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Of having a baby. Of it being my baby. And Carter’s baby. Of a home.
But I’m going to leave. Or I was going to leave, and I can’t possibly go running off to New York without telling Carter, or while I’m pregnant. He lost his child.
My insides clench. I am so confused about how to feel.
Guilty. Happy. Afraid.
I have to tell Carter, sooner rather than later.
“Han, no matter what happens, it’s going to be okay.” Marci draws me close, and I rest my head on her shoulder. “I promise you, it will all be good. You have an entire family who loves you, and all your friends and…”
“And Carter? I don’t know if I have him. He says he’s obsessed with me, and he’s been doing these amazing things for me, but that doesn’t mean he’s instantly going to be over the moon about having a baby.”
Marci is my tough love friend. She never sugar coats things, and she’s not like June with her optimistic streak. She takes me by the shoulders and gives me one of those sharp stares that are her trademark. “Yeah? Well, if he doesn’t want it, he’s a fucking dick. And you’ll have all my support. Also, I have a baseball bat in my closet, and we can totally beat the crap out of that stupid motorcycle of his.”
“Marce.”
“I’m just saying.” She shrugs then checks her watch. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah. I— Yeah, I guess so.” I squeeze my eyes shut.
The part of me that was sure I would never be able to have kids is overjoyed. The woman who’s in love with Savage doesn’t know what to think.
Marci lifts it off the counter and looks at it. She keeps her expression blank then hands the stick to me.
I take it and slowly lift it into view.
Two pink lines stare at me.
“But that’s just one,” Marci says. “We can check the other one in a minute.”
I swallow, my mouth dry.
I never thought this was a real possibility. My doctor said pretty much no. Absolutely not. No chance.
Another wave of guilt besets me, followed by that fear, the joy. I’m all over the place and it makes my stomach swim and my head hurt. I clutch my forehead, massaging my temples with my thumb and middle finger.
“Okay, let’s check the next one.” Again, Marci looks at the test, then hands it to me with a blank expression.
I lift it into view. “4 Weeks Pregnant.” In bold black letters on the little screen.
“Four weeks? Four weeks. Oh my God.”
“Yeah, it’s one of those early detection things,” she says. “But you must be pretty darn pregnant if the other test is showing it too.”
“Thanks, Marce,” I say, and pull a face.
“How do you feel?”
I take a breath and stare at the two tests.
“I mean, apart from grossed out ‘cos you’re holding those and you literally peed on them.”
I hand her the tests. “Can you call June and Belle? I—I don’t want to tell them this over the phone.”
Marci whips out her phone and calls them. She paces back and forth in the bathroom. “Ugh, neither of those bitches is picking up.”
“Oh.” My stomach sinks.
