Breathe (His Command Book 5) Page 10

  “Fantastic. The email is on its way.” Susan’s voice brightened. “We look forward to having you on the team. Company policy is detailed in the email I sent, and I advise you to read it thoroughly before you fill out your employment paperwork and submit it back to me. Congratulations on becoming the newest member of our team. We look forward to working with you.”

  “Likewise.”

  “Have an excellent evening, Mr. McKellar.”

  “You as well.”

  The call ended. Oli gripped his phone tightly in his trembling hands, then pumped the air again and let loose with a victory cry that came from deep in his stomach. It dissolved into laughter almost immediately, and he doubled over onto the counter and laughed into his folded arms. “Fuck yeah, who did it? Who finally did it?” Oli laughed again, strung out from excitement. “Take that, everyone who wouldn’t hire me before. Look where I am now!”

  “Oli?” Gabriel said shyly from the kitchen doorway. Oli looked up from his arms and spotted Gabriel standing awkwardly on the spot, like he wasn’t sure if he was needed or not. He stroked his baby bump—which was more of a baby mountain, if Oli was being honest. It was hard to believe he still had another three months to go. “I heard you shouting. Is everything okay? Did you hurt yourself?”

  “No, I’m fine. I’m great, actually.” Oli stood up straight and tucked his phone into his pocket. “I just got off the phone with HR for one of the companies I interviewed with. They offered me the job.”

  “That’s fantastic.” Gabriel’s shy smile didn’t waver. “When do you start?”

  “As soon as I get through the paperwork, I guess.” Oli beamed. After the shitty luck he’d put up with for the last two years, things were finally turning around. “Hey, what are you doing out of bed? I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

  “I feel fine right now.” Gabriel’s smile lost its shyness. “I’ll go back to bed in a little bit. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “I’m great,” Oli said, and he meant it. “Thanks for coming to check up on me. That was sweet of you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Gabriel’s hand slid away from his belly. It looked like he was about to return to his room, but he stopped instead. “Um, I... I know it’s not really my business, but I wanted to ask... did you mean to knock your pills on the floor? I wasn’t sure if you were aiming for the garbage or not, because there were still pills inside, so…”

  Oli blinked. “What?”

  Gabriel’s gaze flicked downward nervously, then rose to meet Oli’s again. “Your birth control pills. I was cleaning the bathroom after you went to bed last night, and I found them on the ground by the sink.”

  “Oh, holy shit.” The bottom of Oli’s stomach dropped out, and every bit of excitement he’d so recently found evaporated like water on asphalt on an August afternoon. “Oh, holy fucking shit.”

  On the night he’d gone to The Shepherd with Cedric, he’d been in the middle of taking his pills and examining his reflection in the mirror when he’d been distracted. The pills must have fallen, and once they were out of sight, he’d forgotten all about them.

  Now his heat was ending prematurely. And that meant...

  “Are you okay?” Gabriel asked. He took a cautious step forward. “You’re all pale and shaky. I can... I can call Sir. He can help you if you’re feeling sick. He’ll know what to do.”

  “No.” Oli barely managed to choke out the word. “I’m going to be okay. You don’t need to call Cedric. Why don’t you go back to bed, and I’ll finish up the dishes and figure out what to do about those pills, okay?”

  “Okay.” Gabriel didn’t sound convinced. He looked Oli over, then turned and left the doorway to head for his bedroom. Oli heard his light footsteps travel down the hall, then the sound of the door closing behind him. He counted the seconds after the door closed.

  One.

  Two.

  Three...

  When there was no indication that Gabriel was set to return, he sank into the nearest kitchen chair and held his face in his hands. One step forward, five hundred steps back. He’d found a job, but now Marshall was ghosting him, and they were about to share a problem. An incredibly big, still microscopic yet ever-growing problem.

  He’d told Cedric that life was set to get worse before it got better. From the very start, he’d known that something like this would happen. Why had he let his guard down? Why had he been so stupid?

  It looked like Cedric wouldn’t be the only one toting around a miniature version of himself.

