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My own sobs cut me off. Burying my face in my hands, I blindly back up until my calves hit the sofa and I crumple like a fragile piece of paper in an unforgiving fist.
I’m vaguely aware of movement. The scuffle of sneakers on wood floorboards. Warm palms on bare knees. A gruff command to calm down, a gruffer curse when I don’t.
“I was gonna tell you.” Tomorrow. Literally tomorrow was the big day I’d been dreading. Day number seven. “I already booked another ultrasound,” so he could see the baby, if he wanted to, “and a DNA test,” because gut instinct told me he’d want one, because I know how bad this looks. I kissed him, I initiated the condomless sex, I… Jesus Christ, I wrongly put all my faith in a freaking pill and told him he could come inside me. “I promise, I didn’t do it on purpose. I never wanted another kid this way.”
A thumb methodically traces the curve of my knee. “And what way is that, Sunday?”
Alone. Constantly terrified. With another man who doesn’t love me.
I don’t voice any of that but I think, somehow, Cass hears it anyway.
The sofa cushion beside me dips. Goosebumps pepper my skin as an arm slinks around my shoulders, pulling me into—onto—a warm body. My ass lands on a strong thigh. My forehead meets a collarbone. My hands… One of them clings to a soft t-shirt. The other is threaded through thick, warm fingers and clings just as tightly. “It’s okay.” Warm breath against the crown of my head makes me shiver. “I got you. It’s okay.”
God, I want to believe him so badly.
“I really was gonna tell you,” I repeat yet again. “I swear.”
“I believe you.” I go slack with relief. “What do we do?”
My eyes flutter closed.We. “I don’t know.”
“Do we…” His deep exhale skates across my skin. “Do you want it?”
I pull back enough to watch his expression shutter as I counter, “Do you?”
“I don’t know.”
“You either want a kid or you don’t.”
“It’s not that simple, Sunday.”
It really, really is. Trust me. I’ve done this shit before.
Not for the first time, I wonder if I can do it again.
“Okay.” My tongue traces my teeth, my blinks picking up speed. “Okay. Um. Well, I’ll decide and you can do whatever you want, I guess.”
As I wobble to my feet, I tell myself not to be annoyed. I can’t blame him for not having an immediate answer; I sure didn’t. Even now, I’m not sure I do.
The world spins as I shuffle towards the kitchen, needing distance and not-Cass-scented air and something to do with my hands so I stop picking at my fingernails.Tea, I decide, flicking on the kettle and snagging a bag from Willow’s stash, even though my stomach rolls at the thought of ingesting anything right now. I thought the morning sickness had passed but it feels like it’s returned full force, and I clutch the sides of the sink with a white-knuckled grip as I breathe through my mouth, willing myself not to spill my guts. There’s been enough of that today, in the metaphorical sense of the word; no need for it to happen literally too.
The sofa creaks as Cass stands. Footsteps approach at a cautious pace, stop a safe distance away. “Sunday.”
I hum quietly, keeping my gaze on vomit-free stainless steel that will remain vomit-free.
“Sunday—”
Vomit. A lot of it. Out of my mouth, out of my nose, scorching my throat, desecrating Willow’s sink and proving there is no end to my humiliation.
Tears. A lot of them. Ugly, wretched noises. Burning my eyes, trickling down my cheeks—and proving there is no end to my humiliation.
Palms. Smoothing over my shoulders. One travels down my bicep, along my forearm until fingers reach fingers, intertwining. The other, up the slope of my neck, gathering my hair in a fist, holding it back. Involving themselves in my humiliation, worsening it and alleviating it at the same time.
I think a mouth brushes the nape of my neck. Gentle vibrations coax out goosebumps—quiet shushing, I realize. That same mouth travels upwards to settle at my temple, hot breath warming my skin and, a second later, quiet words warming my heart. “I want a kid,” Cass whispers. “I really, really want a kid but if you don’t, then that’s okay. I’ll come with you. I won’t hold it against you. I promise.”
I cry harder. Somehow manage to croak, “I don’t wanna do it alone again.”
“You won’t,” he says, so quiet, so fierce, so believable. “I promise you won’t.”
