The Nurse's Newborn Gift. Wendy S. Marcus
replaced by a shortish, surprisingly appealing, buzz cut. His smooth, boyish face? Gone, replaced by sculpted cheekbones, sexy scruff, and full, kissable lips...that were smiling as part of a ‘You like what you see?’ expression.
Shoot. Krissy focused in on his light brown eyes, smart eyes that, like Jarrod’s, could always seem to tell what she was thinking.
Spencer looked her up and down his gaze settling on her midsection, “Still have a sweet tooth I see.”
Any attraction she may have been feeling vanished. Poof! Gone. “Can you manage to not be obnoxious, for at least the next five minutes?” If she’d cared one bit what Spencer thought of her, she’d have changed out of her work scrubs and freshened her makeup or run some gel through her short hair. But she didn’t care. Krissy handed him Jarrod’s letter. “This is why I’m here. And I have no intention of standing out in the hallway like an annoying salesman while you read it. So either invite me in or I’m gone.”
Without saying a word, he stepped aside and Krissy walked into his apartment. Feeling awkward, and not wanting to stand there while he read Jarrod’s letter, Krissy asked, “Where’s your bathroom?”
Spencer looked up from the envelope he’d been staring at but hadn’t yet opened and pointed down the hallway to the right. So that’s where Krissy headed.
Since she had some time to kill to make her visit believable, she spent it snooping. One toothbrush in the holder. Basic man stuff neatly stashed in the medicine cabinet. An electric beard trimmer. Deodorant. A small box of condoms. Mostly empty drawers. No tampons, or hair paraphernalia, or any signs the same woman visited on a regular basis. Rather than think too hard on why that made her happy, Krissy flushed the toilet, washed her hands, and walked back into the hallway.
Seeing Spencer sitting at the kitchen table, fully engrossed by his letter, Krissy took a few minutes to admire his apartment, neat, modern, and nicely furnished in tans and blacks, so different from the cluttered, messy bedroom of his youth. In the living room he had a bunch of thick textbooks stacked on a low shelf. Krissy walked closer. Anatomy and Physiology. Nutrition. Relaxation. Strength and Conditioning. Athletic Training.
Then she saw it, at eye level, a full color picture of the three of them in a plain black frame, Jarrod on one side, Spencer on the other, and Krissy in the middle. It’d been taken in Central Park, during the winter. They’d been all smiles, with red cheeks, disheveled hats and coats, and covered in snow. Happier times. The good old days, always together...until junior year, when everything had changed.
Beside it were a bunch of pictures of Spencer wearing the same clothes he wore now, posing with various adult male soccer players. “What’s with all these soccer pictures?”
“I’m an assistant athletic trainer with the NYC United,” he answered, his eyes never leaving the letter. “A semi-pro, United Soccer League team.”
Pretty cool, but she’d never tell him that. Krissy remembered her sister Kira telling her there was a semi-pro soccer team in their area. They practiced and played at one of the local colleges, which explained why Spencer now lived so close to her. “That’s what you went to school for?”
“Got my master’s degree in it.”
“What does an assistant athletic trainer do exactly?”
“Athletic trainers deal with prevention, acute care and rehabilitation of sports injuries.”
Other pictures caught her attention. Spencer hiking. Spencer skiing. Spencer on the beach with a bunch of his good looking friends. My God! Krissy looked away. “No pictures of your girlfriend?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Good to know.
Why is that good to know?
Hmmm.
Before she could come up with an answer, Spencer interrupted.
“You’re pregnant?” he yelled from the kitchen, in a tone that seemed to indicate women like Krissy shouldn’t procreate. Really, he felt it necessary to yell? The apartment wasn’t all that big.
“Yes,” Krissy said, keeping her voice uninterested and her back to him as she perused the other pictures on the shelf. “Sorry you wasted a perfectly good insult.”
“With Jarrod’s baby?” he asked.
The disbelief in his tone had her swinging around to face him. “Yes with Jarrod’s baby.”
From where he sat, Spencer looked up from the letter. “How do I know?”
“How do you know what?”
He stood. “How do I know that’s Jarrod’s baby in here,” he motioned to her belly, “and not some other guy’s?” He walked closer. “How do I know you didn’t get yourself knocked up and now you’re digging out these letters Jarrod left you so you can get me, Patti and Bart involved so you don’t have to raise the kid on your own? Do they know?”
A rage like she hadn’t felt in years, quite possibly since the last time she’d seen Spencer, surged through her. How dare he insinuate... “As if I would waste one minute looking for you if Jarrod hadn’t asked me to. As if I would want someone like you in my life, in my baby’s life, if Jarrod hadn’t specifically stated he wanted you to be his baby’s godfather. God I hate you. This was a mistake.” She stomped toward the door. “I don’t know what Jarrod was thinking.” She bent to pick up her pocketbook—no easy task considering she’d soon be entering her ninth month of pregnancy, but no way would she ask Spencer for help. “And, no, Patti and Bart don’t know. Not yet. I’m waiting until after the baby’s born. To save them from worry...or having to grieve another loss if something goes wrong.”
“Wait,” he said, sounding tired.
No way would she wait simply because he wanted her to. But she could slow down long enough to let him have it. “You may not believe this is Jarrod’s baby, and frankly, I don’t care whether you do or you don’t. I did what he asked me to do, out of love for him, but I won’t—”
“Love.” Spencer let out a cruel laugh. “You don’t know the meaning of the word. If you loved Jarrod so much, why’d you flirt with him and tease and then flaunt all your boyfriends in front of him?”
Yes, she’d teased and joked. But she most certainly had not flirted with Jarrod. “I did not—”
Apparently ready for a fight, he set his hands on his hips and leaned in. “Oh, yes, you did. Holding their hands in front of him, sucking face in front of him, telling him the intimate details of your sex life, breaking his heart over and over again.”
Breaking his heart? “I did not break his heart. We were pals, best friends. We talked about everything.” Although to be honest, usually Krissy had done most of the talking while Jarrod had done most of the listening.
“He didn’t want to be your best friend. At least that’s not all he wanted to be. I never understood how you couldn’t see it? Except that you were always too absorbed in yourself and what was going on in your life to notice much about anyone else.”
Even though that had been true, Krissy told him to, “Go to hell.” She didn’t want to relive those days. She’d moved on. She was a better person now. She was doing the right thing by having Jarrod’s baby, following through with his wishes. But she refused to stand here and listen to one more word out of Spencer’s mouth. She turned to the door.
“All the times you ran to him when you were upset, cried on his shoulder, let him hold you and console you. You gave him just enough to keep him content with the scraps of affection you tossed in his direction, to make him hopeful that maybe someday...”
“Shut up.” Krissy’s chest started to ache.
“He loved you,” Spencer said. “Boyfriend, girlfriend loved you.”
No.
“But you