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I swear I can hear the blood in my veins moving.
I dig through every corner of my brain to try and figure out what we could have done, but I come up empty.
After several agonizing minutes, Wesley breaks the uncomfortable silence. “Avery, what I said earlier?—”
“It did strike a nerve, but not for the reason you think.” She pulls the blanket tighter around her. “Kyle coming back and sending me these gifts has taken a toll on my mental health. What I didn’t realize until the morning after we were intimate at the Academy was that I’ve been so stressed that I had no idea when the last time I’d taken my birth control was. When I counted what was left in the pack for the month, I had way too many left. I wouldn’t have been able to catch up on the pills, so I’d have to wait until my next cycle came and just start them again after.
“Then I double-checked my calendar, and according to that, I should have had my period the week before. I thought it was just stress. I didn’t want to worry you if it was, so I waited one more week just to see if it would come and it still hasn’t yet.”
Well, there’s no way it could be mine. I might as well say my goodbyes now.
Wesley lets out a low whistle. “So that’s why you asked us to wear condoms the last few times.”
She nods.
“Do you know for sure if you’re…?”
I can’t bring myself to finish that thought. I just can’t.
If I say it, then I’ll start thinking about a little girl with her eyes and my nose or a little boy that’s the spitting image of me but with her wavy gold hair.
If I think about it, I’ll want it, and the only place that will lead to is a depressive episode.
“I don’t know. There’s still a very real chance it’s just stress, but at this point, I’m concerned enough that I want to take a test just to be safe. Since this involves all four of us, I wanted to tell you before I did anything like that.” She fiddles with the blanket anxiously. “I thought maybe you might like to be with me when I do it so you’ll know as soon as I do.
“And I’m… I’m…” Her voice drops to just above a whisper. “I’m scared. I’m scared you’re mad at me. I’m scared that I might be pregnant, and I’m terrified of what that will do to our relationship—not to mention what might happen if Kyle or the academy found out. I’m sorry I let him distract me so badly. I should have been more responsible. You'd be well within your rights to be furious and never talk to me again.”
I could never be angry with her for something like this. We’ve all been on edge since her ex started making himself a problem. I can’t even tell you how many careless mistakes I’ve made or things I’ve lost lately.
What I am, though, is disgusted with myself. Shame is buzzing so furiously in my ears that I don’t hear what my friends are saying, but I can see their faces.
There’s concern in their brows and excitement in the corners of their eyes.
None of us can exactly be classified as young men anymore. We've all wanted to settle down and have families of our own for a while now.
There is no way either of them would throw away their chance to have that, even with the timing being the farthest it could be from ideal.
We haven't even known each other for a full year, and now there might be a baby in the mix.
If this is really happening, things are going to get very complicated very quickly.
For starters, there's the whole matter of paternity. That alone could drive a wedge between us all—especially if she wants to wait until the baby is born to do that particular test.
Even though we said that the four of us (plus Leo) were a unit, our whole dynamic is going to crumble as soon as we know who the father is. There’s no way it won’t.
The only right thing for two of us to do once we find out will be to back off and bow out.
All the wishing in the world won't make me magically able to father a child, so I'm guaranteed to be left out in the cold because I'm defective.
It'll be just like it was with my ex-wife. The only difference between then and now is that Avery is going to look at me with pity instead of contempt.
I feel like the secret I’ve been keeping from her is tattooed on my forehead.
I’m under a microscope, and they can all see every single one of my flaws. Suddenly, I’m painfully aware of every place my clothes are touching my skin.
Breathing is no longer automatic—I have to make myself do it. Every sound in the room is magnified, and every light in the room burns with the intensity of a Broadway spotlight.
It’s too much.
