Cutting me off, she says, “Do it, Char.”
“Um…” I turn around, scanning what’s in front of me. “The towel next to the sink,” I say, grabbing it and squeezing the material in my fist before setting it down. “The glass I just drank from. The fake succulent in my window. And, uh…the beating of my heart against my palm.”
“Three things you can hear,” she says next.
“Your voice, I hear your voice.”
“You do, that’s good. What else?”
Focusing for a moment, I let out a sigh of relief and thank the universe that we live so close together as I say, “I hear your car door shutting.”
“One more thing, babe.”
The tip of my nose stings and my vision blurs as I hear the last thing. “You knocking on my door.”
“Good job,” she offers gently. “Let me in. The door’s locked. I left in a hurry and only grabbed my key fob.”
Practically running to the door, my heart still in my throat, I switch over the deadbolt, then twist the bottom lock on the knob before pulling the door open. Georgia steps inside immediately, wrapping her arms around me as tears fall hot down my face and my shoulders shake as I break down in my best friend’s arms.
“Thank you for coming,” I mumble with my face against her chest.
Georgia rubs soothing circles over my back. “Babe, you don’t need to thank me. Of course, I’m here.” She rests her cheek against the side of my head. “What’s going on?”
Dread sinks into my gut like a lead weight. I have to tell her. She came over here, so I have to now, but Ireallydon’t want to. Telling her feels like admitting it’s real, and I don’t think I’ve gotten that far yet. But I have to tell her.
I swallow, trying to bring back some of the moisture to my throat. “I need to tell you something, but I need you to promise you won’t hate me.”
“Charley Rose Madison, there’s nothing you could do to make me hate you.”
If I wasn’t such a shitshow, I’d probably laugh at her using my full name, but it only has more tears streaming down my face, soaking into Georgia’s shirt.
“And I need you to promise you won’t tell anybody else either,” I add, my voice muffled.
“I promise.”
Taking a deep breath and ignoring the blood whooshing in my ears, I mutter, “I’m pregnant.”
Georgia tenses at first, probably wondering if she heard me right, and then she pulls back just enough to look me in the eye, her hands soft as they cup my face. “You’re pregnant. Okay. That’s certainly not something to hate you for.” Snorting, she adds teasingly, “Well, unless Fletcher’s the father.”
“It’s not Fletcher.” I huff out a chuckle through my nose and shake my head. My stomach clenches as I cast my head down, gaze focused on my hands. “It’s Graham.”
Silence.
That’s all I hear for several long seconds.
When I find the courage to look at Georgia’s face, her brows are pinched with confusion and her mouth is dropped open. After a moment, she schools her features and takes my hand, leading me farther into the house. “Alrighty, clearly, I’ve missed a few chapters, so how about you start at the beginning.” There’s no anger in her tone, and as we sit beside each other on my couch, she continues to hold my hand, placing it in her lap. “You and my brother…
How long has that been a thing?”
My face twists up as a fresh wave of tears fills my eyes. “It’s not a thing,” I mumble before telling her all about the night at the bar. The tequila, the reason we were both there, and how it led to him coming back to my house. I don’t even leave out how I cowardly bailed on him the next morning, but Idoconveniently leave out our history. I’m not ready to go there, and I don’t know if I ever will be.
When I’m finished, I say, “You can’t tell Gemma and Grace. I don’t want them to hate me.”
“Babe, why on earth do you think any of us would hate you for this?” she asks, as her brows pinch together once again. “Of course, I won’t tell them anything you don’t want me to, but I can confidently say, they—and I—don’t hate you, and we never will. What would even make you think that?”
“Because he’s your brother, and friends should never sleep with friend’s brothers, and you guys are all I have.” A hiccup comes up my throat as tears create a hot path down my face. “Growing up, you know how it was in my house. My parents constantly fought, then constantly ignored each other for weeks on end afterward. You three were what kept me going, what kept me sane when it felt like things were never going to get better.”
Georgia hands me a tissue for my wet face and runny nose. I’m a damn mess.