  Oli snatched up his phone and did the only thing he could think to do—he called Marshall.

  16

  Marshall

  Marshall opened his eyes to a room that was too bright. He winced and closed his eyes again, but before he could settle back into oblivion, a vibration rumbled against his hip, and he clamped a hand down in surprise over it to still the buzzing.

  It was his phone.

  He lifted it up so he could examine it, not yet awake enough to be able to sit up. There was a note stuck to the screen.

  You owe me.

  There was no mistaking the meticulous handwriting—the note was from Samantha. Marshall clutched the phone in his hand and silently thanked her for sneaking it in to him. The steady beep of the machines near his head and the prickle in the crook of his arm meant that he’d landed himself back in the hospital, and Marshall had been there often enough over the last three years to know that cellphones were forbidden.

  Marshall spent longer than he’d care to admit attempting to turn on the screen. He jabbed several times at the volume button before he got it right. When the screen did light up, he was sitting on fifteen missed calls. He didn’t pay them any heed. More than likely, they were calls from business associates who’d heard rumors about his episode. When tragedy struck, everyone was quick to pretend they cared. Marshall appreciated the song and dance, but he was in no state to return it. Not now. He’d pushed himself too far, and he had no one but himself to blame for what had happened.

  Still slightly disoriented from waking up somewhere unanticipated, he reached up to run a hand over his face only to discover that his mouth and nose were covered by an oxygen mask. Inconvenient. Demeaning. He scowled at nothing, squeezed his eyes shut more tightly, and tugged at the mask in an attempt to get it off.

  He failed. His fine motor functions were inhibited, and his grip was weak—he’d been sedated. That meant they’d probably had to insert an endotracheal tube, and he’d only just stabilized.

  With an irritated grunt, he dropped his phone on his chest and let his arm fall to the side. Maybe it was better if it stayed in place. For now, at least. When he’d received his initial diagnosis three years ago, he’d had nothing to live for—but that wasn’t the case anymore. For years he’d been a rat on a wheel, spinning and spinning without hope of ever getting anywhere, but now a series of events had popped the nut holding his wheel in place free, and it had come off the bolt and set him into motion.

  Oliver…

  Survival rates are three to five years, Mr. Alcrest. Medicated, we can slow the spread of the scar tissue in your lungs, and with oxygen therapy, you can continue to lead a normal, active lifestyle.

  But slowing the spread was different from reversing it, and although his pulmonologist had done his best to present the facts in as hopeful a manner as he could, the underlying message didn’t change. Idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis was irreversible. The scars in Marshall’s lungs would never go away. As time went on, more would form, and his condition would continue to worsen. Even with a restricted diet, oxygen therapy, and medication, his disease was going to kill him. The only solution—a lung transplant—meant that he would be on medication for the rest of his life, if the transplant was even successful. Long-term survival, even after a successful transplant, wasn’t guaranteed. Back then, it hadn’t seemed worth the struggle. Why fight for a life when that life exhausted him? When he felt like nothing more than
a husk already past his prime?

  Now he understood, and it was just like Samantha had warned him.

  One day before it takes you, Marshall, you’re going to regret your choices. You’ll wish that you had fought when that happens.

  His mind switched gears immediately. Oliver. It had been Oliver who’d left him so short of breath that he’d passed out at the board meeting. They’d been in the middle of a text exchange, and then...

  Marshall opened his eyes. How long had they kept him knocked out? An afternoon? A day? Longer? Marshall groped at the sheets over his chest until he found his phone again. The IV pricked his arm as he searched, and he winced.

  Pain was good. Pain meant the drugs were wearing off. Pretty soon he’d be sober again.

  Marshall lit the screen of his phone back up and checked his missed notifications more thoroughly.

  Fifteen calls, five texts.

  All of them from Oliver.

  Marshall’s mouth went dry. He squinted at the date displayed on his phone and tried to remember when he’d passed out. Monday? Had it been Monday?

  It was Tuesday now, late at night. He’d lost over a day to his health.

