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“Are you okay?” Her voice cuts through the fog of my panic.
I nod, not trusting my voice yet. My heart is still racing, thumping hard against my rib cage, as if trying to escape the confines of my body and the reality that waits outside this small room.
“Talk to me, Brie.” Callie’s eyes search mine, brimming with worry.
The words spill out of me in a whisper, my confession hanging heavy in the air between us. “I’m scared, Callie. If my dad finds out about…about them, he’ll never forgive me.”
“Them” hangs like a code word for the impossible situation I’ve tangled myself in—Conrad, Levi, Grayson. My secret shared with three of my father’s closest friends.
“Your dad loves you,” she says softly, but her reassurance feels like a Band-aid over a bullet hole.
“Love has limits,” I reply, the tremor in my voice betraying the fear that love might not be enough to bridge the gap this truth could create. “And I might have just crossed his.”
Callie’s eyes narrow, probing, as she watches me huddle against the cold porcelain of the sink. She leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and brow furrowed with concern.
“Could you be…pregnant?” she asks, her voice a soft intrusion into my spiraling thoughts.
“No.” The word is out before I even process it—a knee-jerk denial. “I can’t be.”
“Are you sure? Because if you are…” Her sentence trails off, but the implication hangs in the air, thick and suffocating.
“Conrad, Levi, Grayson—they’re careful. We’re careful,” I insist, but my voice cracks, betraying the doubt that festers within me. My pulse quickens, each throb echoing the growing dread.
“Symptoms can slip by unnoticed,” Callie says, her practical tone slicing through my cloud of denial. “Nausea doesn’t always come from stress.”
My breath hitches. “It’s just stress. It has to be.”
“Let’s just check, okay?” She moves toward the cabinet beneath the sink, her movements deliberate.
“Callie—” My protest is weak, feeble.
“Better to know,” she insists, pulling open the door with a creak. The contents clatter slightly, bottles and boxes shifting as she rummages. She retrieves a small box—a pregnancy test—and holds it out like an olive branch or a verdict waiting to be read.
“Take it. For peace of mind,” she urges, her gaze locking onto mine.
My hand trembles as I reach out, the box feeling heavier than it should. The plastic wrapper crinkles under my fingers, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness of the bathroom.
“Okay,” I whisper, the word barely audible over the roaring in my ears. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
Gripping the test like it’s a lifeline, I rush through the instructions. My hands shake, but I manage to unwrap it. The clinical white stick feels foreign, a harbinger of a future I’m not ready to face.
“Here goes nothing,” I mutter under my breath, and Callie gives me a small nod, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and encouragement.
I do what needs to be done, my heart pounding so loud I barely hear the sound of running water. Placing the test on the bathroom counter, I feel like I’m laying down a part of me, vulnerable and exposed. I grab my phone, fingers slipping on the screen twice before I successfully set a two-minute timer.
“Okay,” I say, more to myself than to Callie. “Now we wait.”
The silence is stifling as the seconds tick by, each one stretching longer than the last. Callie leans against the sink, arms folded, watching me with eyes that try to offer comfort.
“Whatever happens, you’re not alone,” she says softly.
I nod, trying to believe it. I know Callie means well, but the thought of facing Conrad, Levi, Grayson—it twists my stomach into knots. “It’s just stress. It has to be.”
“Stress can do crazy things to your body,” Callie agrees, inching closer. “But this will clear up any doubts.”
“Right,” I breathe out, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.
My gaze flicks to the test then away, the digital clock on my phone blurring as I blink rapidly, willing the tears not to fall.
