“Oh,” I said.
I’d invited him over for dinner since it had been a bit since we’d eaten together. It had been a bit since I’d eaten dinner with anyone, actually. At least Garrett would send the occasional text, but to say I was disappointed at how that had turned out was an understatement.
“I’m not sure it’s the greatest idea if I drink right now.”
“What?” he said, setting down the bottle of wine. “You? Hannah Jett? Passing up wine?”
“I know, I know, it’s just…”
I had to take a risk. Making a joke like this could raise some alarm bells, but Mason wasn’t always the wisest person. And besides, the joke wasn’t implausible.
“I’ve been gaining a lot of stress weight recently, and alcohol would contribute to that.”
Mason looked at me, and for a second, the look seemed to imply that heknew.Like he had suspected it all along but hadn’t wanted to say anything, fearful that somehow saying such an ugly truth would make everything worse. But then he just shrugged.
“It’s a stressful time of the year, I get it,” Mason said. “At least you weren’t knocked up by Jason.”
Oh God, he does know, doesn’t he?
“Who?”
“Jason? The Bandit that stalked you and harassed you?”
Oh, right.Nothing had been said since Mason said he was going to take care of it. I’d heard from Brock at one cookout that he’d “resolved the problem” but Brock had said it in a way that suggested he knew that wasn’t the real issue. As far as I was concerned, I was just going to stay quiet on it as long as I could. I knew, though, that four months in and to not show anything more than weight that could be confused for stress weight was something of a miracle. Someone more observant than my brother would pick up on it.
“I guess you could say that I tried to put it out of my mind,” I said.
“Well, try not to.”
“Excuse me?”
“You need to stay alert in this town, Hannah. You never know who is going to try and stalk you. And the Bandits have—”
“I get it, Mason.”
I tried not to lose my cool as I placed the plates of pasta that I had prepared out for the two of us. He’d come here for a nice dinner, and I’d invited him to have some company. The last thing we needed was for us to go back to fighting and to be split.
But, then again, the last thingIneeded was for Mason to go back to his critical ways, trying to be a father instead of a brother.
“I can handle myself.”
Mason smiled at me.
“Not many can do that in this town.”
I nodded and poked at my food, taking a bite of my pasta. I took another bite when I felt it.
The first movement.
For a second, I wondered if I had imagined it. Maybe it was something else? Indigestion? A weird bug?
But I knew I was just bullshitting myself. I knew that was my child I was feeling inside of me. It was wonderful.
And I couldn’t say a word about it.
“You all right?”
“I’m fine,” I said.
