Too Wrong: Hayes Brothers Book 2
Too Wrong: Chapter 28

Several parenting pamphlets lay spread out on the coffee table. The vitamins and folic acid are by the kettle, ready for me to take every morning. I took the first dose last night and another one today.

I’ve not decided what the hell I’m going to do, but for now, while I come to terms with the clusterfuck, I take the vitamins, drink decaf that tastes like cardboard and try not to stress. Easier said than done.

It’s been twenty-four hours since Dr. Jones threw me off the cliff with the news. It’s still so new. So odd to think a person is growing inside me.

A boy, I hope.

A little carbon copy of his daddy with dark eyes, high cheekbones, and a strong jaw. My nose, though. And my face shape.

Will he have dark hair or light like mine?

Dark. Definitely dark. The Hayes genes are too strong for my measly blonde to win the fight.

Among the happy, heartwarming pamphlets filled with pregnancy milestones, dos and don’ts, and drawings of the baby at different stages until birth, there are two other pamphlets. The not-so-happy ones. White covers with no pictures, drawings, or text. Just a plain sheet of paper to disguise what’s written on the pages hiding underneath.

I’ve flipped one open but didn’t stomach more than the two questions written in bold ink at the top of the first page.

Are you pregnant but not sure if you want to have the baby? Do you need more information about abortion?

The thought of terminating the pregnancy turns my blood cold, but the choice is as valid as going through with it and having the baby. There are pros and cons to both options. The choice itself is a blessing most women in America no longer have. Here, in California, we’re still allowed to make conscious decisions about our bodies. We’re allowed to not become mothers just because we got drunk and forgot a condom.

Shit happens, and the fact we’re not forced to raise babies we don’t want makes for a healthier society.

I want to read through the leaflet and know my options. How long before I need to decide? How long before it’s too late? Will it hurt? What is the process like?

I know the other side of the coin—the pregnancy leaflets were a breeze to read through. I soaked up the information, making mental notes, forgetting for a while that this baby is not a planned miracle. It’s a surprise. An accident.

A cup of green tea in hand, I sit on the sofa, glaring at the still-sealed envelope among the pamphlets. A part of me wants to rip it wide open and stare at the pictures inside: the first pictures of my baby. A different part of me knows I shouldn’t touch that until my mind is made.

A knock on the door has my head snapping in that direction. Without taking a second to think, I cross the room and yank the door open. And just as I do, I realize the pamphlets are still on the coffee table in plain sight.

Blood drains from my face when I see Thalia. Her smile morphs into a scowl a second before I shut the door in her face.

“Give me a sec!” I yell, hurrying to hide the leaflets. She can’t replace out. Not until I decide whether to tell Logan. “Come in!” I yell again, stuffing the evidence of my new, blessed state into the drawer in my bedroom.

“What’s going on?” She asks from the kitchen, her tone clipped. “Why did you almost break my nose?”

“Sorry, I had to put something away.” I come out of the bedroom and stop-mid step.

Thalia stands by the kitchen cupboards, a bottle of wine beside her, two glasses in one hand…

My prenatal vitamins in the other.

Why didn’t I think of that?!

“I-I… those aren’t—”

“Not yours?!” she snaps, eyes wide and horizontal creases lining her forehead. “Don’t you dare lie in my face!” She gawks at the bottle and glances briefly at the one filled with folic acid. “You’re pregnant.”

This isn’t how anyone was supposed to replace out. No one was supposed to know! I’m furious at myself for not thinking to hide the vitamins and furious at Thalia for showing up here unannounced. If she had given me ten minutes’ notice, I would’ve remembered to hide the pills.

The anger isn’t as intense as relief, though. I want to talk, to hear an unbiased opinion, and just tell someone because my mind is all over the place, changing ten times a minute.

“I only found out yesterday,” I admit quietly.

She closes the distance between us and flings her arms over my shoulders, pulling me in for a hug. “I’m so shocked I don’t know what to say. I want to say congratulations, but I have a feeling you’re not far off crying, so I’m guessing you’re not in the right frame of mind for that yet.”

“Not yet,” I say in her hair, that tickles my face. “I don’t know what to do… I’m so confused.” I step away to pour her a glass of wine and hide the vitamins and folic acid in the cupboard in case anyone else decides to pay me a visit.

“How far along are you?” she asks when we sit on opposite ends of the couch. “Does Logan know?”

“No. I’ve been trying to decide whether to tell him or whether to… you know. Not have the baby.”

Her eyebrows meet her hairline, and her mouth falls open as if she wants to talk but decides to take a large gulp of wine instead. I’m sure she wants to scream at me, grab the phone and tell Logan to haul ass here right now, but that’s just it—Thalia is my best friend. Instead of acting on her beliefs and ensuring her family is protected, she takes a second to think about me.

“Okay.” She shakes off whatever stiffness her muscles held. “Have you made your mind up? Talk to me, babe. I can’t help you if I don’t know where your head is right now. I know Logan, so I might be able to put your doubts to rest.”

