More of You: The Home Series, Book Two Page 3

  “I’m coming with you,” he says, shocking the remaining nausea right out of me.

  “What?”

  “I’m coming with you. I’ll run home and shower and change. Meet me at my apartment after you’re done getting ready.”

  “Finn, this is nuts. You’re not coming with me.”

  What is he doing?

  A look crosses over Finn’s face that I can’t quite get a read on. Sober Finn is not someone that I’m familiar with. I don’t know him at all.

  “You told me I could be as involved as I wanted with this. I want to talk to the doctor,” he says, actually looking sincere. “Please, Maggie?” He grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze. “We can talk after your appointment.” His gaze is a little too intense for my liking. Those dark eyes are clear and focused. I’ve never seen him this way before. And I thought he was hard to resist before.

  He’s right. I can’t deny him if this is what he wants. This is his baby, too. I sigh and give in to his request, even though I think it’s completely absurd and unnecessary.

  “Fine. I’ll pick you up in a little while. If you’re not ready, I’m leaving without you,” I say, finding the energy to pull myself off the couch and away from this bizarre situation.

  My heart is lodged in my throat when I knock on Finn’s door. Last time I stood here, he opened the door, fresh from the shower, with that bitch of an ex (or so I thought) wrapped around him. Boy, was I an idiot.

  I thought we were more than just a casual thing, even though words were never spoken and promises were never made. I guess the feelings were entirely one-sided on my part. Clearly, I didn’t mean anything to him. Lesson learned.

  Except for one huge problem-I have no resistance when it comes to Finn O’Leary.

  He shatters it.

  Every.

  Single.

  Time.

  I can’t go there with him again. I don’t trust him. If he screws with my heart again, it just might kill me. Plus, I don’t just have myself to think about anymore.

  And, here we are a few months later, about to go to the doctor together to check on our unborn child. This is like an episode of the Twilight Zone.

  Finn throws the door open and I can feel my breath catch. That resistance that I don’t have…yeah.

  “Maggie, what’s wrong? Are you still sick?” he’s asking, tugging me out of my thoughts.

  Finn is running his eyes over me, and I’m returning the favor, but for an entirely different reason. His black hair is wet, but he’s obviously run a towel back and forth over it to try and dry it. The look is a familiar one, like my hands have been pulling at it while rolling around in bed. He’s wearing glasses, which is something I have never seen, and WOW, totally hot. Who would have thought? A kelly green t-shirt with some obscure band I’ve never heard of is stretched across his chest. The color is magnificent against his pale skin. The only unmarked skin you can see, though, is on his face and neck. He’s got full tattoo sleeves on both arms, and the art is incredible. It’s a shame he’s currently covering it with a jacket.

  “Maggie?”

  “I’m fine, sorry,” I tell him, shaking my head slightly to clear the fog. God, he totally just busted me checking him out. Damn. And I didn’t even get past his torso.

  He locks up and we make our way to my car.

  “So what exactly is happening today?” he asks.

  I realize I don’t know. Sure, I’ve been to see Dr. Redmond before, but never in this capacity. “I’m not sure. This is actually the first time I go.”

  “But you’ve been sick.” He’s legitimately concerned about this.

  “Relax, Finn. After they did the lab work and told me I was pregnant, I called to make an appointment. This is when they told me to come in.” I pull out of the parking lot and head to the hospital.

  The rest of the ride is spent in silence. I sneak little glances towards Finn every so often, and he’s quite fidgety. I’m sure the reality of the situation is starting to sink in and he’s freaking the fuck out. I bet he wishes he wasn’t quite so insistent on coming with me.

  We check in with the receptionist and the first order of business is filling out an obscene amount of paperwork. They want to know every intimate detail of my life history. You would think I’m trying to join the Secret Service. I am engrossed in the task of filling out my information and Finn is next to me, reading a pregnancy magazine. He’s steadily interjecting random facts and asking me questions while I’m trying to concentrate on recalling every facet of my life.

  “They have apps for this, Maggie. You can put them on your phone and every day they will send you a new notification about the baby.”

