He answers on the first ring, like he always does. "Vanna? Is everything okay? It's not your usual time."
The concern in his voice makes my eyes sting with tears.
Of course he's worried.
Any deviation from the routine makes him worry.
He's been living on a knife's edge for the past month, waiting for the call that tells him I've relapsed.
Waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"I'm okay," I say quickly. "I'm not... nothing bad happened. Well, not bad exactly. I just... I need to tell you something."
"What is it?" I can hear him moving, probably stepping away from whatever he was doing to give me his full attention. "Talk to me, Van."
I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the wall. "I went to the clinic today. I've been feeling off for a few days—tired, nauseous, just... weird. And they ran some tests."
Silence on the other end. Heavy, waiting silence.
"Blood..." I have to force the words out past the lump in my throat. "I'm pregnant."
The silence stretches for so long I start to wonder if the call dropped.
Then I hear it—a sharp intake of breath, followed by something that sounds almost like a sob.
"You're... what?"
"Pregnant," I repeat. "About five weeks, they think. It must have happened at the motel. Before you dropped me off."
"Oh my god." His voice is shaking.
I've never heard Garrett sound like this—not when I overdosed, not when I stole from his sister, not even when he dropped me off at this facility and had to walk away.
This is something different. This is hope and terror and disbelief all tangled together.
"Vanna. Oh my god."
"I know." The tears are falling now, streaming down my cheeks unchecked. "I know, Blood. I don't know what to do. I've been pumping poison into my body for years, and now there's a baby, and I don't know if it's going to be okay, and I'm so scared?—"
"Hey." His voice cuts through my spiral, firm and steady. The same voice he uses when he's talking me down from a ledge, when he's pulling me back from the brink. "Hey, listen to me. We're going to figure this out. Together. Whatever happens, we're going to figure it out."
"But what if the baby's not okay? What if I already hurt them? What if?—"
"Then we'll deal with it. But we don't know that yet, do we?"
"No," I admit. "They said it's too early to tell. They're going to do an ultrasound next week."
"Then we wait. We take it one day at a time, just like everything else." I can hear him breathing, deep and deliberate, like he's trying to calm himself down.
Trying to be strong for me when he's probably just as terrified as I am. "When can I see you? I need to see you, Van. I need to be there with you."
"I don't know. I'll have to ask. They have visiting hours, but I'm not sure?—"
"Ask," he says. "Please. As soon as you can. I need to hold you. I need to..." His voice breaks, and I hear him swallow hard. "I need to be there. I can't do this from four hours away. I can'tsit here knowing you're pregnant and scared and I'm not there to?—"
"I'll ask today," I promise. "I'll call you as soon as I know."
"I love you." The words come out fierce, almost desperate. "I love you so much, Vanna. And I'm going to love this baby too, no matter what. You hear me? No matter what happens, no matter what the tests say, I'm going to love both of you with everything I have."
