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ONE
SHELLY
A blockfrom Devlyn’s house, I pull over and throw the car in park. Tears spill from my eyes in a violent torrent of pain and confusion. Every muscle in me aches with agony.
I’m pregnant. No. No, no, no. What the hell am I going to do? What the hellamI doing?
I stare out the windshield with blurred vision and try to collect myself. Try to slow the tears and quiet my irrational mind. Try to stop the convulsive sobs crawling up my throat and spilling from my lips. I close my eyes and shut out the chaos whirling in my head. Eviscerate the words likeruinandover.
Swiping at my eyes, I wipe away the tears and look in the rearview mirror. Stare down the street behind me as a new version of panic squeezes my heart. As new found alarm constricts my airway.
Devlyn.
“What have I done?” I whisper in the cab of my car.
Understandably, he went into shock with the news. So did I. Where he went completely still and utterly speechless, I went into full-on hysteria. My brain short-circuited and I made irrational decisions in the heat of the moment, undoubtedly hurting him.
What have I done?
I steer the Beetle into the next driveway, back out then drive back to Devlyn’s house. The small neighborhood block feels miles long as I roll closer and closer. Two houses away, I swipe my cheeks dry and take a deep breath. When I pull into the driveway, I am definitely not prepared for what I see next. Devlyn curled into a tight ball, knees crushed to his chest, and head tucked as he rocks back and forth.
I press the heel of my palm to my chest as the pain beneath my breastbone kicks up to level ten.
Cutting the engine, I bolt from the car and run to his side. Drop down in front of him and gingerly lay a hand on his head. Lightly comb my fingers through his hair and hover over his bundled frame. “Devlyn,” I whisper. His tempo and erratic rocking don’t pause, so I try again and with more volume. “Devlyn.”
He startles on the second call of his name. The constant shaking of his body stops. His head lifts and I am stabbed in the heart by the pain in his puffy, red eyes. The way he regards me, rakes his eyes over the lines of my face, it’s as if he is unsure I am real or a figment of his imagination.
I add more weight to my touch on his head and in his hair. Slide my hand slowly down the side of his face. Wiggle my fingers in his hair and scratch them along his scalp. When my palm cups his cheek, he leans his weight into my hand. Closes his eyes. Inhales deeply and holds the breath in his lungs for three of my breaths.
When his eyes reopen, he scrambles forward and wraps me in his arms. “You can’t go,” he mumbles in my ear, voice strained and raw. “I need you.” He hugs me tighter to his chest and kisses my neck. Takes another deep breath and sighs heavily. “Please stay.”
My arms squeeze him impossibly tighter as my fingers roam his hair and my lips kiss his shoulder. “Let’s go back inside.” I lean back and frame his face in my hands. Hold his turbulent gaze as tears blur my vision. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking rationally.” My lips press to his, again and again. “So, so sorry.”
On unsteady legs, we rise from the pavement and wander back into the house. Devlyn’s hand firmly holds mine as we wind our way to the living room and sit on the couch. He inches closer until it’s difficult to tell where I end and he begins.
“Do you want a drink? Maybe some tea or water or juice,” he suggests, tone antsy.
A fresh layer of guilt washes over me. I hate that my first instinct was to run away. To abandon Devlyn. What kind of person does that?You were scared and so was he. And you both process fear differently.Internally, I hang my head and berate myself.
“Some tea would be nice,” I whisper, and he nods. Then he is off the couch and dashing to the kitchen.
While Devlyn prepares us drinks, I mull over what to say when he reenters the room. I feel the need to apologize until I lose my voice. My actions were spontaneous and foolish, but my head was—is—a scrambled mess. And when I said the words aloud—I’m pregnant—Devlyn froze, then thawed, only to freeze again. I went from panicked to unreasonably hysterical in a heartbeat.
So I bolted.
But I can’t run away from this, from us. Devlyn or our unborn child. It may be unplanned, it may throw both of our worlds completely off-balance, but that doesn’t change anything.
I lay a hand over my still flat belly, close my eyes and take a deep breath. Tell myself it will be okay. That it will all work out. That everything happens when it is meant to.
When my eyes open, I consider how to broach the conversation again. This time with calmer heads and less anxiety. Hopefully.
I am—we are—pregnant and we will be parents before the end of the year. A baby… Devlyn and I are going to have a baby. Another human to love and nurture.
Mentally, I laugh at myself. Leave it to us—the fumbling virgin and almost virgin—to mess up condom usage.
Regardless, it is done. Neither of us can change the past. All we can do now is prepare for the future. But what does that future look like?
Devlyn wanders back into the living room with a mug in each hand. He sets them both on the table, drops next to me on the couch, and wraps me in his arms again. Eliminates every ounce of space between us with a fierce hug. Holds me like he fears I will bolt for the door once more.
