“Me too. Because this went from a clusterfuck to pretty much working out. Even with the whole vet school mess.” I sigh. It’s been eating me alive since I got that letter, but Noah is trying so damn hard to make me feel okay about it, I decided to drop it.
“Don’t take offense,” she starts and pushes her short blonde hair back behind her ear. “But I know you remember the same Noah I do. I’m glad he was able to go cold turkey on the drinking and partying.”
I nod. “Honestly, I didn’t have faith in him.” I shake my head. “I have a confession, actually. I haven’t told anyone either. When he asked me out on our first date, I agreed because I thought it would be a disaster.”
Rachel hikes an eyebrow. “You have the weirdest sense of logic. Maybe you got used to all those horrible first dates people set you up on or something.”
“I mean I expected it to be a disaster and for that disaster to prove to me he wasn’t fit to be a dad so I could cross off us ending up together. I feel bad now, since he’s been the total opposite.”
Rachel nods. “Makes sense. And you should have just asked me. Of course it would have worked out. Don’t you know my best friend is awesome? Noah would be a fool tonotbe with you. You’re fucking hot, even when pregnant.”
I smile and shake my head. “We need to hang out more often.”
* * *
I pull my knees up and roll over, trying to get comfortable. Three pillows are in use around me, holding up my stomach, under my back, and under my head. I reach over and grab Noah’s. He’s not using it anyway. It’s one-thirty and he’s not home yet, nor is he answering his phone.
I’m not worried. Not yet at least. I told him to go to the bar. I told him to have fun with his friends. And that’s what he’s doing.
I also told him I trusted him.
And I do.
But each minute that ticks by and he’s not calling me, saying he’s coming back, makes me question that trust. I don’t think he’d cheat on me. Even before, Noah wasn’t that kind of person. It was one of the reasons he never settled down, he told me. I don’t know much about his parents’ divorce, but I do know several affairs took place before they split.
I doze off, waking at three. I grab my phone, certain I’ll see a missed call or text from Noah. My background image of Vader looks back at me. What the hell, Noah? Where are you? I call him, get his voicemail, then call right back. Voicemail again.
Unease grows and now I’m thinking he’s dead on the side of the road. Stupid, dangerous motorcycle.
I flop back down, getting a little pissed. I was up late last night after dinner, and now I’m up late again and need to get up early tomorrow for the shower. And so does Noah, because he said he wanted to go with me.
Five whole minutes go by before I call him again. If he’s not dead already, he’s going to be when he gets home. Voicemail again. I turn on the TV, unable to sleep. Exhaustion hits me around three-thirty, yet I can’t turn my brain off to sleep. I call Noah again, and he answers, but all I hear is background noise. Loud music, muffled voices.
“Noah?” No reply. “Noah!”
I’m fairly positive I hear his voice before the line goes dead. At least he’s alive, right? Well, alive for now, because I’m pretty sure I’m going to fucking kill him in his sleep tonight. If he ever comes home.
I lay down, trying to take solace in the fact he’s alive and still at the bar, but it doesn’t work. I’m mad he made me worry, mad he didn’t come home to spend time with me, and mad I’m going to be tired in the morning. I’ve been constantly tired since I got knocked up, and this isn’t helping.
I close my eyes and the phone rings. It’s Noah.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Lauren, it’s Joey. Again. Your man is drunk as a skunk. Again.”
I sigh. “I’ll be there to get him.”
Joey gives a grunt in reply and hangs up. I toss my head back against the pillow, not wanting to get out of bed. I throw on a T-shirt and yoga pants, and step into flip-flops. I get super tired as I drive to the bar, which only enhances my anger.
Pregnant lady rage is a real thing.
I park in front of the bar and call Noah but get no answer. I cut the engine and wait. There are still quite a few cars here. What the hell do people do at bars for that long? Don’t they have lives to get back to? And how much money is wasted buy drink after drink for hours on end?
I should have opened a biker bar and not had to worry about school and student loans.
Five minutes and eight calls later, Noah still isn’t out. Angrily muttering to myself, I get out of the car and walk to the bar. I can smell the cigarette smoke already and take one last deep breath before pulling the door open and stepping inside.
Noah is sitting on a barstool, eyes fluttering, talking to some guy who looks just as drunk. He blinks when he sees me then gets up, stumbling. He’s fucking wasted.