Page 88 of Eco-Activist's Mountain Men
What if this ruins everything?
My hands tremble as icy dread seeps down my spine.
I try to picture their reactions.
Luke would go silent, that flat, unreadable stare of his. Jack might crack a joke at first, but then he’d turn deadly serious, maybe too serious. Toby would try to laugh it off, but I’d see the panic behind his blue eyes. And Eric… Eric would try to be noble, to step up, but that almost makes it worse. What if he felt obligated instead of happy?
The thought makes me queasy all over again.
Okay. Breathe, Luna. First step—find out for sure. Don’t spiral until you know.
There are plenty of reasons I could have a headache and nausea. That whisky yesterday, for one. Jack brought out a Lagavulin he’d been saving, and I joined in. I smiled and laughed, tried to pretend I liked it. Truth is, it tasted like paraffin. Men and their obsession with whisky. Champagne is a much better way to celebrate.
Focus. How do I know for sure?
Take a test, obviously. Except—what are the chances of finding a pregnancy test kit in the middle of a logging camp in the woods? Zero.
Desperate, I grab my phone and search YouTube: “home pregnancy test.”
Up comes a mess of ridiculous ideas. Salt. Bleach. Vinegar. Toothpaste. Garlic. Lemons. Cooking oil.
I groan, pressing a hand to my forehead. Utter nonsense.
Which means I need a real test. Which means I need to get into town. Soon.
Because the longer I wait, the more I picture their faces when they find out. And right now, I’m not sure which terrifies me more—actually being pregnant, or seeing the look in their eyes when I tell them.
"Hey, Luna, wake up!"
"Huh, wha?" I raise my head from the table, blinking blearily, to see Toby standing next to me with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand.
"You okay, babe?" His grin is easy, but there’s a flicker of concern in his eyes.
"What? Oh, yeah, sure. Just tired." I force a grin that I hope is convincing.
"Want a coffee? Coffee’s great for waking you up."
"Alright, yeah, thanks, Tobes."
He heads over to the stove, grabs a spare mug en route, and pours me one. No milk—he knows better by now. But he nudges the sugar bowl toward me, along with a not-particularly-clean but good-enough teaspoon. I spoon in sugar, stirringabsentmindedly, needing the hit of energy more than I care to admit.
"Something on your mind, Chief Revenue Officer?" Toby asks, eyebrows raised.
"Well, actually, yes. There is."
"Go on then. Out with it."
I take a breath. "I’ve been here a couple of weeks now, right? Which means it’s been about two weeks since the storm, yes?"
Toby does a mock calculation on his fingers, grinning, but when he sees my expression, he drops the act. "Yeah, something like that. Why?"
"Well… we’re kinda low on fresh food. And I need to visit a pharmacy for… women’s things. Plus, I could really use more than one pair of panties, if you catch my drift."
He grins wickedly. "Wearing a bit thin, are they?"
"Fuck you." I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth quirks up despite myself.
"Seriously, though, yeah, I get it. You’re asking if we can make it into town yet, right?"
