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Avoid grapefruit and its juices, antibiotics make it less effective, and take it at the same time. Every day.
I was not one to scare easily.
I’d been in multiple situations where I should’ve been scared. On a yacht in the middle of international waters with a Saudi Prince that for a hot minute didn’t seem like he was taking my refusal to marry him very well. I’d been in one minor plane crash. Had been stuck at an American embassy in Laos without a passport and in a whole load of shit.
Yet I’d never been as utterly terrified as I was right now, jonesing for a fucking cocktail or a Valium or something to take the edge off. But the reason for this fear, for the queasiness in my stomach, was the same reason I couldn’t indulge in drugs or alcohol.
I had to face this sober.
Face him sober.
He wouldn’t hurt me, of course. I knew that much. Karson wouldn’t dream of hurting me. He loved me. In a crazy, jump in front of a bullet for me, type of way. I felt the intensity of it in my every cell, while I was fucking sleeping. Sleeping with his strong arms wrapped around me.
I knew that I loved him with the same intensity that he loved me.
But loving someone, fucking them every moment possible, sleeping together, trying to inject ourselves into each other’s veins, was quite different than raising a child with them.
I was afraid of what this would do to our relationship. The life we had only just created. The lifestyle I was used to. And yes, because I was a vain piece of shit, I was worried about what it would do to my body. Not having control over such major changes filled me with crippling panic.
But then visions of a child with dark hair and Karson’s eyes entered my mind, and the panic subdued somewhat. It didn’t disappear. Couldn’t disappear, not with my past. But I could breathe around the panic.
I was at Karson’s cottage, waiting.
It was just after midnight. I hoped he’d be home soon. He didn’t exactly keep regular hours, but I didn’t either, so it worked for us. I’d never once texted him, asking what time he’d be home because I had dinner waiting or whatever the fuck.
Well, once when I was really horny, I had sent him a video of me and my vibrator, telling him that I was going to start without him if he took much longer. He’d been home less than an hour later, yelling at me about putting videos of me doing that shit out into the world.
Then he’d fucked me well and good.
Short of sending him a picture of one of the ten pregnancy tests I’d taken this evening, I just had to wait. This wasn’t something you told someone over text. Especially when I didn’t know how he would react. He might take it out on someone who didn’t deserve it.
We had not talked about children. Or our future in general. He’d said that I was his until his last heartbeat, so I assumed we were in this forever. I’d only very barely gotten used to that, especially with that damn premonition haunting me. The same premonition that I’d heard as soon as that second line popped up. I’d done very well at ignoring that, as the present was rather pressing, and a repressed past was easily pushed away.
Karson did not strike me as a man who was anxious to be a father. Not with all his demons. Not with his lifestyle.
Which was why I was pacing around his house, unable to sit still. I picked at some charcuterie then I remembered that I’d heard somewhere that pregnant women weren’t allowed charcuterie. I groaned out loud, thinking of all the rules I’d have to live by for the next nine months.
That was not enough to distract me, to calm my nerves. I was ready to explode by the time Karson’s headlights illuminated the room. Suddenly, my palms started sweating, my heart fluttering like a hummingbird in my chest, my breath shallow.
I was unfamiliar with all of these symptoms. I worried for a second that I was having some kind of heart attack.
I didn’t worry for too long since the second Karson opened the door, I fainted.
Yeah, like full on movie style fainted.
The next thing I knew, I was in the arms of a very muscular, very concerned looking man.
“Wren.” His voice was more urgent and serious than I’d ever heard it.
As he came into focus, I gazed into those icy eyes shrouded with worry. All of the nerves, all of the worry that had literally caused me to pass out were nowhere to be found.
“Baby,” he said softer, stroking my face. “I need you to tell me if you can hear me.”
“I’m pregnant,” I blurted.
He stared at me. Just stared. In shock. I’d never seen Karson lost for words before. Then again, I’d just fainted in front of him, and the first words I’d said were ‘I’m pregnant.’ Surely, my badass was prepared for a hail of bullets or commandos storming the house at any minute, but not his girlfriend—the one on birth control—telling him she was pregnant.
The next thing I knew, I was up in his arms, and he was striding toward the still open front door.
