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"Can you, please?" All I wanted to do right now was throw up. I couldn't remember feeling more scared in my life.
"Sure," she said lightly. She picked up the stick and looked at it. Her eyes widened.
My narrowed. "What is it?" Did I really want to know?
No, but I needed to.
She slowly turned the stick towards me.
I saw the lines.
"Shit."
14
Hayley
I stared at that stick for the longest time before I took it from Ripley's hand with shaking fingers.
She looked at me like she didn't know what to say.
I didn't know what to say either. Or think, for that matter.
I finally managed to say, "I need some air."
"Of course," she said. "I'm sure it will take you time to get your head around it."
"Yeah," I said vaguely. I headed out of the room, out of the hotel and walked in no particular direction. No one glanced at me twice. Why would they? I was nobody.
Nobody, pregnant with a rock star's baby.
I should have been overjoyed, but I was numb. The nausea when I smelled coffee, the way it tasted, it made sense now. On some level, I must have suspected, but hadn't wanted to think about it.
Denial was a familiar comfort zone to lots of people. Myself included.
I found a small grassy park and sat down on a bench, trying to make sense of everything. And, because I was me, come up with a plan.
For the first time I could remember, I couldn't come up with one. My mind was in too much turmoil to think straight.
That, I realized, was my first plan of attack. I had to stop panicking. Even though this wasn't how I wanted it, this was something I wanted. Something I'd started to think I'd never have.
I remembered I still had the stick in my hand and probably shouldn't be walking around the streets with it, when a soft, male voice spoke.
"Hey, is everything all right?" Roman skirted around the side of the bench and sat down. "Ripley said something about you needing air, but she seemed worried."
I glanced over at his concerned face. "Yeah I'm…" How was I? "Okay. I don't want to bother you with my personal stuff."
"We're friends aren't we?" he said. "I'd like to think we are. Sometimes we get too busy to look beyond our own jobs, but I'd hate to see a friend or colleague struggling and not reach out to them."
He was a good person. One of the nicest I ever met.
I managed to find a smile, although it was a small one. I doubted it reached my eyes. Those were probably clouded in turmoil.
Without a word, I showed him the stick.
He frowned at it before he understood what it was and what it meant. He opened his mouth, I think to congratulate me, then closed it again. The cogs and wheels turned in his head. Finally, his eyes widened and he nodded. All of that took place in about three or four seconds.
"If I was to guess who the father was, that would explain why you look so conflicted," he guessed.
