Chapter Sixteen
Brooklyn
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath, my left hand cradling my lower stomach as I pace the small area in front of Chas’s island, regretting giving him the copy of the test results. “What am I going to do?” I murmur, looking down at my flat stomach and rubbing the area, as if expecting some kind of divine response.
It’s late, and I know that I need to be in bed asleep; it’s what is best for both me and the baby, but I haven’t been able to settle down since the doctor came into the room earlier today, congratulating me on my pregnancy.
Maybe for most, this is a congratulatory moment, but for me, it wasn’t. I just looked at her, on the verge of tears, and asked her what my options were.
She was kind, but she talked me through my three options: parenting, abortion, and adoption.
*Even though I’ve had a hard life and had to make choices that no person my age should have to make, I feel like I’m still too young to have to make a decision such as this. This baby,” once again, I find myself cradling the growling life inside of me as I ponder what to do, *is a life. A being. One that if I decide on abortion, I’m ending, and I just don’t know that I have it in me to go that route.*
I stop and lean against the counter, tears swimming in my eyes as the enormity of the situation that I’ve found myself in and the decision that I have to make, weighs on me.
The sound of my phone going off startles me. My pulse picks up when I pick up my phone and read the message.
**Jackson: Sorry it’s so late, but give me a call or come by when you get the chance. I will make sure that I’m around and available to talk.**
And for reasons that I don’t even understand, just reading those words, tears gather in my eyes. “Stupid damn hormones,” I mumble as I contemplate going downstairs and just getting this conversation over with.
I try to go to sleep, but all I manage to do is lie in bed, tossing and turning. With a glance at the clock, I find that I’ve been unsuccessfully trying to go to sleep for two hours.
Throwing off the covers, I growl, “This is stupid,” before jumping out of the bed. Slipping my feet into the first pair of shoes that I can find, I march my exhausted ass out the door to talk this out with the asshole from downstairs who helped put me in the position in the first place, deciding that if I can’t sleep, then neither can he.
After getting his front door unlocked, I make my way through the quiet apartment, feeling slightly like a creeper as I slip into his bedroom.
“It’s not—” he mumbles, sounding slightly agitated. He thrashes back and forth, the blanket fisted in his hands as he begs, “Please, don’t do this, Brook—please.”
At the mention of my name, I stop dead in my tracks at the side of his bed, my heart pounding in my chest, unsure of what to do.
*Does he know that I’m here?* I wonder, but then as I watch him throw his head back and forth, completely distraught from whatever has taken over his mind, I quickly realize that he’s only talking in his sleep.
“Don’t do this, please, Brooklyn,” he begs, sounding completely broken.
Closing the distance, I reach out and grasp hold of his sweaty shoulder, trying to rouse him from the dream, or nightmare, or whatever it is he’s having.
“Jackson, hey,” I say, hoping to get his attention. What I don’t expect to happen, however, is what happens next.
He opens his eyes and they immediately fill with tears as she throws himself at me, wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his head into my stomach as he all out begins to sob, repeating over and over again, “don’t do it. Please don’t do it.”
My own tears pour down my cheeks as I wipe at Jackson's face, brushing his hair away from his face, my hands finding the tense muscles of his neck and shoulders as he shudders against me.
Seeing this man, someone who is so strong and typically holds himself with such confidence, in tears and broken, completely brings me to my knees. “Jackson,” I murmur his name, trying to get him to look at me, but this seems to only make him cry harder and hold me tighter. “Jackson,” I try again, repeating his name as tears continue to stream down my face. “Jackson, look at me. Jackson.”
Finally, he glances up for a brief second, but in that second, I slide my hand beneath his chin, holding his face up, forcing him to hold my stare. “I’m right here.” I use my thumb to wipe away some of the moisture beneath his eye, as I reach down with my other hand and pull one of his hands from around my waist and place it against my face, showing him that I’m here.
His hand caresses my face, feeling that I’m here, then slowly begins moving down the line of my neck, and before I know it, his large hand is cupping my breast and pulling a gasp from between my lips.
“Yes,” I murmur, even though the single word comes out as more of a moan, as I try to keep him in the moment and not fall back into whatever he had back caught in before. “I’m here.”
“You’re here,” he murmurs, his hand now fondling my breast, his fingers playing with my peaked nipple and making my breath come faster now for a whole different reason than before.
Jackson then leans forward, his eyes never leaving mine as if waiting for my reaction, and gently places his mouth over mine.
I give in to the kiss for only a moment before pulling away, breathlessly uttering, “Jackson.”
“Brooklyn.” My name on his lips sounds like both a plea and a prayer as he raises his hand and cups my cheek, his thumb finding my bottom lip and gently rubbing it with the pad of his thumb.
“We—we can’t,” I tell him. Then, reaching up, I grasp hold of his hand and remove it from my breast and thread our fingers together. “Jackson, we need to talk.”
Jackson drops his head slightly, resting his forehead against my temple, his breath hitting my cheek as he murmurs, “Stay with me.” At first, I think I misheard him, but then he continues talking, “Stay with me and let me take care of both you and our baby.”
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