I like him.
Quinn Garrison is going to be my downfall.
I’m in trouble.
It’s Thursday, and I most definitely should have started my period by now.
That can only mean one thing.
I don’t know how I made it through the day with this weighing heavily on my mind, but I managed. Now, I’m driving to North Ridge, a short twenty-minute drive from Cooper Town, to hit the Target near the highway. Why? Because what I need to purchase should not come from the local pharmacy. Not with my bestie working there and not with eyes all around that would no doubt spot my purchase.
Once I have the test secured—a two pack, just in case I mess up the first one—I make my way back to my condo. There’s a slight tremble to my hand as I drive along, anxious and scared all at the same time.
I don’t know how this happened.
I mean, I knowhowit happened, but what I don’t understand is why. I’m on the pill and have faithfully taken it since I was sixteen years old. I haven’t missed a day in years, even when I was sick a few weeks ago.
Parking in my garage, I get out and head inside with my purchase in hand. My legs feel heavy, like an inmate walking on death row, which sounds completely dramatic, even for me.
With an exhale, I stop by the kitchen and grab a bottle of water. I chug half the contents, making sure my bladder has the necessary fluids in it to achieve maximum stick peeage.
A big part of me wants to drag my feet. I mean, if I don’t take the test, it’s not positive, right? But I know that won’t cut the mustard, because now the seed is planted, I have to know. It’s the only thing that makes sense, and if I’m pregnant, I want to know now.
What happens after that can wait for a bit.
I head for the bathroom and remove the tests from the bag. I read over the instructions, noting how foolproof it seems to be.I mean, pee on a stick, replace the cap, set it on the counter, and wait. Seems pretty straightforward, but that doesn’t stop me from reading the directions a second time.
Then, I grab a stick and do my business.
When I replace the cap and set the used test on a strip of toilet paper on the vanity, I take a step back and try to breathe normally. My heart is pounding so loud, I’m sure the neighbors can hear it through the walls.
It says results can take three minutes, but when I check my watch and note it’s been about sixty seconds, I go ahead and glance at the test anyway. That’s when everything inside me seizes up. My heart stops beating, my lungs stop moving oxygen, my brain doesn’t seem to process anything but that single word in the display screen.
Pregnant.
Tears fill my eyes as the implications of this moment hit hard.
I’m going to have a baby.
“Holy shit,” I mutter, doing everything I can to wrap my head around this monumental moment. My hands shake as I pick up the test and reread the display. In a third of the time suggested for the pee to do its thing in the test, it confirmed what I’ve already known at heart.
I’m pregnant.
With Quinn’s baby.
I already know he’s the father, because there has been no one else in recent months, let alone the last couple or so weeks. What I don’t get is how? Yes, we had unprotected sex, but I’m taking the pill. The entire time I dated Richard, we didn’t use contraceptives and never got pregnant. The pill did what the pill was designed to do.
I toss the test in the trash and wash my shaky hands. When they’re dry, I grab my phone and stare at the screen. There aretwo people I want to call right now. My mom is the first person. She’d know what to do, and while I know there’d be no judgment from her, I know she’d want to know who the father is. And I’m just not ready to tackle that particular conversation yet.
So, instead, I tap my ride or die’s name.
Me
911 emergency. I need you.
Her response comes almost immediately.
Sommer
