Page 93 of Double Daddies
“Shall we try this again?Whywere you following me, Officer?”
Cami
By the time my cellphone rings, I’m a jumble of anxiety and what I can no longer deny are the effects of pregnancy hormones. I put the phone up to my ear and blurt, “I think I did something stupid.”
“What?” Rayna sounds annoyed, and it’s no wonder. She’s on shift at the hospital and probably had to sneak into a closet to make this call in-between changing bedpans and reassuring frantic, first-time moms.
“Sorry,” I say automatically, hating that I’ve bothered her. “I can let you go. We can talk later. When do you get off? Or, actually, you could just call me tomorrow?—”
“Oh, stop it,” she scolds. “You don’t send four SOS texts and sixteen crying emojis if it can wait until tomorrow.”
Had it really been sixteen? Yikes.
“Cami? Come on, out with it.”
I wince but force myself to admit the awful truth aloud. She’s my best friend, after all. Other than Ben and my brother, Kingslay, she’s the person I trust most in the world. Which is why she knows every single detail of my life.
Except this latest one, which is why I texted in the first place. “I think I might have done something stupid,” I admit in a small voice.
“Um, yeah, I know about that, remember?”
“Hey,” I protest, wounded. “You do not. I didn’t tell you yet!”
“Really?” she scoffs from the other line. “What could be more stupid than telling the man you love you might be carrying another man’s baby?”
Damn, my hormones are on a hair-line trigger. “Listen,” I say, my voice thick. “Just call me back when you can talk, ‘kay?”
“Shit,” Rayna swears. “I’m really losing my bedside manner—you’re the third pregnant lady I’ve made cry today.”
“The third?” I hiccup, the sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh.
“Never mind. What is it, sweetie? Come on, I know you wouldn’t have texted if it wasn’t important, so what’s wrong?”
I take a deep breath and force myself to let it out slowly. Though part of me wants to insist she call me later, if she hangs up, I’ll be right back where I started: anxious without anyone to talk to. “I may have posted a question on ‘Am I the Ass-hole’.”
There’s a long pause on the other end. I can almost picture Rayna trying to hold back her snappy remarks, because where I’m soft and uncertain, she’s quick-witted and sarcastic. We’re the perfect complement to each other…mostof the time.
“What about?” she asks at last. “About telling Ben?”
“No.” I can’t help but wince at how tiny and pitiful I sound. “I asked… I was wondering what they thought about me, you know… telling the possibleotherfather.”
I hear a sharp intake of breath on the other line. “Cami… I thought you and Ben agreed?—”
“I know!” I cut her off. “I know what I said. I know we made a plan, and I want Ben in my life no matter what, you know that.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Your bedside mannerisslipping,” I snap, wiping a tear off my cheek.
“I’m sorry, Cami.” To her credit, she does sound apologetic. “It’s not my place to judge. So, what did they say?”
Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? Because if hundreds of strangers dub you an asshole in a matter of minutes, it must be true.
“People seemed to think it was a good idea… therightthing to do if I?—”
“Cami, please don’t post on that site ever again. In fact, maybe stay off social media until you’re feeling a little more…”
“Stable?” I quip.