  “OK.”

  “Do you have any baby apps? There’s a countdown one. Do you even know the due date?”

  “No. I guess we’ll get one today,” I tell him, distracted by the insane questions on these forms.

  “An app or a due date?”

  I look up from my paperwork at him. He’s utterly captivated by this stuff. It’s like the magazine is his Bible. Who is this and what has he done with Finn?

  “A due date, Finn,” I say, my tone dry. I can’t wrap my brain around this Finn.

  “Maggie, this says folic acid can prevent birth defects. Are you taking folic acid?”

  “Yes, Finn.”

  These papers are crazy. How am I supposed to know if my maternal grandfather had any issues with his heart or if my dad’s mom’s great aunt was a diabetic? I guess I need to text Momma to fill this insanity out. As I reach down for my phone I feel an elbow in my ribs.

  “Are you exercising? It can make you have a shorter, easier labor.”

  “If running to the bathroom to puke seventeen times a day is considered exercise, then yes, I am exercising.”

  “Are you getting an epidural? Have you thought about natural childbirth? How about having this kid in the water? That looks kinda cool. You can do it smack dab in the middle of your living room. Check this out,” he says, shoving the magazine under my nose, showing me childbirth in action.

  “Jesus, would you put that shit away. You’re making my head spin and if I see that again,” I say, pushing the magazine away from my line of sight, “I will hit the floor.” I have no desire to see any aspect of childbirth.

  “What about this amniocentesis business to see if things are wrong? We need to talk to your doctor about that.”

  “I swear, Finn, I will take that magazine and shove it-”

  My words are cut off when Finn’s hand shoots out and wraps around the back of my neck and his lips force themselves against mine. It’s a completely innocent kiss, merely meant to make me stop talking. He pushes his lips firmly against mine, shuts me up, and then moves back. I can still feel the bite of that lip ring after he takes his lips away. Yummy.

  “Mouth, Magpie,” he whispers, his warm, minty breath hitting my mouth.

  I finish filling out my paperwork and flip to the next section. I sigh and my head hits the back of the chair. I can feel my throat clogging, my eyes burning. Finn throws his magazine down and grabs my hand.

  “Again, Maggie? I scoped out the bathrooms on the way in. Come on.” He moves to help me up and I shake my head, silently communicating to him that it’s not sickness that’s making me feel like this.

  “What the hell are we doing, Finn?” I breathe out, defeated.

  “Could you be a little more specific?”

  “Look at this,” I tell him, grabbing the papers in my lap and waving them in his face. “I can’t even fill any of this out. Unless they want to know your preferred brand of Irish whiskey or where you buy your dope somewhere on here, I know nothing about you,” I say, tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes. “What are we doing?”

  I feel overwhelmed. I want to crawl into bed and not come out.

  He leans in close, a hint of that accent coming out. “You know a little more than that, Magpie. It’s just not anything appropriate to put down on paper,” he says, making me c
lench.

  He laughs when he feels my breath whoosh out with his little pronouncement, essentially stopping my panic. The other feelings I’m having, though, are not going anywhere. I can’t believe we are sitting here having an actual conversation, much less a conversation centered around my pregnancy.

  He takes my hand and squeezes it, then rubs small circles in my palm. “There’s no time like the present. Don’t stress out about stuff that’s not in your control. It’s not good for the baby,” he says, lifting the magazine, like he just learned this little morsel of information during his reading. “Let’s fill it out, and then you’ll know plenty about me.”

  First thing listed is the father’s name.

  When I write ‘Finn’ in the blank labeled first name he clears his throat and says, “It’s Finnian.”

  I giggle.

  “What? My Da wanted me to have a strong Irish name.”

  I fill in his first and last name and my pen hovers over the blank labeled ‘middle’.

  “Thomas,” he says, and my eyes become glassy again.

  He takes note of my reaction. “There’s nothing wrong with that name,” he says, defending it like I’ve insulted him.

  “It was my father’s name,” I whisper with reverence.

  He reaches over and wipes one of my tears. “Mine, too, Maggie.” He clears his throat. “What’s next?” he asks.

