“I can’t,” I barely mumble when his confused eyes bounce between mine. “I’m sorry for leading you on, but I can’t do this,” I continue mumbling as I adjust my disfigured clothing while making a beeline for the door.
“Blaire, wait!” Colt shouts, his voice rattled with anxiety.
I pretend like I can’t hear his request as I charge onto the packed sidewalk. People eye me with curiosity as I weave past them, but thankfully, they don’t approach me. I don’t know how I'd react if they did approach me. I’ve never behaved so erratically before. But since I married Rico, my emotions have become a devastating rollercoaster ride with awe-inspiring highs and life-altering lows.
A logical reason for my pendulous moods becomes evident when my brisk strides down the sidewalk have me scrambling past a drugstore. My frantic pace slows to the speed of a tortoise when a sign blowing in the refreshing fall winds catches my eye.
Are you trying to get pregnant?
Talk to one of our specialists about the latest range of pre-natal vitamins.
“No,” I mumble to myself as my brain frantically tries to recall the last time I had my period.
My heart rate speeds up, and my palms grow damp when I fail to recall having a period since my trip to Vegas. In a trance, I stumble into the drugstore and buy one of each pregnancy test on the shelf.
“No,” I mutter for a second time when the test strip I’ve just peed on in the public restroom turns the color of Nikolai’s eyes, ensuring there's no way I can deny the results.
Oh. My. Lord.
I’m pregnant.
Chapter 34
“I’m good, thanks, Dad; how are you guys doing? Are you enjoying your trip?”
My dad sighs happily. “It’s wonderful, darling; you should consider traveling yourself. Do it while you’re young enough to enjoy it.”
Smiling, I accept my order of a rye-crusted peanut butter and jelly sandwich from a pretty lady serving behind the counter of my local bakery.
“You’re sixty, Dad; you’re not even close to being too old to travel.” I issue a silent thank you to the bakery employee before walking outside.
My dad chuckles. “True. Probably best to get as much traveling in as we can now before we get laddered down with grandbabies.”
A stab of pain strikes the middle of my chest. “Yeah, sounds like a good idea,” I push out through the tightness wrapped around my throat.
My dad has made similar jokes the past three years of my life. They never hurt until today. The handful of positive pregnancy tests I collected two weeks ago have been placed on the denial shelf in my room right alongside the divorce papers I still haven’t garnered the strength to sign.
If I’m being honest, I’ll admit I’ve been sitting on the denial shelf myself the past two weeks.
When I first went home from the drugstore, dazed and confused, I had every intention of sitting down and working out what I was going to do about mysituation.My good intentions were left for dust when I realized I didn’t have a way of contacting Rico. I don’t have his cell phone number, private address, or any personal information whatsoever. So, like all good exes, I stalked him on social media. I found nothing. Rico Popov is practically a ghost.
I’ve called the number supplied with our divorce documentation a minimum three times a day for the past two weeks. Either Erik is avoiding me just as skillfully as Rico, or his voicemail service provider isn’t passing on my messages. After exhausting all avenues, I placed the pregnancy tests onto the denial shelf in my room and went about my day-to-day life.
I’ve been forcing myself to pretend everything is fine. I’ve started teaching again; I went to the movies with Lacey twice last week, and I even managed to apologize to Colt for running out on him two weeks ago. To everyone surrounding me, I seem to have resumed my normal pre-Rico existence. It's just the empty feeling in the middle of my chest stopping me from believing the same thing.
Exhaling a deep breath, I push my phone in closer to my ear. “Listen, Dad, I have something important I need to tell you and Mom.”
“I’m listening honey,” my dad replies.
I swallow away a lump in my throat. “I’m. . .” My brows stitch when my eyes lift from the ground and I see a profile I’d never forget in a million years.
“I’ll have to call you back,” I stammer out to my dad.
Not giving him the chance to reply, I disconnect my call and pace closer to the gathering of people mingling around a dark-colored SUV. My heart is walloping against my ribcage, and nervousness slicks my skin with sweat, but I keep moving forward, more determined than ever.
“Katie?” My one word is unable to hide the hope in my voice.
When the lady with hair as molten as lava cranks her neck to the side for the quickest second, I take a step backward. It’s her. I know it is. It wouldn’t matter how many decades slip by, I’d never forget her steely blue eyes and turned-up nose.
