My Fake Husband by Black, L. (motivational novels TXT) 📕

Laying on my side, staring out the window last night I longed to be in Damon’s arms, my back against his chest, his breath warm on my hair. But I didn’t belong there. I wasn’t really his wife. Just some sad, pathetic girl who had a crush on him and needed his good credit score for a loan. He didn’t owe me comfort as well.

When my sister called, I didn’t even want to answer the phone.

“What’d he say?”

“Nothing.”

“You didn’t tell him,” she accused. “You’re chicken.”

“When I was at your house and he tried to call, it was cause Laura was in the ER. She almost miscarried her baby, Kiera. I wasn’t here to be there for Damon, and I didn’t even answer his calls. He was shaken up about it. He kept saying he couldn’t be in Brody’s shoes and never wanted to go through that kind of thing again. How could I tell him?” I said.

“Easy. You say, I’m sorry about that, but I’m pregnant with your child.”

“Easy? He doesn’t want to be in Brody’s shoes!” I wailed.

“Okay, honey, you have to calm down and think straight. What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know. That he doesn’t want to lose a kid. Or maybe he doesn’t want to have any kids? I don’t know. But it didn’t sound good for me and the nugget here.”

“Aww, the nugget? We called Max the little bean. You gotta have a cute name for the baby bump.”

“Right now it’s the morning sickness nugget,” I groaned.

“Eat crackers. Like all the time. Constant cracker consumption is the only answer.”

“Thanks,” I said, and got some saltines out of my drawer and munched one. “These are stale.”

“Get new crackers. Jeez, you’re gonna be a mother. Learn to make a grocery list,” Kiera teased. “And you have to tell him. Maybe he was just scared for his sister.”

“What if that’s not it? What if he really doesn’t want kids and especially with me, his fake wife?”

“Well, I’d say it’s a little late for that discussion,” she said. “Get some fresh crackers and let me know how you’re doing.”

Work kept me busy, and Damon was at the firehouse when I got home. I ate and took a bath and went to bed early. The next day was the same, us working opposite shifts. It made avoiding him easier. Since I was, in fact, chicken. I didn’t want to tell him I was pregnant. I smuggled my prenatal vitamins in and kept them in my bedside table, not wanting him to spot them in the bathroom and ask questions. I drank plenty of water and ate entire sleeves of soda crackers to keep the nausea down. Kiera kept checking on me and pushing me to tell him. I blew off Michelle and Nicole with excuses about work when they wanted to go out for more tacos and margaritas. I couldn’t drink alcohol, the smell of tacos would make me puke, and I didn’t want to answer questions about either of those issues. So I just hid at home and slept a lot.

My mom called to ask me if I was depressed when I skipped dinner at her house. I told her I was just wiped out because business was going so great.

“I made chicken and dumplin’s,” she said. “You love those. What’s going on?”

“Just work, like I said. And, you know, I like to spend time with Damon whenever he’s home. He’s working crazy hours right now,” I said, nearly choking on the lie.

I was not spending time with my husband, but it was an excuse that would make my mom happy. The same woman who’d practically tossed me into his lap since I was a teenager. It wasn’t like I was going to tell her that my fake husband got me pregnant and I hadn’t told him. I mean, that was not gonna make her proud. My life was a hot mess, so I threw myself into work even more. My bills and books were up to date, my orders finalized, and I’d taken a booking for a wedding next month.

The only time I crossed paths with Damon, I told him there was lasagna in the fridge.

“Laura liked the daisies. And she said Brody ate most of the casserole you took them.”

“Is she doing okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, she’s tired of being stuck at home. We’re invited to my mom’s tomorrow night for dinner, you can see her then,” he said.

“I can’t make it. Sorry. I have a bunch of arrangements to do for the Cook funeral,” I said. “The flowers won’t be in till afternoon so I’ll have to stay late and work on it.”

“Oh. Okay,” he said. “Is everything okay with you?”

“Yeah, why?” I asked, my voice edgy even though I tried to be casual.

“Ever since you got back from Savannah, things have been off between us. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it.”

I hadn’t expected direct confrontation from him, not about relationship stuff. But easygoing Damon had checked out, and this one was suspicious.

“I’m just working more than you’re used to, which is good. I can pay you back faster, get out of your hair. You can have your house back.”

“You’re not in my hair,” he said, frustrated. “How’s it going with your tenant over the shop?”

“Not too bad. She works nights so she’s mostly quiet. She’s a little flaky though. I had to go unplug her flatiron for her one day because she left it on and called me in a panic. I think she doesn’t get enough sleep, honestly.”

“That’s a total mom thing to say,” he said.

“What?” I think my panic showed.

“It sounds like something my mom would say. Or your mom. Like, are you eating your vegetables? You should go to bed earlier. That kind of thing.”

“Oh. Okay. Maybe I’ll go get some sleep now. I’m pretty tired.”

“You sure you feel okay? You’ve been sleeping a lot,” he said.

This more observant Damon needed to back off. I felt like