I’m pregnant.
I’m pregnant.
She’s pregnant.
With my baby.
The truth shone bright in her eyes, hollowing me from the inside out.
A chill runs down my spine. Sweat slicks every inch of my skin. The collar of my shirt cuts off my airway.
I’m absolutely fucking petrified to my core.
In fight-or-flight situations, I’m always the former, neverone to withdraw. I throw myself headfirst, regardless of the risks.
Not today. Not after her confession spilled from her lips.
I’m not equipped to handle this. Behind the veil of terror, guilt festers in my gut at abandoning her, but had I stayed a second longer, I would’ve said something I regretted.
Marcus catches my eye across the room. He raises a glass toward me, wearing his usual smirk, but it slips when he notices my expression. Subtly, he jerks his chin toward the glass doors leading to the patio.
I weave my way through the crowd, ignoring their smiles and jolly greetings.
Outside, I gulp down the frosty air, welcoming the sharp prickle in my lungs.
Marcus follows closely behind. Before he can ask what’s wrong, I snatch the glass from his hand and down the contents. The burn of whiskey somewhat numbs the swirling panic.
“Talk to me,” he says carefully. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
Haven’t I?
The words can’t form. They stick to the roof of my mouth, tar-like and thick.
“Warren.” Marcus’s tone turns worried. “You’re freaking me out. What’s going on?”
“She’s having a baby,” I rasp and collapse onto one of the wrought-iron chairs. The legs scrape across the concrete, drawing the attention of a few people smoking under the pergola.
“Who is?” He lowers into the opposite seat.
“The wedding singer.” I stare vacantly at the manicured lawns, dark and ominous now that the sun’s set.
My response feeds his confusion, and a firm grip on my arm pulls me from my trance. “You’re not making any sense.”
I exhale. “I know her. We met at Ben’s bachelor party and spent the night together.”
Marcus’s eyes widen a fraction. “And the baby is…”
“Mine.” There’s an edge to my tone as a trickle of denial seeps in. I’ve no reason not to believe Harriet. I simply don’t want to. “She told me in the restroom, and she’s keeping it.”
He inhales slowly. “You ran?”
I don’t respond, confirming his suspicions. He knows me better than most.
He scrubs a hand over his face. “Fuck, man. What’s going through your head?”
Chaos. Turmoil. Pain.
“I fucking left her. She told me she was pregnant, and I fucking left her.” My shoulders curl inward, elbows propped on my knees. “Like a coward.”
