“Like I said earlier, there’s no way for us to do this. She can’t go anywhere, and I can’t be there. And once we go to Europe, it’ll be even worse. We talked about it, everything’s cool between us. I just…”
“You just wish it could be more.”
Christ.
That’s not the direction I wanted this conversation to go.
“Can we talk about something else?”
“Can I just ask about the pies?”
“Sure.”
“Could we get her to make us some for the holidays?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “She’s a one-person company and works full-time at the diner. How many are you talking about?”
“Ryleigh and I are thinking about hosting everyone for Christmas this year, at our place.”
“I don’t think she’s set up to ship,” I say, “but you could reach out to her. I’ll give you her info.”
“That chocolate peanut butter pie is one of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth,” he says. “And it’s Ryleigh’s favorite, so it would be a fun surprise.”
“If you can work out the logistics, I’m sure she’d do it.”
“Cool.” He looks up as the rest of the band filters in.
“There better be pie left,” Mick mutters, rubbing his hands together.
It makes me smile because Summer would love this.
Dammit.
Chapter 14
Summer
The week of July Fourth is always busy. There are festivals, street fairs, and the town always shuts down for fireworks, so I’ve been working double shifts all weekend and it makes sense that I’m exhausted. What I didn’t expect was to wake up puking my guts out. I’ve never had a sour stomach like this—and today is the third day in a row.
I’m getting a bad feeling in my gut and though I’m trying to push the thought away, I have to find out for sure. I bought the two-pack of pregnancy tests last night on my way home, telling myself I wouldn’t wake up sick again, but I’m heaving into the toilet, so now I have to do it.
It takes a while for me to feel like sitting up, and it takes even longer for me to pee, but I finally manage. Then I just sit there on the toilet waiting to find out what fuckery fate has waiting for me this time.
I’ve wracked my brain since yesterday trying to think of a time that Tate and I didn’t use a condom, but we always did. He was vigilant about it. And we did a lot of oral, so I can’t imagine how this happened.
Did one break? And if it did, would he have mentioned it?
I rest my face in my hands, waiting for the nausea to pass—it’ll be gone by noon—as the seconds tick by.
Please let this be some weird stomach virus.
Please please please.
Not that there’s some higher power listening to me—I gave up on that a long time ago. Right around the time my dad left us. That’s when I knew that faith or no faith, the only person who was going to actively take care of us was us. Mom and me. She did what she had to do to make sure I’ve always had everything I need, and I’ve been working my ass off to make up the difference since I was sixteen.
I stare at the two lines on the test and tears blur my vision.
Pregnant.