  Finnian Thomas O’Leary and I sit in the waiting room of the OB/GYN’s office and get to know each other through mountains of medical paperwork. Not exactly your typical first date, but I’ll take it.

  Chapter Four

  I’m taking Finn back home, and I couldn’t be more thrilled that he’s got to get to work soon. I’ve had enough Finn bonding for one day. During our little Q&A session, he revealed that he’s also a tattoo artist down at Ink Addiction, a shop on the opposite side of campus from The Red Magnolia. Once again, mind blown. How did it never come up that Finn spends his days tattooing people? I have a lot to learn about the father of my child.

  I finally get to his apartment complex and throw my car in park, but he doesn’t move to get out and go inside. I look over at him, and he’s just gazing at the small 3X3 black and white photo of our baby, mesmerized by what he sees.

  When we finished my appointment with Dr. Redmond, she wanted me to have an ultrasound to make sure the baby was measuring according to the due date. Finn and I walked downstairs to the Imaging Center. With bated breath, we watched a small computer monitor reveal the first picture of our baby, the first rhythm of the heartbeat. It was a surreal moment for both of us, one I am sure won’t be forgotten.

  “We’re here,” I tell him, jolting him out of his thoughts.

  “Look at this, Maggie,” he says, his voice laced with an undercurrent of fascination. “Looks like a little gummy bear.”

  I laugh. “Looks like a king cake baby.”

  “This is real,” he whispers. “This is our baby and you are carrying it around.”

  Awe is dancing across his face. It’s making me slightly uncomfortable. This type of unveiled emotion from him is something I have never seen before, but something I realize I like. It’s something I crave, but not when we are talking about my pregnancy or our baby. I want it all for myself.

  God, I’m already the worst mom ever.

  I’m jealous of my own baby.

  I’ve got to get him out of this car before I throw myself at him and attack.

  “Don’t you have to get to work soon?”

  He clears his throat and runs his hands through his hair. “Yeah, I do. Thanks for letting me come with you today.”

  I don’t respond.

  “Be careful with my baby,” he says in lieu of goodbye, and opens the door.

  “Ours, Finn, not my,” I say, giving him back his words from last night.

  He winks and gets out, not saying anything else.

  I drive straight to the office at my complex to see about getting into a smaller unit. I know the best thing to do is move in with Momma and Ava, but I reallllly don’t want to move back home. I mean, that’s totally lame. I like my freedom, I like having my own space. I know, all that’s gonna change when this little baby comes bursting forth from my womb, but I’ll still be living on my own. Besides, I will be crushed if I have to move away from Troy and Landon.

  I walk into the office and spot our creepy landlord, Ben, behind the desk munching on a Hot Pocket. I hate coming in here to talk to him, but sometimes these things can’t be avoided.

  As soon as I step through the door, his Hot Pocket hits the counter and his beady little eyes start perusing my body. I can feel the vomit rising, and it’s got nothing to do with this pregnancy.

  “Looking good as ever, Maggie. I love a woman with some curves. Where’s that sister of yours been hiding out? No curves on that one, but she sure is a looker.”

  “I’m sure she’s with her hot, successful boyfriend. Cut the crap, Ben. I need to talk to you.”

  His eyes widen and he goes to move from behind the counter, but I put my hand up. “Stay where you are. I need you to see if you have any one bedroom units open. When my lease is up at the end of the month, I want to move into a smaller apartment.”

  Ole beady eyes fools around on the computer for a few minutes and then looks up and shakes his head.

  “Sorry, darlin’. All of them are rented out. Next one isn’t available for eight months. Does this mean you’re moving out? That’s a real shame, Maggie. I’m gonna miss seeing you. Maybe we could get together sometimes.”

  I shudder with repulsion. This guy is seriously creepy.

  “Umm, probably not. Don’t do anything with my lease-- I need to talk to Miller first. I’ll let you know soon,” I tell him, and I leave the office as quickly as my feet can move.

  As soon as I get home I text Miller. He’s my last resort.

  Maggie: Ready to come home yet?

