“Well, you don’t always get what you want,” I say, pointing a finger at Charlie.
“I did,” Errol says, his cockiness making Farrah wiggle a little.
That causes him to grip her waist in a way that heats the room. Even though they can’t do everything, they can do enough to let me know they will be leaving soon.
They prove me right ten minutes later as he chases her out of the house, grabbing for her butt.
“I want what they have,” Charlie says, his gaze turning intense.
“So do I. I just want to do it right.”
“Do you think we’ll have it together?” He reaches across and grabs my hand, holding on to it tightly.
I link our fingers together and pull him closer. “I hope so.”
“I’ve wanted to build a family since I lost mine. I really want something to call my own.”
He kisses me, and in it, I feel so much of that dream press into me. Before I let myself get lost in the warmth that’s building inside, I remember the consequence I might be facing due to sleeping with him.
“We should get some sleep.” I pull him up by our connected fingers and drag him towards the stairs, hoping that closing my eyes will relieve my growing panic. But the silence only makes my voice of worry louder, as it yells all the what-ifs in my head.
Tomorrow will determine everything.
Chapter 8
Lessthantwenty-fourhourslater, I find myself back in the bathroom with Farrah. Only this time we have a test.
“I don’t know if I want to take it.” I bring my long nails up to my mouth and start chewing on them.
With the money I spent on the acrylics, I really shouldn’t be ruining them like this. Farrah grabs my hand from my mouth, holding it in her firm grip.
“You have no choice. You need to know one way or the other.”
I start smacking the box against my shaking leg. Throwing my head back to look up at the ceiling, I count my breaths.
“But what if…” I stop myself, not even sure what I’m asking. She hears it all the same.
“Then we will figure it out.”
With a sigh, I tear through the packet just to place the test on the counter. Continuing to stare at it like it will transform into a solution, I know it might just show me a problem.
“Do you know what you’re going to do if you are pregnant?” Sliding crisscross in front of me, she rests her hands on my knees.
It forces them to stay still, only making my mind race to make up the difference.
“Like, are you going to keep it?”
I look into her brown eyes and find no judgment. There is only concern and understanding.
“I don’t know,” I say, throwing my face into my hands.
She strokes my head, her thumb pressing into my forehead every once in a while. It’s the only thing that stops me from full-on crying.
“I don’t think I could live with myself if I got rid of it, but I’m also not ready to be a mom.”
She keeps stroking me, her other hand finding its way into mine.
“There’s always adoption.”
