Page 212 of Always: A Legacy Novel

Her knee jumped as she counted seconds in her head. Fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five …

Two minutes, the box said.

One line, negative.

Two lines, pregnant.

Her phone stopped buzzing, and then started ringing right after. Cross’s ringtone, his familiar tune. She was too numb to reach for it, and too frozen in place.

One pink line had lit up the test instantly.

The other, she was still waiting.

Catherine tapped the test against the palm of her hand, lost in her thoughts. She didn’t even hear the footsteps echoing throughout the penthouse until a form darkened the bathroom doorway. Cross stared down at Catherine, his gaze darting to the test in her hand, and then to her face.

She wished she wasn’t so numb right then.

She wished she wasn’t so fucked up in her head.

She wished she didn’t need anxiety, depression, and someone else’s medication to get her out of bed in the morning. She wished she didn’t need wine and sleeping pills to get to bed at night. She wished her hands didn’t shake if she didn’t pop back at least twenty pills before supper, and that she wasn’t up to a bottle of wine a day. Just having her older friends constantly buying her alcohol was starting to get troublesome because they were starting to take note of how often she needed them to pick it up for her.

She didn’t know how she had gotten to this place in just a couple of months’ time. She didn’t know it got this bad so fast, or how she was supposed to fix it.

“You weren’t answering me,” Cross said, “so I came home.”

Catherine shrugged helplessly.

Because she was.

Helpless.

Messed up.

Depressed.

Ruined.

“Cross—”

The words wouldn’t come.

Tell him.

Tell him, tell him, tell him!

Catherine started crying instead.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmured, closing the distance between them. He was on his knees in a blink, and his hands were on her. She didn’t feel so numb when he touched her. “Jesus, don’t cry, Catherine. It kills me inside. Don’t cry, my girl.”

Sweet, soft kisses dotted over her cheeks, her jaw, and her lips. His hands, never hurting, never hurtful, cupped her cheeks, while his thumbs stroked her skin. He wiped away her tears, and she breathed again.

“I’m so messed up, Cross,” she mumbled.

“Nah, Catty, this isn’t a big deal.”

“Not this—not us.”

“So we’re eighteen and twenty, who fucking cares? It’ll be fine.”