Page 25 of Wicked Brutal

“How much more?”

“I don’t know.”

That answer would have terrified me once. Ryan not knowing. Now, somehow, it helps — because when Ryan says he doesn’t know, I trust everything else he says more. “What if I start showing before we have it?” I ask.

His eyes drop to my stomach. “Then we adapt.”

“That’s not a plan.”

“No.”

“You’re supposed to have plans.”

“I’m building one.” He stands and pulls me up with him, and takes my face in both hands. “I’m not sure of the timeline. I’m not sure what Arthur can do about Tobias yet. I’m not sure what evidence is enough to keep your father from using the courts to drag him straight back.” My throat tightens. “But I’m sure we’re not leaving him.” I close my eyes. “And I’m sure we’re not leaving you.” His forehead touches mine. “And I’m sure nobody gets anywhere near our baby.”

There it is. Our. Not the problem. Not the pregnancy. Our baby. I breathe.

Ryan kisses the end of my nose. “And I’m also sure you need to eat actual food.”

My eyes open. “God, you’re annoying.”

“Correct.”

“I can’t eat.”

“You can eat pretzels.”

“Maybe.”

“Crackers?”

“Probably.”

“Apple?”

The thought makes my stomach roll. “No.”

“Apple is dead to us. Understood.” I laugh, and he kisses my forehead, then steps back before the room can get too easy — because we still have classes, we still have Edgewood. He checks his phone. “You’ve got nine minutes.”

“I hate leaving.” The words slip out before I can stop them.

Ryan looks at me, and the joke drains off his face. “I know.”

I stare at his tie instead of his eyes. “Sometimes I think that’s the worst part.”

“What?”

“That I get you for forty minutes.” My voice comes out quieter than I mean it to. “And then I have to go downstairs and act like you don’t even know what tea I can drink without throwing up.”

His jaw tightens. “Ally.”

“I know why.”

“I agreed to it.”

“It still sucks.”

“Yeah.” That one word nearly breaks me more than any reassurance would have. Ryan doesn’t tell me it won’t be forever. Doesn’t tell me to hold on. Doesn’t make some promise he can’t guarantee. He just reaches into his pocket and pulls out the penny, the little copper disk hanging from the keychain loop between two fingers.