Page 32 of Bound Hearts

I nod. “We’ve been… sleeping together for a while now.”

“No shit.” He’s in disbelief. “Elodie hasn’t said anything.”

“Because she doesn’t know either.”

“Ah, that kind of relationship.”

Bobbing my head side to side, I don’t want to call it a beneficial relationship. That’s lacking; we have more than that.

The elevator stops, and the doors begin to glide open, but Hayes steps forward and hits the close button again, probably to give us privacy.

“Backtrack. What the fuck do you mean she doesn’t know?”

I rub my face with my palms and growl. “I’m positive she’s pregnant, but she hasn’t figured it out.”

“Again, explain in simpler terms.”

“Maybe it’s denial on her part. Either way, she hasn’t been feeling well—she’s tired, her period is late… and we fucked like crazy when she was ovulating.” I string the last sentence together at record speed.

He lets out a short laugh in disbelief. “I’m so lost.”

“You can’t tell Savannah or Elodie,” I imply he needs to promise.

He hesitates. “Fine.”

“I did something she doesn’t know,” I admit, and he leans back against the wall to listen patiently. “When we started sleeping together, I kind of saw her phone and her calendar that marks all of that stuff.”

His jaw dropped, and his eyes turned stunned. “Why the hell would you do that?”

“I kind of connected the dots, and she isn’t saying anything, so I looked the other week.”

As for the ovulation thing, it might be even worse. I secretly looked a few times. Hell, my mind probably had dates tracked.

Because that’s what scares me. The deep part of me where my subconscious lies. Even though we’ve been good about protection, it’s never 100%. I always knew that if there was ever a time for something to fail, then the likelihood of pregnancy was higher in that moment. Maybe it’s a sexual thrill or maybe I’m more sinister than I thought.

Because I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that somewhere inside of me is glad this has happened.

9

SUTTON

The party clears out, and only a few of us straggle behind to chat. Now I find myself sliding my coat off the hanger in the closet by the front door, and I feel Foster nearby. Whether he timed it or not, he’s also here to grab his coat to leave.

All afternoon, I’ve tried to avoid his gaze. Instead, I stood with my friends, faintly invested in their conversations. I pretended to sip a glass of wine and tried to discreetly avoid the snacks that Savannah raved about. Anything but tortilla chips, crackers, or carrots is not my friend right now. Her specialty cheese, which she picked up from a shop on the North Shore, was honestly hell due to the smell and had my stomach doing somersaults.

Over the last two days, I’ve finally realized that I can’t avoid it anymore what I’ve taken weeks to wrap my head around. I’m too smart, I’m not denying the signs, I’m just weighing what it all means. But today’s nausea has finally hit the signal button that there can be no more avoiding. It’s best that I see the confirmation of what I already know.

“Want me to take you home? I have my car here,” Foster offers with a soft smile. It’s always inviting and safe.

But right now, I need space. I want to stop by the drugstore and then take time to wrap my head around this before I tell Foster.

I fumble with my coat zipper and muster a thin smile. “I always forget you bring out the flashy car on weekends instead of using a driver. I’ll pass. I’ve got errands and need to get my place in order for the week.”

Disappointment flickers across his face. “Yeah, sure.” His eyes catch mine and refuse to let go—there’s something unfamiliar in them, a mood I’ve never seen in Foster before.

“I’ll see you in the office, okay?” I touch his arm to assure him, even though I’m the one on wobbly feet from nerves.

He catches my hand, weaving his fingers through mine. I glance sideways to make sure we’re alone. Our hands rest together, loose and tentative, as if he needs the contact—a silent reminder between us.