Page 36 of The Sinner's Touch

She tried to say something, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

“Angel? Answer me, dammit!”

She drew in a strangled breath as Peter rattled the door handle. It had to be a panic attack.

Peter’s shoulder hit the bathroom door, and it burst inward, hitting her left arm with such force, she fell sideways.

“Oh, my God, Angel. What’s wrong?”

He pulled her up, and she winced when he grasped her arm. Damn, but it hurt enough to penetrate the panic. She took a few small breaths and concentrated on breathing, telling herself over and over that she was okay. She made herself focus on the throbbing pain in her arm. Slowly, the world stopped spinning and she could breathe. She blinked several times, ignoring Peter’s attempts to get her to speak. Her gaze zeroed in on the little white stick that had rolled off the countertop when she’d fallen.

One line meant she wasn’t pregnant.

Two lines meant a tiny human nestled under her heart.

She leaned forward and grasped it, closing her eyes. If she looked, that meant it was real. If she simply refused to look, she could go on like nothing was wrong, like nothing had changed.

“Angel, talk to me. What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

She thrust the little white stick at him, unable to look. “What does it say?”

Bewildered, he looked down. “Uh, it doesn’t say anything?”

“How many lines, Peter? How many lines are there?”

Please don’t say it, please don’t say it, please don’t say it.

“Two lines.”

She sagged against the wall. He said it.

A tiny human.

“Is this a pregnancy test?”

She nodded, refusing to look at him. What if he looked at her like that stupid cashier had? With scorn, derision, and condemnation?

“Two lines means what?”

“A baby.”

He sat on the floor next to her and leaned his head against hers. “You okay?”

She shook her head. She wasn’t okay. She was never going to be okay again. “I’m scared, Peter. I can’t do this.”

“It’s a scary thing, that’s for sure,” he agreed.

“What am I gonna do?” The waterworks burst, and she started to cry, her breath coming out in loud sobs. Her brother pulled her into his lap and rocked her like their dad used to do when she got hurt. He let her cry until she was spent.

“It’s okay, Angel. Everything is going to be okay. I promise.”

His soothing words washed over Angel, and it calmed her down a bit. “I’m too young to be a mom.”

“Yeah, you’re young, but Mom was a year younger when she had me. I think you’re selling yourself short, kid.”

“But what if I don’t want to be a mom?” she whispered, and her stomach cramped up in protest. Shit, could the nugget hear her? No, surely not. It didn’t even have a brain right now, did it? She had no idea.

Peter stilled, but only for a moment. “I’ll support whatever you want to do. If you don’t want this pregnancy, I’ll go down to the clinic with you, and we’ll face it together. I’m here, kid. Whatever you want, I’m here.”

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