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“Because I tend to freak out when you push me?”
A smile tilts my mouth. “On occasion.”
“Every occasion.”
I tweak her nose. “But I just love you more with each freak out.” Truth. If I wasn’t already aware, watching Claire disappear into the elevator Thursday evening solidified that I have absolutely zero desire to ever be apart again.
“And I’m still not sure why,” Claire says on a sigh. “I give you nothing but trouble.”
“Are we seriously having this conversation right now? I love you, Claire, everything about you. Good and bad. But for the record, I don’t think the bad is all that bad. It makes you human, and you got past my less than stellar history. Do you love me any less for it?”
Her head shakes. “No. Of course not.”
“Then why would you think there would be any parts of you that I don’t love?”
Her green eyes grow, flooding with tears as they flicker between mine. “I’m scared, Avery.”
“Then tell me what you’re scared of so I can help you.”
“I just…I want you to know it was an accident. I didn’t…I didn’t know. I would never try to…try to…” She doesn’t finish, just squeezes her eyes shut, letting one lone tear slip out. When I brush it away, she leans into my touch. Sucking in a deep breath, she looks down at the small paper in her hands. “Here,” she whispers, holding it out to me.
I take the picture—that’s what it is, I think. It’s black and white, a large fan shape sweeping out over most of it. In the middle, is a small black oval, with a white-ish…blob?
I have no idea what I’m looking at here.
There’s a ton of words littered across the picture, most of which mean absolutely nothing to me. The date and time, however, tells me that whatever this is, it’s where Claire disappeared to Monday morning at the hospital.
My eyes focus on the simple details at the top, the words I do understand.
West Lincoln Memorial Hospital, Obstetrics and Gynecology
Patient: Thompson, Claire, 26 years
“Avery,” Claire whispers. “Say something, please.”
“What is this?” I’m mildly aware of her knees bouncing a mile a minute, the way her fingers are drumming away in her lap. I think she brings them to her mouth and starts chewing on her nails, but I’m too focused on the words I’m reading, the picture in front of me.
And my heart kicks it up until I feel like there’s a horse galloping away in there.
“It’s…it’s my…it’s our…Avery, it’s—”
“Our baby,” I finish quietly. “This is our baby.” I trace over the shape I called a blob a minute ago. It’s not a blob. It’s my fucking baby. Our fucking baby. Half me, half the woman I love.
My head lifts, meeting her anxious gaze. Mine drifts down her body, settling on her belly, the way Gavin’s did when he made me promise to take care of his babies. Because he knew.
“You’re pregnant.”
Claire averts her gaze, staring at her toes, her knees, a spot on the wall. It goes everywhere but my face. “I’m sorry, Avery.”
“You’re sorry?”
Her head moves up and down with a sniffle. “I didn’t know…when I was sick, the antibiotics…I’m so sorry. I should have known better. I…” Her body falls forward with the gasp that bursts past her lips, and I watch as she wraps herself around her knees. “Please. Please don’t leave me, Avery.”
I blink at her. She’s still not looking at me. Instead, she’s falling apart right beside me.
“Leave you?”
In slow motion, I watch my hand drop to her back, rubbing down her spine, as if it’s not connected to my body. I’m in a daze, I think, but what she’s saying resonates somewhere in my brain, and it’s not gonna fly.
