“There’s a fuck load to unpack in that post,” I remind him, pointing at the phone, now dark in his hand. “We can’t just go storming into Hailey’s room—”
“Who said anything about storming… and why not?”
“Well, for one thing, we have to be sure it’s her post…”
Bobby crosses his arms and gives me a withering look. “In the entire world, exactly how many women do you think are living with a male/male couple, intending to be their surrogate, crawled under their bed fully naked on Monday night,andhad their door broken down by said couple?”
“Okay, fair, but you’ve had more time to think than I have. This is…” I trail off, words failing to express the enormity of the situation.
“Everything we ever wanted?” Bobby asks. “The best thing that could possibly happen to us? A goddamn miracle of biblical proportions?”
“Yes. All of that. But how the hell do we handle it? This could seriously blow up in our faces, Bobby. I need to know that you’ll be okay if it does.”
“I can’t promise that.” Bobby wraps his hand around the back of my neck, pressing his forehead to mine. “But I promise to love you no matter what. It’s worth the risk. If this is really how she feels? If this is really what she wants… I’m trying not to be greedy, Jameson. I really am, but…”
I nod, blood throbbing through my veins. All the possibilities, depraved and unrelentingly filthy, flicker in the back of my mind, roaring back from the pit I tried to bury them in. This time, though, they’re joined by new ones. Visions of Hailey, round with our baby, sharing our bed, raising a family with us…
I palm the back of Bobby’s neck, stroking the corded muscles. Christ almighty. He makes me feel…right. He’s my anchor when the world around us is insane. He brings out the best in me, and when I need a push, he’s there with a hand between my shoulder blades, ready to jump right alongside me.
“Let me get my keys.”
7
HAILEY
Istare at my computer screen, silently praying that I’m seeing things. Things that absolutely cannot be real…
Anonymous Surrogate’s Hot and Bothered Confession.
Yeah… that’s actually the title of the article. I’m using the word ‘article’ very loosely in this situation, but that’s not the point right now. The point is, I wrote the stupid confession thinking it would die in the darkest corners of the internet. But some lazy jack-off at Newsweekly co-opted it, quoting every embarrassing detail, and published it.
It’s been passed around on social media, for a couple day, gaining steam without my knowing, and now I’ve gone viral in the worst way. Well, not the worst way. At least my actual name isn’t on it, but if this gets back to Jameson and Bobby… I’m fucked. There’s just no way around it. In what world could that story pass for any other woman?
I scrub my hands over my face, weighing the odds of this dying down before they find out. Given the 1,591 messages in the throwaway account’s inbox, half of them from news organizations, it feels doubtful.
Maybe I just need to suck it up, admit what I wrote, and go back to Portland. The thought feels just about as good as carving my eyes out with a rusty melon-baller. Leaving now would all but rip my heart from my body, but really, what choice do I have?
The sound of the front door opening reaches my ears and I freeze. “Oh, no. No-no-no-no-nooo,” I moan softly. They’re home early. I was hoping for a couple hours to think, but of course they’re home early today.
Closing my laptop, I set it aside and pull my blanket over my head. I’m sorely tempted to crawl under the bed again, but I bet they’d look there, given what happened the other night.
“Hailey!” I hear Bobby call out from the living area. “Are you home? We have dinner!”
I peek out from under the blanket. Maybe they don’t know… God, I hope so. That would at least buy me some time to think. I steel my nerves, and get up. Walking toward the door feels more like a funeral march, but I do it.
Bobby and Jameson are not at the dining table like I expected, but rather, they’re sitting at opposite ends of the sofa. Both of them smile at me when I enter the room, but there’s something in their eyes that sets me on edge. Maybe it’s my imagination running away with me, but it’s hard to ignore.
They pat the middle seat in unison, making my heart sink just a little lower. Bags of takeout sit on the coffee table. “Care if we watch a movie?” Jameson’s voice is so nonchalant, I almost feel like he’s forcing it. “We felt like having a night in.”
“I can go eat in my room—”
“Hailey, you can do anything you want,” Bobby says, his smile soft as he levels me with just a look. “But we’d like you here.” He pats the couch cushion between them again. “Right in the middle.”
That one little gesture, paired with those innocuous words, set my heart thumping erratically. I should go to my room. I should tell them the truth, but the temptation is too great. They both watch me closely as I join them.
Jesus, they’re being weird. They must have seen the post. They’re going to fire me, I just know it. Dinner and a movie is just to soften the blow. I perch on the edge of the seat, eyeing the bags with distaste. I don’t care what’s inside, I won’t be able to eat it. My stomach is churning with guilt and anxiety.
Bobby flips through the options eventually clicking something that makes Jameson groan. “Not this one, again. I hate the ending.”