What have I done?
“The rest of your belongings will be delivered tomorrow,” he adds. “Dameon would like you to vacate the apartment by the end of the week.” Finally, he meets my eyes, and I see sympathy shining back at me. I could cry at the kindness I find there.
“Can you deliver a message for me? There’s been a huge misunderstanding,” I plead.
“I can’t, I’m sorry, love. He won’t listen to me anyway.”
“Okay, thanks, Kev.” I squeeze his arm and shut the door. I drop my forehead against it, closing my eyes to hold back the tears. I don’t even know where to begin.
First things first: Beth. I turn around to find she’s changed and back under the blanket on the couch. Making my way to her kitchen, I grab a soda. She needs sugar to pull her out of whatever shock she’s in. I sit on the edge of the couch and hand her the can. She cracks it open and takes small sips.
How on earth did she end up in this situation? Was I so consumed by Dameon that I overlooked the possibility of her sneaking off with someone? If that’s the case, then Dameon was right. I’m no better than my mother. I’ve failed her, and I’ve failed myself. I’m a terrible substitute for a mother. Closing my eyes, I exhale deeply, making a promise to myself that I won’t let her down again. I’ll support her no matter what and help her through this. Is it even safe for her to fall pregnant so soon after major surgery?
“Are you feeling better now?” The color in Beth’s cheeks is gradually returning.
“Yeah, I’m okay. Just felt a bit dizzy.” She sits up, places the soda on the coffee table and wraps the blanket around her shoulders. “Sheesh, that was intense.”
“You can say that again.”
“I didn’t know you two were in a relationship. When did that start?”
“Only a few weeks ago. But it doesn’t matter now,” I sigh.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, hurt evident in her tone.
“I honestly don’t know…” I trail off, rubbing my forehead. Any excuse I can think of would sound pitiful. “Like I said, it doesn’t really matter. We’ve got bigger things to deal with at the moment.” I give her a weighted look, which she promptly ignores.
“Is what he said true? Did you really send Mark stuff about Dameon’s business?”
“It’s complicated, Beth.”
“What’s complicated about it? You either did or you didn’t!”
I shake my head, exasperated, and flop back onto the couch.
“I’m not a kid anymore, Hailee. You can tell me what’s going on.”
“No shit, especially when you’re out having sex and getting pregnant. Safe to say the chapter of your childhood is now firmly closed.”
“What are you talking about?!” she shrieks, dropping the blanket from around her shoulders and turning to face me. “I’m not pregnant! I thoughtyoumust be!”
“What?! Are you serious? I need you to be a hundred percent honest with me.” I look her dead in the eye. “Are you pregnant? Because, Beth, this is not the time to joke around.”
“I’m. Not. Pregnant.” She punctuates each word with a pause, and I take in the confusion on her face. “When the hell have I had time to go out and meet someone, anyway? I’ve been focused on my rehab. And unlike you, I would tell you if I met someone,” she adds, giving me a dirty look that hits its mark. I drop my head into my hands, feeling like shit.
“Wait a minute, if you’re not pregnant”—she eyes me warily, and I shoot her a “what do you think” look—“then who does the pregnancy test belong to?”
“Fucked if I know,” I mumble, dropping my head back into my hands.
Chapter thirty-three
Dameon
Ignoringthebuzzingofmy phone, I flip it over, face down, on the bar.
“Are you going to answer that?” James asks.
“Nope.” My chin is resting on my linked hands on the sticky bar as I stare blankly at a TV playing AFL rematches. A nearly empty bottle of cheap whiskey sits beside me on the bar.
