming face to face with Damon again, tears me up inside. No matter how hard I try, a battle between love and hate rages. I'm not in love, but feelings — unwanted feelings — still linger like burnt microwave popcorn.

"Olivia?" Mercedes taps lightly on the stall door. "Are you alright?" she asks, her voice dripping with sympathy.

"I'm good, just give me a minute."

I wipe my mouth and pull myself off my knees, brushing lint and dirt from the conservative black dress I'm wearing. Exiting the stall, Mercedes hovers while I wash my hands.

Our eyes meet in the large wall mirror over the sinks.

"Maybe you should tell him before—"

I shake my head. "No. Not until the divorce is final."

Drying my hands under the blower, I give myself a mental pep talk.

You can do this, Olivia. You can face him and when you do, you will realize it’s all hormones and not really feelings of…

I stop my thoughts from continuing and turn to Mercedes.

"How do I look?"

I brush my hands over my dress one more time. It's more of a nervous gesture than anything else.

"You look beautiful," she replies too quickly. By the look in her eyes, I can tell she's lying to me.

I know I look drawn, tired, and pale. The stress intensifies the nausea and morning sickness. My doctor monitors the stress and has threatened to put me on bed rest if things don't improve soon. Hopefully, after today, things will be a bit better.

Alfonso is pacing on his cell phone when we come back to the small meeting room. He doesn't look worried, but seems anxious.

"But how did we get the information?" He pauses and I keep listening to the one-sided conversation. "No, it's great, but we can't submit something if we don't have the releases and—"

This time the pause is accompanied with a look of shock.

"Really?" he questions with disbelief before ending the call.

"What was that about?" Mercedes asks the same question I'm thinking.

"We got some information sent to us. I need to go get the papers sent over and talk with the clerk. I'll be right back."

Alfonso exits before we can inquire more.

Sitting at the small table, my thoughts become an abyss of fear, sadness, and…disappointment?

These damn hormones have me going crazy. How can I feel disappointment? I should be relieved. The end of all of this is so close.

The meeting room door opens and Felicity enters. Taking the seat next to me, she places a hand on my arm. My paleness is intensified by the natural tan of her skin.

"Are you okay?" Her eyes search mine.

"I just want to get this over with."

Looking away, I drop my head.

"You don't look well, Liv." She rubs my arm lightly. "Are you following the doctor's orders?"

"What doctor's orders?" Alfonso looks between Felicity and me.

I shake my head. "Nothing. Are we ready?"

He hesitates, eyeing his sister closely before putting a hand out toward me and nodding.

Alfonso leads us down a hallway and I come face to face with Scarlett Manson. My hands tighten on my purse.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers. "I didn't know. I had no idea."

I open my mouth to tell her that it's not her fault, but I'm cut off from responding by Heidi.

"Oh, Olivia." Her arms wrap around my shoulders and hold me tight. "I'm sorry it has come to this for you and Damon." She pulls back, her bottom lip quivering and tears in her eyes.

My nose burns with emotion and I have to stay silent for fear of turning into a blubbering mess of sobs.

"Excuse us, ladies." Alfonso gently pulls me along and into another room.

Immediately, I'm drawn to him. His head is in his hands and his elbows on the table. The way he slumps over the table pulls at my heart and sends a tear down my cheek.

The scrape of Alfonso pulling out a chair for me pulls my attention away from Damon. I sit and notice papers in a new folder on the table.

"Is this the information you received?" I touch the manila folder.

"Yes," Alfonso whispers to the side of my head. "This should ensure the custody arrangement you are seeking."

"What do you mean?"

Just as I'm about to open the folder, the mediator arrives and begins going through the motions of the dissolution of marriage.

"Miss Harlow, you wish to proceed with the dissolution?"

"Yes," I croak. Fighting back the urge to look at Damon, I stare at a portrait on the wall behind the mediator.

"Mr. Knyght, you are in agreement with the filing?"

No longer able to look away, I turn, meeting his eyes.

"Yes. She can have whatever she wants, if it makes her happy."

There's a hollowness to his voice and dullness to his eyes.

"Very well. Let me get a few things straight before proceeding to the next matter."

For the next forty-five minutes, our entire time together is laid out in black in white. Vegas, Damon being Alex's father, and my week in New York. The last few months of my life is questioned and commented on as lawyers interject with information and proposals.

"Okay," the mediator states, clearing his throat. "Let's discuss the custody of Alexander Isaac Harlow." He looks between both of us. "Mr. Knyght, you are seeking joint custody and Miss Harlow is requesting supervised visitations."

It wasn’t a question, but both lawyers confirm.

"I see we have the paternity test results, so we don't have to wait on those. Let's start with Miss Harlow. Can you please tell me why you are requesting such a restricted custody arrangement?"

Alfonso straightens and answers for me.

"We have submitted the voicemails and texts from Mr. Knyght the day Miss Harlow and her son left New York. My client is concerned for the wellbeing of her son, given the way Mr. Knyght verbally attacked her."

"I would never—"

"Mr. Knyght was suffering temporary distraught. He woke up Sunday morning and they were gone. He didn't get to say goodbye to his son and wife. They also had not reached a final agreement. My client didn't know what was happening or if he would ever see them again. I think we all can relate to letting fear guide us."

"True." The mediator nods. "But your client blatantly threatened Miss Harlow. That's much more serious than simply afraid and distraught."

He turns back to Alfonso and motions for him to continue.

"We were okay to leave it at the texts and voicemails, but some new disturbing information was brought to our attention just this morning."

Damon's lawyer is quick to object.

"This information wasn't provided previous to the meeting."

"As I said, we just received the information today." Alfonso hands a folder to the mediator and Damon's lawyer.

Damon's lawyer scans the documents, pushes them to Damon, and glares at Alfonso.

"Those are private medical records and cannot be submitted." His fists clench on top of the table.

There's a rumbling noise from Damon. My eyes move to see what's wrong. He looks sick. Tears pool in his eyes and his jaw tightens so harshly, I swear I hear his teeth gnashing together.

Grabbing the folder in front of Alfonso, I flip open the file and begin to read.

Breakdown, subdued, and law enforcement are just a couple of the words blaring out from the pages.

Oh my God. What is Alfonso doing?

"If you look at the last page, you will see the file was provided with consent." Alfonso sits back in the wooden chair.

Flipping to the final page, my heart skips a beat, heat floods my face, and bile rises. There, in perfect cursive, is
her
signature — Mildred Banks-Knyght.

His own mother would do this to him?

Looking up from the folder, his rage filled eyes lock onto mine.

Tears spill from the corners of my eyes and his rage washes away into an expression of sorrow and pain. Guilt bubbles in my gut and bile reaches my throat.