“I know. I know. It doesn’t make sense, but it’s—”
“How? Tell mehow,Tay.” I swipe an arm through the air, pure frustration boiling out of me.
She shrugs frantically.
“Dunno. Maybe the condom broke? I’m on the pill, too, but maybe—” Her nostrils flare.
I have a terrible feeling I’m supposed to be comforting her or something, but all I can think is that she shouldn’t be having a baby.
I know I damn sure shouldn’t.
She can’t be pregnant and this can’t be happening!
“Ethan.” Her voice breaks around my name and her hand falls, then curls into a fist.
Her nails are chewed down, the color from her last manicure faded.
I never liked her nails much.
Always wanted her to use her mouth instead of her hands on my cock for that reason, because she always went for blinding bright colors and fake extensions that were too long.
None of my thoughts make sense. I feel like she just punched me in the nose and I’m reeling.
This is my fault too.
Because I’m the idiot who fucked her a few too many times, but I can’t bring myself to say any of the right things.
I’m too young. Too dumb. Too shell-shocked.
Be nice.That’s what Margot keeps telling me, and it might go a long way here.
But right now in my moody punkass brain, I don’t have the neural connections for kindness.
Taylor looks up at me, her expression shuttered. She looks like she’s ready to flee all over again.
Maybe I’m glaring or scowling or my jaw’s falling off, I can’t tell.
Everything goes numb.
“I need time,” I bite off, forcing the words out. “To think, to sort this out.”
She takes a step back.
Her flip-flops gently slap the wood.
Whatever she hoped for—a hug, a promise, an answer to how we can possibly unfuck our lives—it isn’t coming.
“Time?” She stares at me, her lips trembling so brokenly again. “Jesus, I knew this was stupid. Goodbye!” she rushes out, her face breaking into hot, messy tears again.
Then she’s gone.
And I’m alone on this dock in the creeping darkness with the damning knowledge I’m going to be a father.
It takes me hours to move, like I’ve been made one with the wooden boards under my feet.
When I finally do, I skip dinner, go straight to bed, and stare at the ceiling until morning, trying to wrap my head around the end of my world as I know it.
Way to go, shitbrains.
