Page 148 of Even Exchange

Fifteen weeks.

I don’t need to be a mathematician or have a PhD in Gynecology to know Charlotte’s not carrying my baby.

I don’t need to wonder if she’ll have my eyes or if she’ll inherit the Caruso charm.

I don’t need to worry if she’ll be allergic to nuts like my father or have a sun sensitivity like Mom.

I don’t need to bring my family history to every doctor’s appointment.

And the worst part of all, I don’tgetto.

My eyes are fixed on the truck key in my hand, a Barracudas training bag heavy on my shoulder, reminding me where Ishouldbe. Coach Bexley gave me a late pass, and I’m already cutting it close, but how can I leave?

The rattling of tiny wheels draws my attention to Charlotte dragging her suitcase from the garage to our bedroom, and my body stiffens.

“What are you doing?”

“Packing,” she says, disappearing into the bedroom.

“What?” I drop everything to the floor with a thump, chasing after her. She yanks open her dresser drawer and scoops clothes by the handful, then tosses them in the suitcase like she’s trying to flee the country.

Is she?

“Whatare you doing?” I repeat, hoping for a clearer response.

“Like I said.” She tosses a pair of shorts in the bag. “Packing.”

“To go where?” My eyes bounce between the drawer and her suitcase as more items get haphazardly thrown inside.

“I don’t know,” she says, exasperated.

“Thenwhyare you packing?” I ask, words made difficult by my full-blown inner fucking panic.

“Didn’t you hear the doctor? I’mfifteenweeks. Ding ding ding! Congratulations, Noah, you arenotthe father!” she says with a sarcastic laugh, but her attempt at humor only rotates the knife deeper in my chest.

“Charlotte,” I say, softly, blinking back tears so she can’t see how affected I am by this. “Please, stop.”

“Why?” She shrieks, throwing her arms in the air, a bra in each hand. “You should be relieved! Mr. Perfect still has his scot-free record, and you aren’t gonna be a daddy at twenty-three! You can go focus on football and your career, and we are not your problem anymore.” My chest aches, lungs constricting as she rushes off to the bathroom, clattering and banging away. Sure, I worry about my career, but I would have never wished for this.

Muffled rings from my phone by the door attempt to pull my attention, but I ignore it, following after her.

“Is that what you think I want?” I ask, entering to the sight of her throwing more shit in a small bag.

She stays silent and shrugs.

“You think I wanted this babynotto be mine?” I ask, heart bleeding, eyes stinging.

Stay strong, Noah.

Charlotte can’t see how devastated you are.

“I mean…” She glances up, catching my gaze in the mirror. “Isn’t it better this way?”

“For who?” I snap, tone harsher than intended. “For Jonathan? Is that where you’re going? Straight to youractualbaby daddy?”

“What?” She fumes. “No.”

“Thenwhereare you going?”

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