Page 17 of Ghost's Obsession

But what I just saw, I can’t unsee. It isn’t just stress. And whatever it is, I’m going to do my level best to figure it out.

Chapter 6

Heather

Iwake up at four in the morning with my stomach churning and my heart pounding. I brush my teeth and gag at the smell of mint. I stare at myself in the mirror, realizing that I look pale, shaky, and sweaty, the same as the last few days. My trembling hands grip the sink like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. I’ve been in denial since I first realized I could be pregnant, and I haven’t done a test. But yesterday Ghost was asking me if I was okay, and if he’s picking up on it then I must look like a mess.

I need to know one way or another.

I throw on leggings and a hoodie, pull my hair into a messy knot, and slide out of the garage while it’s still dark. The moon is still in the sky. I know what I have to do today—right now, in fact—so I get into my car and go.

The gas station at the edge of town is open. The woman behind the counter barely looks up when I walk in, which is exactly what I want. More than anything, I want autonomy. I grab the cheapest pregnancy test kit on the shelf and pay in cash. I avoid eye contact and toss the receipt in the trash on the way out. I drive back with the windows down, hoping the air will clear my head. It doesn’t.

Back in the garage, I head straight to the bathroom on shaky legs. The light above the mirror buzzes faintly. My hands tremble as I rip open the box, and I hate how familiar the process is. I take the test, set it on the edge of the sink, and step back.

Two minutes. That’s all it takes. I use the time to pace. When two minutes have passed, I stand in front of the test strip and stare. It takes a second for the second line to show up. It’s faint, but it’s there. That second strip makes it a positive test.

I walk out and sit on the edge of my cot. I feel like crying, but I don’t dare because if I get started, I might never stop. Instead, I just go completely still. I think that if I don’t move, I won’t completely fall apart.

I’m pregnant. Not maybe. Not probably. Absolutely.

Leaving the test kit in the bathroom is a good move. Having it in my hand feels like too much responsibility. I put my head in my hands as the reality of my situation sinks in. My life sucked pretty hard before. Now, it’s ten times worse. I’m homeless, working a temporary job that provides me with a tenuous place to live, on the run from an abusive ex-boyfriend, and pregnant with a child I do not want. What if this child turns out to be a narcissist like his or her father?

I haven’t been with anyone else. Not since I slammed my trunk closed, left the spare key on the counter, and drove until I couldn’t feel his eyes on me anymore.

This baby is his, and no matter what, he can never know.

I sit on the edge of my cot with my hands in my lap and my thoughts screaming. The silence in the garage wraps around me like a wet blanket, oppressive. My chest feels tight. I no longer feel okay in my own skin. My hand goes to my stomach. I can’t feel it, but this baby is inside me.

I grab my phone from the folding table and open my texts with trembling fingers. There’s nothing new from anyone I know. But near the top is a number I don’t recognize.

No name. Just a single message:

You shouldn’t have left me. Come back before it’s too late.

I drop the phone like it suddenly turns into a scorpion. He wants me back again, and that is never going to happen. I snatch the phone up again and delete the message, then power it off completely and throw it under my cot. It lands with a soft thud next to my hiking boots.

I press the heels of my hands to my eyes and try not to cry. I don’t want to. I don’t have time to. But I eventually lose the battle, and hot tears spill down my cheeks. I breathe deep. In through my nose. Out through my mouth. I try to ground myself in the room.

I focus on the work gloves on the table. The blueprint folder half open. Ghost’s toolbelt hanging on the hook by the door.

Ghost.

I shut my eyes. If he finds out, I’ll be unemployed and homeless.

Then again, he’s smart, observant, and protective in a quiet, bone-deep kind of way. He might try to fix it. Shield me. Maybe even go after my ex if he thought there was a threat. That’s the kind of man he is.

And that’s what terrifies me most. Because if Ghost goes after him, my ex will come for him. And then I won’t just be pregnant. I’ll be responsible.

***

By the time Ghost shows up, I’ve shoved the fear down so deep I almost believe it’s gone.

I’ve washed my face, pulled my hair back into a tighter ponytail, spread out the blueprints across the table like I’ve been working for hours instead of trying not to throw up or cry or both.

I’m calm. I’m composed. I’m a damn good actress when I need to be.

He walks in with his usual quiet energy, like a storm rolling in, slow and steady, always watching. He’s in his cut and a black thermal today, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. There’s grease on his forearm and a bottle of water in his hand.

---