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A part of me wonders if she's just trying to keep me around. Keep my attention on her. Like ignoring her the past week was drawing her back to me. But if I've learned anything the last week, it's that she's better off without me.
Where I can't ruin her life.
Letting out a huff, I know I'm going to hate myself for this. “Can you just say what it is you want to say? I have places to be.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “It's not that simple.”
“Sure it is. Your mouth forms words, and you say them,” I spit. “Just tell me.”
“Easton,” she breathes, and I'm even more sure she just wants to keep me here as long as possible.
I roll my eyes. “Fuck it, then. I've got to go.”
“I'm pregnant,” she announces, freezing up as she realizes the way she just blurted out that crucial information. “According to the doctor, about twelve weeks.”
Her words hit me right in the chest.
Pregnant.
She's pregnant.
And twelve weeks means it's mine. There's no way it can't be, unless she cheated. No. Kennedy is a lot of things, but a cheater is not one of them. That only leaves one person to be the father.
Me.
“Y-you're...”
Everything starts to spin as the reality sets in that I'm going to be a father. The nausea from my hangover builds in my throat and threatens to bubble over. I try to hold it back. Try to keep it in. But there's nothing I can do.
It all happens in a millisecond. I attempt to turn away but she puts her hand on my arm, keeping me in place as she looks at me in bewilderment.
I'm stuck.
There's nowhere to go.
Nothing I can do.
And that's when it goes wrong.
I bend over, emptying the contents of my stomach all over the ground and Kennedy's favorite pair of boots. She gasps, holding her books close to her chest and not looking down for a moment. She doesn't need to. It’s no mystery as to what just happened.
“Fuck,” I groan. “Kennedy, I am so sorry.”
“It's fine,” she snips, showing it's most definitely not fine.
As she takes a step away, I stop her. “At least let me help you clean up.”
“No,” she barks. “Trust me. You've done enough.”
With that, she practically runs back toward her dorm, not sparing so much as a glance back at me.
I fucked up again.
I TRY TO SIT through my class. I really do. But nothing the professor is saying even registers, let alone stays there. He might as well be speaking in a foreign language. The only thing I can think about is Kennedy. Granted, that's not different from most other days. That girl is always in the forefront of my mind. But the part I'm focused on today most definitely is different.
She's pregnant.
Knocked up.
