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I woke up to my period which didn’t surprise me. The signs and symptoms that it was coming have been torturing me for days. I still took a test because I was trying to convince myself that it was implantation bleeding like the books I’ve been reading suggested.
Despite knowing better, the single line on the test was the breaking point. I sobbed in the bathroom for so long, I missed the timer for the oven, and now I’ll only have three flavors of cupcakes until I can manage to get the batter for something else made and in the oven. With the pity party I can’t seem to pullmyself out of, I’ve considered just keeping the front door locked and going home, but the idea of disappointing anyone in town makes me sob even harder.
As if she knows I need her, Madison’s name flashes on my phone screen.
I press the button, allowing the phone to connect, but I can’t seem to manage a word.
“Ads?”
I sniffle once again, suddenly feeling like a fool for being so upset.
I think I wished this into happening.
The last two weeks have been brutal. I haven’t seen Cash since the dinner at Dad’s house over a week ago. The texts between us have been few and far between. I tried to create distance between the two of us, thinking that maybe a reset would be best. I needed things to go back to the way they were before because I missed him so much. I argued with myself that hopefully I wasn’t pregnant, so there wouldn’t be anything between us that made it awkward.
Then my period arrived, and the negative pregnancy test confirmed my suspicions. Only now, I have to accept that the damage has already been done, and there’s no going back. What happened between Cash and me isn’t something you can just ignore for a few weeks.
“Ads?”
“I’m not pregnant,” I manage on a sputter of pain and regret.
Her silence is everything. It tells me that she doesn’t know what to say, and that speaks of the loss I’m currently feeling. I was at a loss for words when tragedy struck our sleepy little town a while back. Seeking revenge on something that had nothing to do with Lindell, gunmen showed up and shot up McKenna and Kalen Alexander’s wedding reception in the town square.Chase’s mother was killed as was Walker’s twin brother. There were no words that helped anyone after that. That day nearly made Cash quit his job. He spoke to me about feeling helpless, that if someone else, someone better than him, had been the police chief, that maybe things would’ve been different.
It didn’t help to explain to him that Cerberus, an elite team of men from New Mexico, were here and two people from our community were lost anyway. There was no blame spread around other than putting it right where it was due, and that was on the men who came to rip our town apart. No one in Lindell blamed Cash for what happened that day, not even Walker and Harper who lost their brother. I’ve never once noticed any sort of hard feelings between Chase and Cash either.
“Oh, honey,” she finally says. I hate the pity in her voice even though I’ve been feeling nothing but that for myself these last couple of hours.
“If I were in town, I’d be there in a flash to hug your neck.”
“I’m going to lose him,” I confess, another sob racking my body. “I never should’ve—”
“We won’t have that, Adalynn Tate. This is a minor setback. That’s all. Lots of people don’t get pregnant the first month they try.”
Silent tears roll down my cheeks, as guilt swims inside of me.
My first instinct is to remind her that she got pregnant exceptionally easy but punishing her for what my body didn’t do makes no sense. The jealousy I feel threatens to make me ill. I’m not normally a person who wastes time on envy. If there’s something I want, then I make it happen. It’s why I started researching fertility methods in the first place.
“You’re not in town?” I ask instead.
“We took a little impromptu trip to Padre,” she explains. “I mentioned it last week.”
“That’s right,” I say, even though I can’t recall having that conversation with her. I haven’t exactly been myself the last couple of weeks.
The timer for the oven goes off, giving me the perfect excuse to get off the phone.
“We’ll talk when you get back. I have cupcakes to pull.”
“You’re sure you don’t need me? I’ll have Chase bring me home.”
“I’ll be fine,” I assure her.
“Call me if you change your mind.”
“I will,” I promise before ending the call.
Muscle memory carries me across the kitchen, and it’s the only thing I can rely on right now. I wasted the time I needed to use to make the icing, on crying and feeling inadequate and pathetic, so I’m even more behind.
An hour later, my kitchen is a mess and I’m only fractionally doing better.
