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“Lisa’s here.”
“Excuse me?”
Licking his lips, John looked behind him like he could see her. “Lisa’s here and she’s in a pretty bad way.”
He was on his feet in a heartbeat. “What do you mean she’s in a pretty bad way? Is she hurt?”
“Not that I can see, but I can tell she’s been crying.”
Crying?“Fuck.” He strode past John and walked through to the kitchen where he found Lisa with her back to him.
“Lisa?” he asked softly. If she was upset, he certainly didn’t want to throw gas on the fire. She turned around and he got his first look at her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, tears pooling there even now. Her cheeks were streaked with mascara, so he figured this wasn’t her first crying jag.
She took a step closer but stopped herself almost forcefully before throwing herself at him. “Oh, Beau,” she sobbed, burying her face in his chest. Awkwardly, he rested his hand on her back, unsure what was going on. Glancing over his shoulder to John, he wordlessly asked him if he had any idea what to do. His friend simply shook his head slowly.
Prying her off him, he tried to look in her eyes. “Lisa, what’s going on?”
More tears welled and fell, and despite her mouth opening and closing like she was talking, no sound came out.
Leading her over to the couch, he sat her down then took a seat beside him. To John he said, “Some water? Please?”
“Right.” He got busy in the kitchen, bringing back a glass and setting it on the table in front of them.
“Thank you,” gulped Lisa, seizing the glass and draining it. When she put it back on the table, her hand was visibly shaking.
“Now,” Beau said gently, “Tell tell me what’s going on.”
She stared at him, her eyes filled with... fear. “I’m pregnant, Beau,” she whispered. The tears started again, her whole body shaking with racking sobs.
“Fuck,” John said and Beau looked at him sharply. He shrugged as if to say “sorry?”
She eyed her body, looking for the physical evidence. “It’s okay, Lisa. Does the father know?” And if he did, why the fuck was she telling him all this? What did he have to do with it?
“You’re the father.”
He sat back in his seat, creating some distance between them, like just being in her presence could impregnate her further... if, in fact, she was pregnant.
“How could you be…” His question died on his tongue.
She rolled her eyes, and somehow that action surrounded by tears seemed off. “We did make love before you broke up with me, but if you don’t believe me...” She began rifling through her purse, producing a plastic pee stick and thrusting it in his face.
He stared at the little pink cross in the window, feeling as if his whole life were spinning out of fucking control. Emotionlessly, he said, “We used protection—every time. The only possible way you could be pregnant is if you slept with another man.”
For a split second, her expression morphed into something he couldn’t quite read before sliding back into that of a tortured woman. “I never cheated on you,” she replied, affronted.
“That’s not what I meant. All I meant was I can’t possibly be the father because there was absolutely no chance condoms failed when we were still sleeping together.”
She shrugged, her shoulders shaking as her crying increased.
“What are you going to do about it? Are you going to keep it?”
Her head jerked up, like a puppet on a string, and she stared at him. Slowly, she started shaking her head. “I can’t keep it.”
He stood up, unable to sit still anymore. “Why not?”
Her crying got louder, more violent, as she said, “I can’t raise this baby by myself.”
“You wouldn’t be by yourself.”
