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“What’s wrong?”
His question rings with frustration, but I take the elevator and enter the first drugstore on the corner and buy three pregnancy tests.
Please, let it be positive.
Giddiness bubbles inside me, shoving away any thoughts of how Damien will literally lose it if I’m pregnant. When I step inside the apartment, he waits with his arms crossed and his back at the window. His eyes demand an answer to my behavior, but I slide through the living room and close myself in the bathroom. Damien paces the floor, firing a hundred questions at me, while I sit on the toilet, dangling a leg in the air, fidgeting. My eyes trail from one pregnancy test to the next, hoping, dreaming, forever wishing. When the display changes into “you’re pregnant” I jump up and squeal. He yanks the door open and storms inside.
“Baby, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”
I freeze with the pregnancy test in my hand. Damien notices it, a grim shadow of comprehension crosses his face, but still asks, “What’s that?”
“It’s . . . well . . .”
He runs his hands through his hair, cussing.
“When was the last time you had your period?”
“Before our honeymoon.”
His back hits the wall, and I stare at his chest, avoiding his eyes, trying to understand what I feel as he interrogates me.
“Did you or did you not take your pill?”
I raise my hands and turn my back at him, closing my eyes.
“I forgot, Damien. It wasn’t on purpose . . . There was just so much going on with Quinn’s hospitalization, then his death and coping.”
“Yet, when you took your heart medicine every day, you didn’t think to take your pill?” Frustration and anger mix in his voice.
“I must have forgotten the pack on the island and then . . . with everything that happened . . . I’m sorry.” I half stammer, but as I say it, I realize I’m not sorry. Resolve sizzles inside me as I sway on my heels and poke him in the chest. “Actually, I’m not sorry. I am not sorry at all.” He sighs and drags a hand down his face.
“Is that a pregnancy test?”
“Yes.”
“What does it say?” he asks through a gulp, sheer terror etched in his eyes.
“I’m pregnant. Congratulations, you’re gonna be a daddy!” He drags a lungful of air, shutting his eyes.
“Fuck.”
“Yes, that is how babies are made.”
He pulls at his hair and storms away while I drop down on the toilet seat. The front door opens and shuts behind him. I rest my cheek in my hand, staring into nothingness.
I scramble up and walk to over to Alex’s. The last months bound us together even more. We will forever be a family. One dark night, he confided in me about him and Liam, their time as they gathered, sold, and used intel. They played power games with people from leading businessmen to political figures, changing the game if needed. Always behind the scenes, building an operation of sellers and buyers, all high-profile contacts.
I let myself in and step inside his home office, finding him immersed in his work and knock. He lifts his gaze from the desktop and shoots up from his chair.
“Bria, what is it?”
I show him the stick, and realization dawns on him as he drops back in his chair, scratching his chin.
“You’re pregnant.”
“Congratulations, you’re going to be an uncle.”
His mouth hangs, and he says, “I guess Damien knows?”
