Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Abby.” My voice is hoarse and pleading. “You can’t. It’ll destroy my life.”
Her laugh is hollow and cold. “And what about mine? Does it not matter? Our baby’s life certainly doesn’t matter to you.”
Fighting with her isn’t going to solve anything. I need to take another approach.
“So, you bring it to term,” I say as calmly as I can. “Then what? Are you ready to be a mom? Last I checked, you don’t exactly have your life together.”
She doesn’t respond for an eternity and then mutters, “I know what my life is like. And who said I wanted to be a mother? Maybe adoption is the best option here.”
But adoption means people finding out she’s pregnant. People asking questions as to who the father is. A lot more drama and chaos.
“No one can know I’m the father.” I clear my throat and shake my head. “I can help you until you deliver, but I need that part of it to remain a secret.”
“Heaven forbid my perfect sister find out her perfect boyfriend is not so perfect.”
A flash of anger burns hot through me. “She can’t,” I snap. “I refuse to hurt her over a single, stupid moment.”
“It’s not like I talk to her anyway,” she bites back. “And even if I did—oh, shit, the cops.”
I frown in confusion. “What about the cops?”
“They’re looking for me. Dammit!”
She starts breathing heavily and I wonder if she’s running. What in the actual hell is going on right now?
“Why are they looking for you?” I demand. “What did you do now?”
“I didn’t do anything,” she hisses breathily. “It was what my dad did.”
“That makes zero sense.”
“He cut me off.” She curses and then cries out. “Ouch.”
“Abby,” I growl, my anxiety skyrocketing. “How does that involve the police?”
She’s fully huffing now as she runs. I’m not sure running is safe for a pregnant woman. But, what the hell do I know?
“I was…” Huff, huff, huff. “Starving. Spent my last few bucks on a pregnancy test.” More huffing. “Then I remembered Dad’s credit card for emergencies.” Huff, huff. “So, I considered starvation an emergency.” Huff, huff, huff. “Went to the diner and when I used the card, it was declined. I had to sneak out of there.”
“Where are you?” I ask as I rise to my feet to hunt down my shoes. “Abby?”
“Hiding now.” Her breathing is stifled as if she’s trying to mask the sound of it. “Oh my God there are people living behind these dumpsters.”
“Hey pretty lady. Need some help?” a voice on her end says.
“I’m good. Thanks.”
I strain to listen. The man speaks again and there’s a slur in his words.
“Abby, tell me where the fuck you are right now,” I demand as I pocket my keys. “Send me a pin, dammit.”
Sure, I’m freaked the hell out about this whole pregnancy thing and screwing my girlfriend’s sister, but knowing the mother of my baby is alone in some alleyway stresses me out more in this moment.
My phone buzzes with a text. When I look at the address, my worry multiplies exponentially. She’s in the seediest area of town. You don’t go over there unless you’re trying to get mugged, shot, or worse.
For a pretty young woman like Abby, I fear what could be worse.
