I pace the small bathroom, each circle making the space feel like it’s closing in on me, so I sit on the closed toilet seat, staring at the test as a plus sign forms. My lungs stop working. I can’t breathe, and then air rushes in so fast that I might hyperventilate.
A tiny swelling in my chest terrifies me more than the danger outside.
This isn’t happening. There’s no way. I’m not ready.
I wrap the test in the paper bag and bury it in the trash before walking back out.
Pixie reads me immediately. She’s marching to me and swinging me into the storeroom. “Okay. Okay. Deep breath. We’ll figure this out.”
I do as she says, but everything inside of me is still wobbling off axis. “They can’t want this. This life isn’t made to include kids.”
“That might be true, but you got a whole damn army who’ll burn the city for you and your baby.” She hugs me tightly. “You can do this. Let’s go back out there. I’ll get you a special drink, and you’ll act normal. Sharing this with them is on your terms. Okay?”
I nod because keeping this a secret doesn’t feel right, but I’m too scared to say anything.
I follow her back to the bar, where she pours out a bottle of beer and fills it with apple juice. Sipping from it actually eases my stomach. Go figure.
Pixie also passes me prenatal vitamins in a mint tin. That woman is a genius.
As day turns into night, the bar gets more rowdy and the guys are more jovial. Pixie takes my shot as the men party and swaps our glasses.
She distracts the boys from noticing my nausea.
But my men are acting off. Doc watches me more closely, holding my gaze like he knows I have something to confess.
Saint is acting more protective, touching me more, snapping at people for getting too close. He’s hovering at the side of the bar like a king hoarding a conquest. He tucks my hair behind my ear as I pass by with three fresh bottles for a table.
Sin is at my back when I turn around, nose to my hair then my neck. “You smell different.”
I shrug out of his grip and send him what I hope is a playful wink. “New deodorant?”
He frowns, eying me more suspiciously.
I did get a new deodorant when I met my mother at the dollar store, but I doubt that’s what he smells. Can you smell hormone shifts? Isn’t it too soon for those changes to be so noticeable?
The smoking and vaping overload my senses, and when I shoot a glance at Pixie, she nods me off.
I slink to the bathroom again, half retching and hovering over the bowl until my stomach settles. Then, I pee and flush, creating an easy diversion. But when I’m done, Doc steps in front of me, blocking my path out to the bar and lounge.
“Wren…something’s not right.”
I freeze.
“You’re hiding something.” He grabs me when I wobble, hand at my wrist, in doctor mode. “Why is your heart rate elevated? If you’re sick, I need to know.”
“It’s probably just something I ate.” Which amounts to a few pieces of toast.
His brows furrow, and I know he doesn’t believe me. He doesn’t understand why I’m keeping it from him.
“No, bird…something’s going on. And I’m gonna figure out what.”
32
WREN
I’m folding laundry, one of the few tasks that doesn’t upset my stomach. Pixie has been hovering, which is sweet. But it means the men are growing more suspicious of my behavior.
My lack of energy.
