The sun makes an appearance when I step outside, and I stretch my face toward the soft, warm light. My eyes flutter closed, absorbing it the way a plant gathers energy. When I find James, he’s leaning against the building, looking at me in a way that makes me feel naked, like he’s reading every thought racing through my mind.
A scream wants to break free. But instead, I say, “Race you back!”
I don’t wait for a response. My shoes kick up snow, pulse pounding with something that has nothing to do with the cold.
At first, I hear nothing but my own breath and footfalls against the packed road. Then, although faint at first, there’s the steady sound of him chasing after me. He doesn’t pull even; instead, he stays a few strides behind. Close enough to feel his presence, far enough to give me space, understanding the doors we opened and my need to gain some distance. Maybe he needs it too.
Laughter rises in my throat as I push harder, feeling the thrill of the moment. I’m flying. Free. Having fun. No second-guessing or hesitating. It’s how I felt on the ice yesterday. For these few stolen miles, nothing else exists as we charge up the road in this unnecessary but entirely wonderful race.
As we near the cabin’s snowy drive, I hear his breathing deepen, feel his effort to close the final distance. I call over my shoulder, “Nice try, bud. You’re not catching me today.”
But as I turn, my foot catches on a patch of ice hidden beneath the snow. I lose my balance, my body sliding backward. Before I hit the ground, strong arms wrap around me, pulling me into a solid, unyielding chest.
“I’ve got you.”
His breath falls into rhythm with mine, fog curling in the frosty air between us. He leans in, mint and warmth brushing my neck, and a different kind of shiver runs through me.
My mind goes blank, and I stand there in his arms.
Breathing. Pretending. Wishing.
I feel the pull of his breath as he inhales, then the soft warmth as he releases it against my skin. My hands tighten on his jacket, and he responds by pulling me in even closer.
“Good catch.” I push away, chest heaving to suck in air.
How do I train my body to understand how inappropriate this reaction is? What was that conditioning study I learned about in undergrad psych? Pavlovian something?
My feet pound the final stretch up the icy driveway, desperate to escape. I grip the rough wooden railing on the porch and allow myself one look back at James, standing where I left him.
The elegant slope of his nose tilted toward the sky. His hand is running through his hair. His profile is painted in a beam of sunlight.
What could happen—
If these tests are negative—
If my options are wide open—
I learned long ago not to count on hope, and I don't stop until I'm inside the bathroom door locked behind me.
With trembling fingers, I pull out the pregnancy tests—several, to be sure. Before I can talk myself out of it, I unwrap them, use them one by one, and line them on the counter to develop before stepping into the shower. Hot water cascades over my skin, scalding and soothing all at once, but it does nothing to stop me from spiraling.
The absurdity of it all crashes into me, fierce and unrelenting. Who invites another man along to buy pregnancy tests? Who plays stupid games and spills truths to someone you just met, when you can’t even bring yourself to tell your closest friend?
My father’s voice echoes: “Sydney, you are an Allistair. Act as such.”
Despite the hot water, my body never warms. I don’t dare close my eyes because I know whose handsome face I’d see. The timer buzzes. All I have to do is open the door and see the results.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Steam curls as I step out of the shower and grab a towel, my eyes zeroing in on the eight undeniable pink lines.
The tests sit on the counter. Merciless in their clarity.
Pregnant.
The word echoes, deafening in the silence.
I press the heel of my palm to my chest, trying to slow the panic gathering there, but my breath comes in short, shallow bursts. Too fast. Too tight. The bathroom feels smaller with each inhale. Cold tiles bite into my knees as I collapse, pressing my head between my knees to keep sobs from escaping. They rip free anyway. I should be excited. This should mark the beginning of everything I’ve ever wanted.
