Page 17 of Afterglow

I tap her address and pull up directions, keeping as much of my focus on the road as I can. But really, my attention lies solely with the woman at the end of this drive. The woman I’ve spent too much time thinking about lately. The woman who’s apparently carrying my child.

Pregnant pregnant pregnant.

Twenty minutes.

Twenty more minutes and I can see her.

I pull up in front of Leanne’s pristine white house, in its quintessential family neighborhood, and it brings our differences into sharp relief.

She’s a city girl—even if that city is Bozeman. I’m country through and through. Polar opposites. Nothing in common aside from an alarmingly intense mutual attraction.

Well… nothing in common until now.

Pregnant pregnant pregnant.

Fuck.

I reach for the bag sitting in the passenger seat—one containing crackers, ginger ale, and peanut butter.

Despite every fiber of my being wanting to get here as fast as possible, I couldn’t pass the store without stopping. A tightening under my sternum propels the air from my lungs as memories bombard me. Memories of buying these same items for someone else—for Sarah.

I press a hand against my chest and blow out a breath. I can’t think about her right now.

When I lift my head, Leanne’s form takes shape in her doorway, and it clears my mind. Her lips form a hard line as I throw open my truck door. She looks poised for a fight, but the wariness underneath draws me up short. That and the paleness of her skin, the dark circles under her beautiful hazel eyes, the way she leans into the door frame, and how she looks thinner than I remember.

Before I make it more than two steps toward the house, she starts in on me. “You can’t just demand to know someone’s address and then hang up on them. You can’t just show up like this. You can’t—”

“Yes. I can,” I interrupt, then jog up the front steps, my boots clunking against the boards. We’re only a foot apart, and though she squares her shoulders and lifts her chin in defiance, the fight is already going out of her. She looks so fucking tired, and it kills me.

She also looks like she could use a hug, but I doubt she’d welcome my touch right now.

I clear my throat and lift the bag in my hand, indicating with it. “Wanna invite me in, or did you want to discuss this here on the porch?” I glance around and clock a few people out in their yards—a family playing catch down the street, her neighbor on the other side preparing to mow his lawn.

She releases an exasperated sigh and nudges the door open behind her with an eye roll.

“You didn’t have to rush over here,” she huffs when I walk past her into the entryway.

Did I not?

It’s not like I had some grand plan for this moment. I just knew I had to see her. “We need to talk.”

She closes the door with a snap and I turn.

“We were talking. You hung up on me.” She crosses her arms over her chest, her protective stance that I remember all too well.

“I… Okay, yeah, I probably shouldn’t have done that. But you don’t think maybe this deserves a face-to-face conversation?”

She drops her hands so they’re clasped in front of her, fingers twining together with nervous energy. A torrent of emotion is still rioting in my chest—in my head—and I’m so close to being swept away in its tidal wave, but all of that begins to quiet at seeing her like this. Both defeated and keyed up for a fight—likely because she thinks that’s why I’m here.

She has no idea.

But why would she? I rushed over without hardly saying a word, and most of our past interactions—mind-blowing sex aside—weren’t what you’d call positive.

But I don’t want to fight.

She speaks to her hands. “I-I didn’t intend on blurting it out like I did. You calling took me by surprise.”

“You called me first, Leanne,” I say, exasperated.