Page 3 of Because of Them

So, after a failed marriage and a fling that turned into nothing, I no longer believe in the love I somehow still crave.

Especially not with Michael. Not with the way he had no idea what he was doing with his life, still riding on the coattails of his father’s business. Not with the way he shrunk at the thought of being a parent or how he shied away from Maisie. Not with the way he ran as soon as he realised that waking up next to me also meant waking up in the same house as my child.

Oh God, I have to call him. Despite how I feel about him, I have to tell him that I’m pregnant. With his baby. That we have decisions to make that will change our lives. I’m not ready for those decisions, how on earth can he be?

This man, who spends more time at the gym than at his house, who told me he loved kids but wasn’t sure about babies. I might not be ready to be a mother again, but he sure as shit isn’t ready to be a father.

MICHAEL

The morning sun is hot on my back, waking me up with its burning glaze through the window. I carry my pillow with me as I roll over, covering my face. I must have slept in, with the way the sun streaks lines across my sheets through the vertical blinds I never bother to close. I live on the top floor of the tallest building in the suburb; no one can see me anyway. Not that I care if they do.

Stretching my arms above my head, the pillow falls onto my lap as I push myself to sit and swing my legs off the side of the bed. Baxter’s head pops up from his spot on the floor, plodding over for his morning pat. He lets out a bark when he sees the pillow in his favourite resting place, giving me his best puppy dog sad face until I move it away. Crouching on the floor besidemy Golden Retriever companion, I soak in his unconditional love. The only kind I’ll ever get.

Rostered Day Off Fridays. My favourite day of the month, the best part of working for my dad’s construction company. A mandatory day off. A whole day to do whatever the fuck I want.

Baxter lets himself out onto the balcony and I flick on the coffee machine in the kitchen. After adding a splash of cool water, I down the shot of espresso in one go. Tastes like fucking shit, but I need the boost first thing in the morning. Without it, I’ll never get through my session.

Weights line the walls of the spare room; an all-in-one lifting machine sits in the middle. My one Friday off every month might be my favourite day, but Friday workouts are the ones I hate the most. Leg day.

I tried to be one of those gym guys who neglected his legs. I hate the exercises and frankly, I didn’t see the point. But the competitions demanded I build form in my thighs and calves, so I did. It became a habit. And although I haven’t done a comp in over a year and I loathe the exercises and the way I struggle to walk down the stairs after them, it’s kind of nice having some form where a lot of guys don’t. Gives me an edge, and something to stir shit over.

After my rounds of calf raises and lunges and squats, I emerge from my makeshift gym on shaky legs to the buzzing of my phone.

Weird. No one calls me, especially not in the morning.

My dad’s face lights up the screen when I pick it up from the charging pad on the bench.

Not today.

It’s my RDO and the very last thing I want to do is spend it talking to my father about his business. About how he wants me to run the thing one day. I can’t think of anything worse.

Rejecting the call, a stabbing in my heart reminds me of the one person I wishwouldcall me. I fucked things up with Audrey. Bad. But no matter how many times I try to call her, how many texts I send. She never answers, never replies.

My mates all say to forget about her. The guys at work tell me to get over the wild few weeks we had. I can’t. I tried.

It doesn’t matter how big—or little, technically—the red flag was. I can’t forget about Audrey. I can’t forget about how her body moulded under mine, the way her breasts pushed against my chest when I sunk myself between her legs. We were perfect together, physically at least. And I doubt I will ever find another woman who fits so perfectly against me.

We had something most couples spend their relationships wishing for. An unmatchable sexual chemistry. But it started to evolve into something more and I began to freak out. Audrey’s older than me, not by a lot, but by enough. She’s thirty-two, which is so far from being old, but the differences in our lives were glaring. At twenty-six, I have a lot of my life still to sort out. But I shoved down my worries, hoping they would ease with time. Thinking that maybe I was destined to be with someone after all. Until I was rudely shocked out of the daydream.

I knew she had a daughter. She never tried to hide it. I figured I would get used to it. A kid is different to a baby, and for some reason it felt easier to grow into the idea of a kid being in my life than the thought of one day having a baby. I never knew how to act around Audrey’s daughter, but I was getting used to her being around. And that was something.

Until all my wishful thinking was destroyed in one tiny moment, by one tiny voice.

I woke up, erection pressed against the small of Audrey’s back. Moaning into her, I imagined all the things we might get up to before ever leaving the bed. My hand snaked down her front, toying with the band of her panties.

“Mummy!” Her daughter’s shrill voice had called down the hall. “Can I put Bluey on?”

Audrey had groaned at the rude awakening, calling out “yes” and pressing her behind into me. But the moment was gone.

Maisie’s tiny little voice had awoken a panic in me, and I rushed to get dressed, leaving before breakfast had even been served. I didn’t feel ready to be such a big part of the little girl’s life. I still don’t know if I am, I’d still bet on me making a fool of myself, but I’m willing to try. Properly.

As soon as I left, I regretted my hasty decision and I knew the impression it gave. Audrey is perfect, in every way. Her daughter doesn’t subtract from that, and I hate that I made her think it did.

If only Audrey would let me show her how I feel. It took more than a week for me to build up the courage to message her again, and my radio silence must have been so loud after how I ran out, so I don’t blame her for not wanting to give me a second chance. Only now I’m trying to get back what we had, and she is the one ignoring me.

I fucked up. But I’ll never stop trying to make things right.

A message pings from my father.

---