  Miller: I can’t

  Maggie: Just thought I’d try. guess I’m movin home

  Miller: Sorry Mags

  Maggie: Not as sorry as I am :(

  Feeling overwhelmed and desperate, I do the only thing that will make me feel better-- put on some Dave Matthews and take a nap.

  I wake up a few hours later and get ready for work. I feel slightly better after my nap, but I’m still not thrilled with the fact that I’m moving home with my mother. I love her, but that doesn’t mean I want to live with her.

  I take a minute to look at myself in the mirror when I step out of the shower. I’ve got curves, but am by no means fat. Lucy always hated the fact that I have a figure and she doesn’t. Poor Goose has the body of a middle school boy. I turn to the side and check out my barely there baby bump. To everyone else, it probably just looks like I’ve been eating too much, but I can tell that my pooch looks different than when I just gain a few pounds. This is firmer, rounder, and in a different spot. I smile, thinking of the little black and white image currently residing on the refrigerator door. My thoughts drift on their own accord to Finn, and I wonder where he put his picture. Based on his behavior earlier, he probably has it in his wallet and is showing it to every unsuspecting victim he can get his hands on. He’s so strange.

  I dress for my shift at work, taking a few extra minutes on my hair and makeup. I try to convince myself that it’s because I’m not feeling nauseous at the moment, not because I know Finn’s working tonight. I’m pitiful. This has to stop right now. I know Finn’s reputation, and I can’t go there with him again. I’m being forced into a relationship with him because of this little peanut living inside of me, but it’s got to be friends only. And certainly NOT friends with benefits. Finn only does casual. That used to be my MO, but I don’t think I can do causal with Finn. I tried that before, and I was miserable when my feelings turned into something more and it was totally one sided.

  Plus, I’m sure when I’m as big as a house and waddling around Finn won’t want anything to do with me. Hell, no man will want anything to do wi
th me. I’ll be forced into a relationship with a creep like Ben, the seedy landlord.

  Maybe I’ll just be the crazy cat lady. Too bad I hate cats.

  I walk into The Red Magnolia and my eyes start scanning. I love this place. The low lighting, dark weathered wood, and exposed bricks make it look like a pub you would find somewhere across the pond. Between our signature cocktails and our weekly menu changes, we tend to draw quite a crowd of regulars. People love to come in to have their favorite drinks and see what’s new on the always changing menu.

  I don’t see Finn at either one of the two bars in the front, so I make my way into the kitchen. Not that our food is bad, but the smells of the grease send me running straight to the bathroom. And, of course, Finn sees me on my way.

  “Here, Maggie, drink this,” he says, pushing a glass of ginger ale into my hands once my stomach is empty of its contents.

  “Thanks,” I grumble, barely lifting my head.

  “Why don’t you let me take you home? You can’t work like this. You can’t even step one foot into the kitchen.”

  “I’m fine. Now, get out the bathroom before someone thinks you’re in here for a reason way different. I don’t want to tarnish your reputation.”

  “Oh, Magpie, you know closets are more my speed,” he tells me, pulling me off the floor.

  I can’t even go in that damn kitchen. Every single time I push through the swinging double doors I have to run for the bathroom. Thank God for Finn. He’s become my personal food runner. Needless to say, by the end of the night the rumor mill is buzzing. All those gossiping bitches we work with are asking a million questions about us. I blame it all on a stomach bug, but I don’t think any of them are buying it. It doesn’t help that Finn finds it necessary to follow me into the bathroom with crackers and ginger ale every time this little peanut of ours decides to wreak havoc on my body.

  It’s like he wants us to get busted.

  What feels like days instead of hours later, I’m finally done for the night. I’ve made a killing in tips, I’m sure due to the fact that my tables probably felt sorry for me. I look like I’ve been to hell and back by the time I clock out. Finn wants to follow me home, but I just want to shower and crawl in bed. I heard everyone talking about going out (shocker!), and I’m sure he’d rather do that than sit on my couch and look at me. After much arguing by my car, he finally agrees to let me go home alone, with the promise of a text to let him know I’m alright.