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The accusation in his voice made hers go shrill. “A woman who’s been celibate for five years and can’t afford an unnecessary prescription. What kind of question is that?”
“Shit. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He was frantic now, tossing the condom to the side and raking his hands through his hair. “It’s just—shit. Okay, we’re still all right. They have those morning-after pills, right? I can go to the pharmacy and get you some. I can go right now.”
He jumped up to pull on his jeans, his movements jerky.
But Oakley could only wrap her arms around herself, the room and moment moving too fast around her. She closed her eyes, trying to calm down. She could get pregnant. Pregnant.
Eleven years later and she was facing this blow-your-world-up thing again. She couldn’t get pregnant. She was almost thirty. Pike was a fling. She was alone. She had a daughter she struggled to support already. She could not get pregnant.
“I’ll be back in less than half an hour,” Pike said, pulling on his shirt. “Just take a breath. It’s going to be all right. You go shower, and I’ll go to the store.” He walked to the side of the bed and leaned over to kiss her quickly. He touched his forehead to hers, his hand trembling where he held her face. “We’re all right, mama. These things happen. We can fix this.”
Fix this.
They were words Liam had said to her once upon a time.
Fixing that would’ve meant not having Reagan.
Her insides wanted to fold in on themselves. She couldn’t form words.
Pike was out the door before she even had the chance.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Pike had to go to three stores before he found what he needed, and by the time he got in the car with the package in his hand, he was sweating and felt like he was going to vomit. He leaned his head back against the seat and tried to rein himself in.
This didn’t have to be a big deal. Condoms break. Shit happens. That’s why there were backup plans. Hell, he was probably freaking out over nothing anyway. The chances of Oakley getting pregnant from one encounter were probably low. And this pill would be the safety net. But he still had this sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t get the look Oakley had on her face when he left out of his head. She’d looked … traumatized. And he’d hightailed it out of there like his ass was on fire.
Smooth. Real smooth. But he’d had a knee-jerk reaction. He was always so careful with women. He’d been warned early on in his career that some girls would take advantage of guys in his position by getting “accidentally” pregnant and then asking for money. And he’d certainly seen enough unplanned children in his own household growing up. The thought of it happening to him had sent sirens going off in his head. His reaction had been panicked and automatic.
He just needed to get back to Oakley and everything would be fine. He’d apologize for his reaction. They would handle it and move on.
But when he knocked on the door to Oakley’s place, drugstore bag in his hand, Reagan was the one who answered the door. Her hair was sticking up on end, but she’d changed out of her clothes from last night into pajama pants and a Tegan and Sara T-shirt. “Hey, Mr. Pike. What are you doing here?”
He tried to school his expression into a jovial one. “Just wanted to stop by and see how you and the bionic arm were doing.”
She raised her arm. “I’m okay. But I won’t be able to play guitar for the Bluebonnet songs. Mom says I’m going to have to get a cast for a long time. It’s not fair.”
“That does stink, kiddo. But I bet we can find some job for you in the group.”
She huffed a world-weary sigh. “I guess so.”
“Where
’s your mom?” he asked, hoping his voice didn’t sound as tense as he felt.
“Making farm breakfast. You want some? You should. It’s really good.” She gave a sage nod of her little head.
“Sure.” He gripped the bag at his side and walked with Reagan to the kitchen. “What’s farm breakfast?”
“All the yummy stuff. Bacon. Eggs. Cheese grits. She makes it every Sunday morning. No cereal allowed.”
“Sounds great.”
When they entered the kitchen, Oakley was at the stove, sporting jeans and a long-sleeved blue T-shirt. Her hair was drying in waves down her back, her feet were bare. From the outside looking in, she appeared totally at ease. A mom cooking breakfast on a slow Sunday morning. But when she turned and met his eyes, he could tell she was anything but. Worry sat heavy in her gaze. “Hey.”
“Can Mr. Pike stay for breakfast, Mom?”
Oakley’s attention shifted to her daughter. She gave her a tight smile. “Sure, baby.” She turned her back to Pike, her hand stirring, stirring, stirring whatever was in the pan. “You like your eggs over easy or scrambled, Pike?”
“Either’s fine for me. Do you need any help?”