  It took a few attempts to unlock his screen. He checked the texts first, but had to move his eyes slowly to keep his whole world from dissolving into a blur.

  You came, didn’t you?

  One of these days, you should tell me where you work so I can show up on your lunch break. I’d love to make this fantasy a reality. ;)

  Please answer, Marshall. I know you’re busy but it’s pretty fucking important.

  Can you call me back whenever you get this? Please? It’s urgent.

  If you don’t answer me soon I’m going to do some Google-fu and find out where you live. We need to talk. I don’t care if I did something wrong. This is more important than hurt feelings.

  Hurt feelings? Had something happened between them? All Marshall remembered were the racy texts Oliver had been sending him.

  Don’t. Marshall replied. It was the best he could manage. His fingers remembered their way across the touchscreen keyboard, but they did so too slowly for his liking.

  Marshall? Where the hell are you? I’m calling. Oliver shot back immediately.

  Marshall closed his eyes and wished he had the mental fortitude to reply, but before he could, his phone vibrated with an incoming call.

  He could hang up, but doing so would only make things worse. Oliver deserved his respect. Marshall would not create unnecessary drama to hide the fact that he could barely function. With a shaking hand, he attempted to remove the oxygen mask again. This time, he succeeded. It fell slack around his neck.

  Mouth free to speak, he answered the call and brought the phone to his ear. “Oliver?”

  “Marshall? You sound like you were asleep.”

  “You could say that.”

  “You dropped off the face of the Earth. What the hell is going on?” Oliver didn’t sound angry—he sounded alarmed. “This is the first day we haven’t talked at all online, and… I’m worried, I guess. Can you please tell me what’s going on? Is something wrong?”

  “I was... very tired.” Marshall regretted that he had to hide the truth, but he couldn’t let Oliver know like this. He’d joined the dating site to find temporary company, not a real relationship—yet here he was. When he told Oliver about his condition, he wanted to do it face to face. Oliver deserved it. “I’m sorry if I worried you. It wasn’t my intention.”

  “Well, you did.” He imagined the frown on Oliver’s face, more concerned than it was irritated. The usual playfulness in Oliver’s voice was gone. “And at a really awful time. I... we need to have a talk, okay? Can you meet me somewhere? Like... now?”

  Marshall turned his head to the side, crushing his ear to his phone. He was hooked up to all kinds of machines, and there was an IV in his arm. Without a nurse in sight, let alone any of his doctors, he figured he wouldn’t be released at least for another few hours. “Right now isn’t a good time.”

  “Then... then tomorrow?” Oliver urged. “I just got a new job. I’ll be submitting my employee paperwork in the next few days, and I’m pretty sure I’ll be starting almost immediately. I’m not going to have much time to burn, and this is a conversation that we need to have face to face.”

  One of two conversations. Marshall closed his eyes and felt the strange pull as the sedatives did their best to knock him back out. Sleep sounded amazing. “Good. There’s something I need to talk to you about, too.”

  “Then... then it’s a date. Tomorrow. What time and where?”

  “In the morning. Eleven? There’s a cafe downtown on Crescent and Washington. Tempo.”

  “I’ll be there.” Oliver sounded nervous. “I really wish you could come out to see me today. Is there no way at all that’s happening?”

  There was a knock at the door. A nurse entered. Marshall winced. “No. Tomorrow at eleven is the soonest I can make it.”

  “Alright.”

  “I have to go, Oliver.” Marshall knew he didn’t have much time left. It was a small miracle Samantha had been able to smuggle his phone in and leave it with him overnight in the first place. “I’ll message you as soon as I can. You have my deepest apologies.”

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  The call ended. Marshall’s guilt didn’t.

  He didn’t think it ever would.

  17

  Oli

  Oli tapped at the porcelain resting against his hands with his nails. The little plastic container filled with sugar packets rattled on the table, disturbed by the way he nervously jiggled his leg. Oli couldn’t bring himself to care. There was a lot to be nervous about. A whole future to be nervous about, in fact.

