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I should be grateful that he’s stepping up.
But for some reason, I just feel hollow, because I know that unless I keep this baby, he’s gonna walk on out of my life as soon as it’s gone.
And that’s not a great reason to keep it, right?
It’s not like we’re gonna play happy family once the kid pops out. It’ll be him visiting every now and again while I deal with night feeds and poopy diapers and a screaming baby.
My heart starts to race, short breaths punching out of me as I picture my future alone, or living with my parents, as I deal with single motherhood.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I force myself to consider the alternative, but the idea of sitting on some sterile bed while a baby is scraped out of my womb is just as horrifying.
I guess I could always give it up for adoption.
My stomach drops, my insides running cold. Do I really want to do that to a kid? Give them away just after they’re born so they spend their whole life knowing that the person who should have wanted them the most didn’t?
That’s harsh. I know it’s harsh. People give their babies up with the best of intentions. Logically, I get it.
But when you’re the kid who was given up as soon as you popped out, it’s sometimes hard to convince yourself that you weren’t discarded as an inconvenience.
CHAPTER 12
CASEY
My fingers were shaking so badly when I was trying to fill in that booking form. Caroline didn’t seem to notice. Getting answers out of her—like her last name and birth date, so I could fill in the damn form—was a mission. She had this lost, distant look on her face and seemed more and more miserable the longer it went on.
In the end, I had to snap her out of it.
Like literally. I had to snap my fingers in front of her face to get her attention.
She jolted, her eyes popping wide as she mumbled, “I gotta go.”
“No, wait.” I chased her out of the library, not letting up until she’d acknowledge what time her appointment was.
Shit, she better be here.
I stroll down the corridor, looking at room numbers until I reach the end of the row and stop outside the one she texted to me.
She’s on the third floor of Huxley Hall. It’s pretty nice. Way better than the dorm I started out in my freshman year. Thank fuck for Hockey House.
Sucking in a breath, I hold it while I knock, then release it when I hear shuffling behind the door. It cracks open, and I’m met with a brown gaze that’s borderline hostile. No, you know what? It’s not even borderline. It’s just plain hostile.
“Hey.” I force a smile, raising my hand in a wave. “Is Caroline here?”
The girl with pale brown skin and a smattering of dark freckles over her nose continues to stare me down until I’m shifting from foot to foot. This is awkward as fuck.
“Lani, would you let him in, please?” Caroline’s voice from within the room eases the tightness in my chest.
With a little huff, the woman opens the door. “Come on in, sperm bank.”
I give her a little side-eye, and as wide of a berth as I can, while I move sideways through the door and step into a room pristine on one side and a chaotic mess on the other.
My lips twitch with a grin as Caroline comes out of the bathroom and stops by the mountain of clothes on her unmade bed. Her hair is wet but starting to curl, the dark orange becoming the bright, vibrant color that caught my eye the first time I met her.
“Hey.” I raise my chin.
“Hi.” She gives me a twitchy smile before riffling through her pile. “Where’s my blue sweater?”
“The one with the pockets or the turtleneck?” Lani steps forward to help her.
