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“I saw it.” He draws to a stop a few feet away from me. “The test.”
I still can’t read his expression. A thousand questions whip through my head. I don’t know where to start. Does any of it even matter, other than the fact that I’m pregnant?
“You went into my apartment?” I manage.
He puts his hands on his hips. “I saw you leave and come back. I texted and called you, but you didn’t answer. I was worried. I wanted—” He stops. The muscle in his jaw flexes. “I had to know you were okay.”
“Well.” I sniff, crossing my arms. “I’m not okay. Not by a long shot.”
He blinks, bringing his eyebrows together. “It’s me?”
“It’s you. There’s only been you, so . . .”
His eyes flicker. “Fuck.” He spears a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”
His words are like a punch to the face. I start to cry, my face screwed up against the pain and panic that courses through me. It’s embarrassing. This is why I wanted to be alone, so I could fall apart in peace. At the very least keep my dignity intact.
But here I am, sobbing like an idiot.
“Maren.” His voice is softer now. “Shit, Maren, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I was only?—”
He doesn’t finish the thought. Instead he wraps an armaround my neck and pulls me in for a tight hug, pressing my face against the warm, solid wall of his chest. His shirt smells like detergent andhim,the woods and the smoke, and my heart turns over.
Even in the midst of a very real crisis, my want for him rings clear as a bell.
I’ve missed you, I want to say.
“This sucks,” I say instead.
His other arm circles my waist. He holds me against him, his grip firm, unyielding, like he knows this is exactly what I need—to be held while I cry my eyes out.
“It does,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’m so fucking sorry, Maren. I thought we were being careful?—”
“We were. Except . . .”
Except for that handful of heartbeats where we lost control.
“I’m furious with myself for letting that happen,” he says. “If I had known—I just assumed—I was stupid, and I regret that now. I regret everything. I’m sorry.”
I know he’s trying to make me feel better, but his words hurt. Of course I didn’t want to end up pregnant. Even so, I don’t regret having sex with him. It was excellent.
Life-affirming.
Apparently those feelings are one-sided, though. I was naïve to expect otherwise. Tuck is hot, rich, and more than ten years older than I am. He doesn’t want me. Not the way I want him.
“I was there too,” I say. “It’s my fault too.”
His chest barrels out on an inhale. He lets it out, his breath warm on my temple. “It’s my job to keep you safe. I didn’t.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. I just let myself be held, panic washing through me in waves.
“What are we gonna do?” I whisper.
A beat. “I don’t know. But let’s start with how you’re feeling.”
My heartbeat catches. I appreciate his concern more thanhe’ll ever know. “I’m okay. All week I’ve felt like I had a mild hangover or something. I’ve been off, but I thought it was just PMS. More than anything, I’m tired, but that’s not new.”
“I’ll ask Dad to help out with Katie. He can cover for you while we... figure everything out.”