  The bell above the front door jingled. Oli looked up, expecting to see Marshall, but two teenage girls waltzed in instead, giggling. Paper bags with twine handles hung from their hands, and judging by what they were wearing, Oli was pretty sure neither of them had ever had to worry about whether their next paycheck could support them, let alone an unborn maybe-baby.

  Maybe-baby. He snorted, then stilled his leg and tried to calm down. Drinking coffee probably wasn’t helping, but it wasn’t like he could default to beer. Firstly, because it wasn’t even noon yet, and secondly, because there may very well be a small life inside of him who really didn’t need the buzz.

  Oli winced.

  He wasn’t dad material. He was barely people material. What the hell had he been thinking?

  The doorbell jingled again. This time, it was Marshall. Oli lifted a hand to catch his attention, and Marshall came to sit across from him. He was in business professional, staggeringly gorgeous in his fitted suit and tasteful tie. Some of the fear Oli had been harboring abandoned ship, and he managed to collect himself to some degree. What did he have to be afraid of? Marshall was older than he was, and he was more established. If there was anyone to accidentally get knocked up by, Marshall was it. Apart from his lapse of judgment at The Shepherd, Marshall made sound decisions. Or at least, Oli was pretty sure he did. A man didn’t work downtown in a suit like that without having made some good life choices. And best of all, as a reasonable, rational human being, Marshall would approach their little problem with a level head. He’d be able to see the solution even when all seemed hopeless.

  “I... Well, I guess I should start off by saying, thank you for seeing me.” Oli offered Marshall a thin smile.

  Marshall’s eyes softened. “I will always make time to see you. Yesterday was... an exception. You have my apologies.”

  “You don’t need to apologize.” Oli went back to sliding his hands over his coffee cup. “I... god, I’m struggling to get it out.” He laughed awkwardly, which only made things worse. “You had something you wanted to say, right? So maybe it’s best if you say it first.”

  “No. You talk first. You have my full attention.” Was it sorrow in Marshall’s eyes? Oli couldn’t tell, but the way he kept his gaze downcast made Oli uncomfor
table. “What I have to say isn’t going to be easy, and I want to make sure that I don’t eclipse whatever it is you need to tell me.”

  “Oh, you’re not going to eclipse me.” Oli laughed. “Not by a long shot. Like, if you were the sun, and I was the moon, then my news is the asteroid hurtling down on a collision course with Earth, ready to start the next ice age.”

  Marshall raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

  Oli frowned. The asteroid struck. “I’m pregnant.”

  Silence.

  Oli rubbed his hands nervously against the cup, trying his best not to let himself ramble. If he started rambling, things would get awkward, and he’d end up sticking his foot in his mouth. But the longer Marshall held his silence, the more Oli wanted to start babbling.

  Marshall breathed in deeply and slowly in what Oli perceived to be a sigh, and his anxiety reached its peak. The words sprang from his lips without filter. He didn’t have a chance. “I mean, I don’t have a pregnancy test to show you, or a doctor’s diagnosis—is that a thing? Do doctors diagnose pregnancy, or is it called something else when a doctor tells you you’re pregnant?—but I mean, I’m like, ninety percent certain that it’s true. I... I thought I was on birth control, and I wasn’t, because I’m dumb. Like. Dumb dumb. But it’s only been like, what? Less than a week? I have to research it, but I think maybe we could get the morning after pill, or I could... I don’t know. I could figure out a way. I just wanted to make sure you knew, because half of the genes would be yours, right? Or the chromosomes? I need to go back to high school, because I have no clue.”

  Marshall raised his hand, palm extended toward Oli, to stop him. Oli stopped. He watched as Marshall took another deep breath. His insides squirmed. When Marshall finally spoke, it did nothing to soothe Oli’s nerves. “You think you’re pregnant?”

  “Yes.”

  “How soon can you know for sure?”

  Oli frowned. “I... I think two weeks is the earliest. I don’t know for sure. I never looked any of this up. I wasn’t planning on having kids. This isn’t exactly what I need right now. I only just got a job, and I’m drowning in debt. I can’t take care of a baby.”