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“Iamtelling you the truth.”
“Look me in the eye and tell me you feel nothing for me.” He steps toward me and dips his face so that we’re standing eye to eye. “Tell me that you don’t love me.”
I muster every ounce of strength I have. Squaring my shoulders, I look him right in the eyes.
“I don’t love you.”
The hurt that flashes across his face is enough to gut me from the inside out but somehow I manage to keep up the charade.
“Bullshit,” he spits. “You’re just scared.”
“I’m not scared. I don’t love you.”
“Yes you do. You love me and you want to be with me as much as I want to be with you, but you’re scared and you’re letting that fear ruin us.”
“There is no us!” I explode. “There never was an us. There never will be an us. Now if you would please leave, I need to go.” I point toward the door.
“I’m not leaving until you tell me the truth.”
“I already told you the truth.” Emotion sways in my voice.
“Tell me the whole truth, Blue.”
“Fine!” I poke at his chest, my anger taking the forefront over all the other feelings swimming through me. “You want the truth? How’s this for the truth. I’m pregnant.”
I swear every ounce of color drains from his face and he takes a full step back, giving me some much needed distance.
“You’re pregnant?” His features soften as he stares back at me for a long moment.
“I found out at the hospital.”
“That’s why you’ve been so distant. You’re pregnant.”
Then he does something I never in a million years expected him to do. He smiles. And not a forced smile either. I wouldn’t believe it if I wasn’t seeing it with my own two eyes but Harris looks...happy.
“I’m going to be a father?” His smile widens as he turns the idea over in his head. “Blue. This is incredible.”
“Incredible?” I choke on the word.
“Well, it’s unexpected but yes, I think it’s incredible. I’m in love with you. All I want is to be with you.”
His reaction makes what I’m going to say next a hundred times harder.
“You’re not the father.”
It’s like all of the air is suddenly sucked out of the room and everything goes eerily quiet. He stumbles back, his hand finding the back of the couch as he steadies himself.
“What do you mean I’m not the father?” he asks, seeming to answer his own question as he puts the pieces together. “Bruce.” He looks like he might be sick.
I’m not sure what to do. Every part of me wants to go to him, put my arms around him and never let go. But instead I stand and watch him begin to unravel.
“I’m sorry, Harris. This isn’t something I planned or wanted. But it happened and there’s nothing I can do about it now.”
The stretch of silence that comes next is nearly unbearable.
“But you don’t know for sure, right?” he asks after what feels like hours.
“Huh?” I don’t follow.