I curl my feet under my bum, fighting the maternal instinct of placing my hand on my tummy. I’ve not done it once yet, but it’s hard. Especially that when I scrutinized my belly this morning, I grew more confident that the faint rise on my lower tummy is a bump.

It’s tiny, and probably no one would consider it a baby bump, but I know my body, and that rise is new.

The pamphlets say that some women start showing as early as eight weeks, depending on their physique. I’m skin-on-bones skinny, which means I’ll probably be showing sooner than, say, Thalia, when she decides to get pregnant.

I press the rim of the cup to my lower lip, holding it with both hands to keep them occupied. “I’m scared.”

“That he’ll tell you to get rid of the baby?” she demands, finishing the rest of the wine. “Looks like I’m getting drunk for the both of us tonight.”

“I’m scared he’ll step up and hate me for ruining his relationship with Nico, Theo, and the others. I’ve always been disposable. Always a nuisance to people around me. My parents, the foster families, even most of my friends.”

Thalia’s all ears while I talk, telling her things about my past no one but Logan knows. I paint a vivid picture of the neglect and abuse and how powerless it made me feel for years. How hard it was to get back up time after time and face the world with a brave face.

“I don’t want to feel unwanted forever,” I admit quietly, and I’m hit with the thought that the baby inside me would want and need me forever. I’d be important to someone. Irreplaceable. “I love Logan, Thalia. With everything I have, but he’s loyal to his brothers, and I’m foul air to them. If Logan steps up, which I’m pretty sure he will, they won’t stand by him, and at some point, he’ll blame me for losing them.”

“What makes you—” she stops, shaking her head. “Let’s rewind. What makes Logan think his brothers won’t have his back?”

My cheeks heat. Thalia knows I slept with Theo long before she moved to America, but we never divulged the subject. “Theo, for one,” I say as vaguely as possible, but the way she presses her lips together tells me she got the hint. “And Nico, obviously. I’m friends with Kaya.”

“So what? It’s not like you cheated on Nico.”

“I know, but he’s pretty much ready to murder me with whatever he has in hand whenever he sees me, and—”

“He always looks like he wants to kill someone, Cassidy. He’s not your fan, sure, but not because he holds a grudge against you personally. He’s just trying to steer clear of anyone who reminds him of Kaya and Jared, but he’ll get over himself. He’s got a short fuse, but once you break through that tough exterior, he’s a good guy.”

Nico Hayes a good guy?

Nope. She’s only saying that because he is a Hayes and family is the most important thing to her.

She sits back down in the wingchair, turning my Ficus the other way around, so it’s not in her face. “I think Theo’s so stiff because he’s scared I’ll be jealous if he talks to you.” She takes another sip of wine. “I told him I’m not, by the way. We all have a past.”

“Maybe you’re right, or maybe you’re a helpless optimist… I’m back and forth about telling Logan.”

Thalia toys with her glass, deep in thought for a moment as if trying to put her thoughts to words and not sound bad. “I won’t tell you what to do, babe. This is your life, and you need to make this decision alone, but if you care about my opinion, I think Logan deserves to know. It’s not just your baby.”

Every time she says baby, my heart flutters. Hearing the word makes it real. Not that it’s not real, but… I don’t know, it just solidifies the fact.

◆◆◆

A loud bang sounds on the door close to nine in the evening, not long after Thalia left. This time, I know exactly who stands outside. There’s no mistaking the urgent knock, but this is the worst time for him to show up because my cheeks are stained with tears.

I plucked the courage to read through the abortion pamphlet, and my imagination works overtime, envisioning the process, the pain, and the blood. The feeling of loss crept in on me, and I hold my hand protectively cupped around my tiny bump.

My resolve not to tell Logan wore thin while I read. He needs to know. He has the right to know and help me make a conscious decision. We’re both adults for crying out loud. We can work this out.

Just not tonight. I’m too distraught. Too vulnerable to fight.

I stand by the door, wiping my face. Until the lock is turned, until there’s distance between us, I have the strength to stand up to him. “Not tonight, Logan,” I say, resting my head on the door, tears resuming their journey down my face like little rivers. My voice breaks, coming out strained, but I can’t stop the sobs burning my throat. “Please. Not tonight, okay? Go away.”

“Are you crying?” he asks, tension vibrating in his voice. “What’s going on? Are you not well? Let me in.”

“Go away.”

“Open the door, Cassidy. Let me in. We need to talk.”

Yes, but not tonight. “Go away,” I choke, whimpering and shuddering all over.

“Fuck that. No way I’m leaving. Move away from the door. I’m coming in.”

“Go away.”

A soft thud shakes the frame. It’s not powerful enough for Logan’s tall, toned body, so I assume he banged his forehead against it. “Let me in, baby. You’re upset. Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Go away.”

It’s all I can say, silently choking on tears. He doesn’t reply for the longest time, but I know he’s still there. I can feel him. My body tingles whenever he’s close, but those tingles aren’t pleasant tonight.

