Normally, when I’m having a bad day, Story envelops me in her usual sweetness, and that instantly relaxes me. But I know that’s not going to happen this time.
“Pregnant?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I can barely believe it. No matter how many times I say it, it doesn’t feel real. “Seven weeks.”
“Seven weeks?” Her voice is so quiet I barely hear it. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “She wants to keepit?—”
“Are you in a relationship with her?”
“No.” The word is almost shouted, and I shake my head so hard my brain rattles. “No. It’s always been casual. We don’t talk much outside of when we all go out. But now . . . I don’t know. I guess I have to see what the paternity test says.”
I don’t know anything.
The sum of my conversation with Sienna was being told she was pregnant before she left me to meet her friends. Andleft mein the coffee shop with nothing but my dumbfounded thoughts and the bill.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’m going to be a dad. I’ll have to put my studies on hold. I’ll have to move away from Valentine Nook. I never wanted to live in London full-time, but I guess I don’t have a choice now.
I’m so deep in my thoughts that I don’t notice Story hasn’t said anything for a while. But when I look up, she’s crying.
“Stor?” I reach for her hand, but she jumps away before I can.
“How could you do this?”
“What?”
“How could you be so stupid?”
“Story—”
“Last night . . . I thought,finallymaybe . . . and now . . .” She pauses, snatching a tear away as it falls. “No. I’m not doing this. You know what? It’s me. I’m the stupid one . . . You arenevergoing to change. You and Miles . . . It’s always going to be like this. Forever?—”
“What? What does that mean? What is always going to be like this? What aren’t you doing?”
“When areyou going to grow up?”
“Excuse me?” I snap, but I’m not entirely sure she’s talking to me. Oraboutme. Or maybe she’s talking to herself.
“No, excuseme.”
“Story?”
She holds her hand up, and I stay silent. Tears spill down her cheeks and drip off the hard set of her jaw. I can’t recall ever seeing Story as angry as she is right now. And she can get mad, but not like this—cheeks blazing while murdering me painfully in her mind.
“Why are you mad?”
“Why am I mad? Why am Imad?” Her voice gets higher-pitched. Her eyes narrow, and her lip curls in a snarl. If looks could kill, I’d be dead a thousand times over, reduced to nothing more than a chalk outline. “Fuck you, Hendricks. Figure it out for yourself.”
My stomach twists, and I’m too stunned to move. My body is frozen in shock. I forget all about why I’m standing here in the first place, why I’m not in London right now, and why I’ve spent most of the day stewing in my own anxiety, because my best friend shoots me one last withering look before storming off.
“Stor . . . Story!” I call after her right before she disappears around the bend in the road.
Picking up my phone, I dial her number only for it to ring once and get sent to voicemail.
What the hell just happened?
I’m about to run after her when Lando drives toward the fountain. He spots me and pulls up.
