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I know she's trying to make a joke, but it's not a matter I find funny. So I stay quiet, clenching my jaw, trying to push down more of my past I thought I had forgotten about, yet only feeling the sting.
Her eyes widen, and she jerks her head back. Her face falls as she asks, "You think I would've gotten rid of our baby?"
My mouth turns dry. I try to inhale some fresh air into my lungs, but it's not working. I feel suffocated, yet I know there can't be lies between us anymore. So I answer her, "I don't know. Would you have?"
Horror fills her expression. In an insulted tone, she seethes, "Why would you ever think I would do that?"
I cringe. I'm making more mistakes and should have avoided bringing this up. It's been nagging me ever since I found that box under the cabinet, but I should have shut my mouth. I don't know what I was thinking. Yet now I'm in this conversation, so I state, "I would hope not."
She stares at me with anger growing on her face. Then she snaps, "Why would you think I'd make a decision like that and not even talk to you about it? And how could that even cross your mind?"
I curse myself again for bringing this up.
"Riggs, don't you dare go silent on me right now," she demands.
My stomach flips again. I release a tense breath and decide to fess up. Choosing the right words isn't easy, but I admit, "I'm sorry. When I was eighteen, my girlfriend got pregnant."
Blakely's eyes widen. She asks, "You have a child?"
I shake my head. More nerves fill my belly. "My ex told me she was pregnant, and it freaked me out." My mouth turns dry, and I can't continue. I stare at my beer bottle, tapping it like Blakely taps her fingers when she's nervous. I curse myself again for picking up her bad habit. I lock eyes with her.
My pet swallows hard. Compassion fills her expression, and she squeezes my hand, softly asking, "You told her to get an abortion?"
"No, not at all." I take a large mouthful of my beer, trying again to find the words. I wonder why this has to feel so bad and why so many emotions have to hit me all at once.
"Riggs, it's okay if you did. Just tell me. I won't judge you."
I lock eyes with her, firmly stating, "No. When my girlfriend told me, I admit I didn't know what to do. I was poor. Hell, we both were poor. I was still in high school, and all I wanted to do was get out of Compton as soon as I could. I saw a big future for myself, and I didn't know how that could happen if we had a baby."
Blakely gently states, "That's probably a normal thought. You were young."
I release a stress-filled breath, admitting the thing that still haunts me, saying, "I didn't say the right things when she told me that she was pregnant." Shame fills me, and I think back to that moment, cringing.
Blakely questions, "What did you say?"
My chest pounds harder against my chest cavity.
"I told her that our lives were over," I quietly confess.
Tension fills the air. The waves crash against the shore, and it sounds louder. Disgust fills me, and it's like reliving that moment all over again.
Blakely keeps her tone non-accusing, continuing to interrogate me with the same question she already asked. "So you asked her to get an abortion?"
I shake my head. "No, I already told you I didn't. But she did get one. She went to the clinic, and a few days later, she came to my house. She told me what she did, and I was in shock. I didn't think she would have done that without talking to me. She just went and did it."
Blakely gapes at me.
I quickly add, "But it's my fault. She wouldn't have done it if I had acted like a man and not been so freaked out. We would've talked. We would've figured it out...something. But she did it and was all alone, and I just... It was because of what I said."
"Riggs, that's a lot to blame yourself for," Blakely declares.
The self-hatred I have for how I acted in that situation continues to pummel me. I insist, "It's true though. It is my fault."
Blakely disputes my claim. "How do you know? She might have done it even if you were happy about the baby. Eighteen is really young to be pregnant. I'm sure she was scared, and who knows what went through her mind?"
I take another mouthful of beer, barely tasting it. It slides down my throat and into my churning stomach.
I claim, "No, I knew her. She wouldn't have gotten one. She did it because of what I said."
