Silence.
Rolani froze and stepped back. His hands dropped to his sides, and his face went blank like he’d been struck by lightning. She watched him try to process her words. His eyes moved from her face to her stomach and back, like he was searching for the lie, the joke, the out.
“Pregnant?” he repeated, but it wasn’t disbelief. It was math. Timeline. Memory. That night in LA or Velvet.Shit.“How far? And speak up.”
“Five months. And I know I should’ve told you the minute I found out, but I... I didn’t know how.”
“You didn’t know how?” His voice exploded. “What the fuck, Ken?”
She was sobbing now, her hands trembling. “I was scared you’d want too much. I was scared you wouldn’t want anything. Or that you’d demand I come home. Demand I get an abortion. My mind was filled with what-ifs! I’m sorry.”
He took two steps back, hands on his hips, head tipped toward the sky.
“You really thought I’d make you get rid of my kid? Not be there for you?” he asked, breathing hard as he searched her face. He forced himself to remember who she was to him—the woman who had filled his thoughts without fail since they met.
“You healthy?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“Yes.”
“Show me,” he said suddenly, eyes dropping to her stomach.
Her hands shook as she grabbed his hand and placed it on the swell of her belly. It wasn’t big, but it was there. He remembered her body, and this wasn’t there five months ago.
His hands found her stomach. Both palms flat against the swell, steady. Real.
His forehead dropped to hers.
“You’re carrying my baby.” His voice was wrecked, barely a whisper. “I knew something was different. Damn, Ken, you got me fucked up.”
“I know,” she choked out.
He wanted to be mad at her—no, he was mad at her—but that didn’t make him want to mistreat her or upset her. The truth was, he saw it as a blessing. A shocking one, but a blessing.
“Are you mad at me?” Her voice came out small, childlike.
He pulled her closer, flesh against his body, and wrapped his arms around her.
“Yeah, I’m mad,” he said into her hair. “I’m mad you thought you had to carry this by yourself. I’m mad you didn’t trust me with it.” His hand stayed on her stomach, steady. “But I’m not running from this.”
He pulled her into his embrace, one arm around her. Neither of them spoke.
He wasn't leaving. He wasn't making her do this alone. That was all she needed to hear. He stepped back and opened her door. She got in. He shut it carefully.
When he sat down, he didn't start the truck. He gripped the wheel and stared through the windshield. Then he reached for her hand and held it. The space between them felt different now. Heavy in a way that meant something.
Then his phone buzzed.
“Yeah.”
“Mr. Pracher, this is Missy from Coupeville Academy. Monroe is not feeling well and may need to be picked up. Will that be a problem?”
“No ma’am, I’ll be headed that way.”
He hung up and sat there for a second, phone still in his hand. He dragged his palm down his face slowly, then pinched the bridge of his nose.
