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I turn, ready to head out of the bedroom, when I trip over the trash can beside the bed. It’s in a weird place and everything inside spills out onto the floor.
“Everything” in this case refers to a handful of more pregnancy tests.
My blood runs cold. How long has this been going on? You only need one, right? Or maybe not. Because each one I pick up has a different reading on it. Two plusses, one minus, and two more of those circles.
Am I supposed to be angry or amazed that one woman could have so many readings and still not feel the need to tell the man who got her here to begin with?
Two parts fury, two parts trying to grapple with the possibility of another child amid all this fuckery with Holly, I gather all the tests and go to our room.
Olivia is propped up in bed. Her hair is a sleepy mess and she has a Kindle out, reading. Her smile is radiant when she casts it onto me. “Reese?—”
“We need to talk,” I snarl, dumping the armful of tests onto the bed. “Now.”
21
OLIVIA
It’s like a mountain of bones. Okay, that’s a little dramatic, but in my defense, it’s a dramatic situation.
The white- and pale-toned plastic tests look so innocent, but I know the truth. They’re nailing the lid on the coffin I’ve found myself in.
“I… I…”
“Is this why Quinn was here yesterday?” he presses. There’s tension and betrayal in Reese’s voice. “Is this why you’re sick? Are you fucking pregnant, Olivia?”
His questions come rapid-fire, one after the other. I don’t say a word. How do I answer him? He doesn’t understand. Reese will never understand the terror and wonder and uncertainty that comes with something like this. He can’t. No man can.
“I didn’t think about it until I realized I’d missed my period,” I stutter out. “Quinn was already at the pharmacy, so I texted her for soup and then, when I realized, that’s when I asked her…”
“But you didn’t think to ask me? You didn’t even bother to tell me when I came home. Were you ever going to? I found these in the fucking trash, goddammit!”
With every new word, his voice raises. But somehow, the anger gets less and less. Now, it’s hurt that takes the place of his shaking rage.
“Were you just going to run away with my kid? Like Holly, or whoever the fuck Violet’s mother might be?”
“I would never do that!” I protest. “I know it looks bad, but that’s not who I am!”
“Then what do these mean, Olivia?” He thrusts his hand toward the tests.
“I don’t know!” My voice is a snap. High. Scared. Uncertain. “I don’t know! There’s three different results! So I don’t know. It probably means I’m not.”
“‘Probably’?”
“I don’t know,” I repeat. “I don’t know.”
My voice wavers. No, no. Don’t start crying! Not right now!
My internal warnings don’t do anything to stop the tears from flowing. No matter how much I try to scrub them from my face, they keep coming and coming and coming, relentless and cruel.
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do?—”
Suddenly, the bed dips. Reese wraps his arms around me. He pulls me into his chest and holds me there, rocking me through my sobs.
“I don’t know if I’m pregnant,” I whimper. “I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you. I couldn’t handle one more thing on top of you being married, and all these feelings that I can’t control?—”
“Shh.” He tips my head to look up at him. “I might have some news that’ll make that bit a little better?”
“What could you possibly say that would make you being a married man better?”
