She stiffens then, pushes me away. Turns away. And this time I don’t have a clue what I’ve done wrong. I glance behind me, then, hoping to get some kind of help from Ophelia or Tansy or even Z, but there’s no one there. Sometime in the middle of our fight, they all snuck away. To give us privacy, I’m sure. But as I’m currently standing here with an angry, emotional Cam, privacy isn’t what I need—help is.
“Is that really what you think is about?” she demands. “Me making a wish, and you doing whatever I want you to?”
“I’m just trying to help you, Cam. I just want to help.”
“Oh, yeah? That’s easy for you to say, isn’t it? My career is going up in flames, everything I’ve worked for disappearing right in front of me and you want to help? Your career is fine—or as fine as it’s going to get. No one’s going to step in and tell you that you can’t board. No one’s going to take away the one thing that matters more to you than anything else. You’re fine. You’re safe. I’m the one who’s screwed. I’m the one who can’t get on a board until after I get this thing out of me.”
She holds her hands out wide, her fists clenching and unclenching with every few words. “But big man that you are, you want to help. How the fuck do you think you’re going to do that? Can you make it so this never happened? Can you make it so that I’m not pregnant?”
I stare at her helplessly, her words chasing themselves around and around in my head. Screwed. Not pregnant. Get this thing out of me. I don’t know what to say, don’t know what to do to make this better. Because the truth is, I don’t want her to have an abortion. I don’t want her to get rid of my baby. And though I know it’s her choice, know she can do whatever she wants with her body, I don’t want her to do that. Not with our baby.
I don’t say that, though. I don’t say anything. I can’t. My whole body is frozen while my mind tries to fight off the horror and the fear that is suddenly racing through me.
Cam takes my silence for what it is—an indicator of my guilt and my impotence.
“Yeah,” she says with a snort and a shake of her head. “That’s about what I figured you’d say.”
She walks around me then, making sure to give me a wide berth as she lets herself into Z’s house. And as the door slams behind her, I finally understand what it means to be left out in the cold.
Chapter 17
Cam
What am I going to do? What am I going to do? WhatamIgoingtodo?
I’m lying on my dark-blue comforter, staring at the square patch of gray sky currently visible through the skylight above my bed. It’s the same patch of gray I’ve been staring at for three days—the same patch of gray that I’m afraid I’ll be staring at for the next six months. Oh, it turns dark at night and bright white when it’s about to snow, but in the end it always goes back to gray. It’s dark and drab and more than a little threatening—which is exactly what my life feels like right now. Not to be too melodramatic about it or anything.
What am I going to do? What am I going to do? WhatamIgoingtodo?
The words beat at me¸ making my head hurt and my stomach roll. Or maybe it’s the baby that’s causing the nausea. Morning sickness, ugh. And the hits just keep on coming.
When I can’t stare at the same patch of sky any longer—or the same ceiling—I roll over onto my side. Reach for one of the folders from Dr. Amato. As soon as I open the folder I know from the names of the pamphlets inside that I’m looking at the abortion folder.
My hands start to shake before I ever take a pamphlet out.
I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. Idon’twanttodothis.
I don’t want to have an abortion. But I don’t want to have this baby either. I don’t want to give up my career, give up everything that I’ve worked so hard for. And I sure as hell don’t want to look in Luc’s eyes and tell him that I’ve aborted his baby.
He told me that he wanted to help, that he would do whatever I wanted. But did he mean this? Did he mean he was okay with me getting rid of his baby? And if he did, what does that mean? That he’s worried about me, about my career? Or simply that he doesn’t want the responsibility of being a dad?
Not that I blame him. It’s not like I want the responsibility of being a mom. I don’t even know how to be a mom. How can I when my own mother has been absent for so much of my life? Yeah, she’s back now. But that
doesn’t mean I’m going to have anything to do with her. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean I’m going to go to her for parenting advice.
I shudder at the mere thought.
Have an abortion or have the baby? Have an abortion or have the baby?
I don’t know. I just don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know anything right now. If I have the baby, I don’t know how I’m going to live without the endorsement deals and tournament winnings that I’ll be forfeiting. Z and Ophelia have told me that no matter what I decide, I’m welcome to stay here with them. But come on, I’ve been here for three months as it is. Do I really think their patience is going to be infinite? That I can just move myself—and a baby—in here and they won’t mind at all?
I mean, Luc can support me for a year. He’s got some endorsement deals—they’re not worth what Z’s and mine are, but they’re still good. Still more than enough for the three of us to live on. But how can I expect that of him when we’re not together? When he doesn’t trust or want me? When the only reason he’d be with me is because of the baby?
What am I going to do? Whatamigoingtodo? WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?
No matter how many times I ask myself that question, I still don’t know the answer.
I pull one of the pamphlets out of the folder, start to open it. But before I can so much as look at the first page, my stomach gives up the good fight. Then I’m running for the bathroom, hand over my mouth.