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I had to be seeing shit. I was sure of it.
But just to be positive, I reached into the bag, holding the stiff material, and I pulled it out to read the label.
Which I did again.
And again.
My gaze lowered to the brand.
The logo.
The fucking description.
“Cooper …” Rowan said from somewhere behind me.
I heard her.
But my feet wouldn’t move, the wood beneath them like quicksand. The thumping had returned to my heart, the rate this time like I’d been sprinting, the words I wanted to say stuck in my throat.
“Cooper …”
I blinked hard, making sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.
And each time they opened, I saw the same thing.
The identical words from before.
The brand.
Logo.
Description.
“Look at me,” she whispered.
She’d moved to the other side of the island, directly in front of me, the few feet of counter the only thing that separated us.
While squeezing the box with a strength that just wasn’t necessary, I gradually looked up at her.
“Rowan …” Where her air seemed to be labored, I was having a hard time breathing at all. My thoughts were all over the place, my chest suddenly a fucking mess. “Is this theeh?”
She mashed her lips together as she stared at me.
And eventually, after it seemed like a million fucking minutes had passed, she nodded.
I set the pregnancy test on the counter and flattened my hands against the cool stone. “Baby … do you have something to tell me?”
THIRTY
Rowan
“Baby … do you have something to tell me?”
As I stared at Cooper, his question swirling through my head, I was positive I was going to throw up again. Which had happened at work this morning and a second time late this afternoon. In my mind, during each heave, I’d come up with a million reasons why I felt sick.
This morning was due to the wine I’d drunk the night before. My stomach was still upset—it had to be; that was why the coffee I’d had after lunch hadn’t settled right, and it caused me to be ill again.
But those reasons didn’t explain why I’d felt sick yesterday.