Tonight, small insects crawl under my skin, the unease like a living, breathing organism taking up residence in my heart and mind. I slide to the floor, clutching my knees. At some point, he’ll give up and leave. He won’t spend the night out in the hall.

I sit there, doing my best to get a hold of myself for what feels like a long time. There’s no movement outside the door, but I can still feel his presence.

The screeching of the balcony door sliding open has my head snapping in that direction, my heart in my throat for two long seconds before Logan enters the flat in the darkness of the night like a common burglar.

My pulse accelerates, resonating in my head and the tips of my fingers as he slides the door shut, eyes on me, a frown carving a deep eleven between his eyebrows. I scramble to my feet, wiping my face with the back of my hand.

“What’s going on?” he asks, concern tainting his features as he comes closer. “Why are you crying? What happened?”

I shove him back with both hands, biting my lip hard enough to bruise and hard enough to stop crying. “Go away.”

The sheer panic in my voice rings loud and clear.

It’s pathetic. I’m so tired of the emotional turmoil and tears that won’t dry out.

My eyes widen, and a small, disturbing chuckle rips out of my mouth when I realize why I’ve been acting so out of character, bawling my eyes out like a scared little girl.

I’ve always held my own. I lived through enough pain and neglect not to let myself get hung up on the hurt thrown my way, but for a while, I’ve been an emotional trainwreck.

Stupid hormones.

“Please, Logan. Leave, I can’t do this today,” I utter, planting my feet on the floor while trying to push him toward the door. Toward the exit.

I’d have more luck moving a brick wall.

He cuffs my wrists, pulling me to him, and locks me in his arms, one hand cradling my head, pressing my cheek to his chest, the other around my lower back. “Shh, baby. Calm down.”

I’m shaking. My body’s so detached from my mind it feels as if I’m standing in the middle of the Arctic Pole while my brain’s in the Amazon, overheating. Bile comes up my throat, the vile, acidic taste burning like battery acid. I try to jerk myself away from Logan, but he only pulls me closer to him.

“I’m not letting you go. Not until you calm down and tell me what the hell happened to get you so upset.”

The tears come on stronger, dripping down my nose and chin even though my eyes are shut to stop them from escaping. I shove at Logan again, driving my fists into his sides, thrashing like a crazy person.

Not the best move considering my broken ribs scream in agony, rendering me motionless and speechless three punches later. I bite down on Logan’s arm in an involuntary reflex as I grip the back of his t-shirt and squeeze as hard as possible to transfer the pain.

“Shit.” He moves his hands to my hips and lifts me into his arms. “Breathe, baby. Just breathe through it for me.” He sits on the loveseat, curving me into his chest. “Is that okay?”

I readjust my position ever so slightly, melting against his chest, the blinding pain acting like a sedative to my crazed mind, shushing the screams and halting the tears.

“We need to talk,” I say, sucking in a slow, careful breath. “I don’t want to do this today, but you’re here now, and I’m losing my mind.”

“We sure do need to talk, but,” he pushes me away and curls his fingers under my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “You’ll have to look at me while I talk.”

“Me first,” I plead, sliding off his lap to take a seat on the other end of the loveseat like a schoolgirl in front of the principal’s office. I dig my nails into my knees. This shouldn’t be so hard. Not at all how any woman imagines breaking the news to the father of her baby, but here I am, so nervous my stomach whips. “We’re nothing more than casual fuck-buddies and—”

Logan leans forward, his jaw set tight. “It’ll be better if I talk first.”

I shake my head, biting my lip to stop a new wave of tears. God, how long does this teary, emotional side effect of pregnancy last?

“You need to shut up and listen because this is as hard as it gets, and if you keep interrupting me, I’ll keep crying, and this will be a mess.”

He narrows his eyes, but shuts up, readjusting himself in his seat, his attention focused, the room so still and silent you’d hear a pin drop. “Okay, but don’t call me your fuck-buddy, Cass.”

“I don’t want to be the reason you stop talking to your family,” I start, weighing every word. “I don’t want to destroy your life and I don’t want you to hate me.” I’m not making sense yet, but soon, he’ll understand. “I love you, Logan, and I only want the best for you, but I’ve been through enough hurt. I need you to consider my feelings, at least on some level, okay?”

“Cass, I—”

“Not done yet,” I say, rising to my feet, too jittery to sit still. “Just know I didn’t do this on purpose. I never lied to you. And don’t act all noble for the sake of it. No one has to know.”

I leave the room to fetch the ultrasound pictures. I don’t want to see them, but if he questions my words, I’ll have proof to hand him. I drop the envelope on the coffee table in front of him, and he moves to grab it.

“Logan,” I urge, standing there like an orphan.

His eyes snap to me, and the change of my tone from a teary mess to a resigned whisper stops him from closing his fingers around the envelope. “Just say it. Are those the test results? What the hell do you have?”

A single tear rolls down my cheek as I brace for the unknown. “I’m pregnant.”