Page 73 of Cross Check Daddies
Because I have too many calendars—one for Jackson’s school, one for the GameHatch launch, one for my sex schedule, apparently—but none for my body.
I blink and try to recall the last time I felt bloated or cramped or annoyed at the sight of blood on the sheets. But I come up empty.
I bury my face in my hands. “Fuck. Oh fuck. How could I be this careless?”
“Hey,” she crouches in front of me, both hands on my knees. “Hey. Deep breath. You are not alone. We’ll go to the store. Get tampons. Get a test. We won’t spiral until we have to.”
I nod, because I need to borrow her calm.
She heads to the living room, already putting her lawyer’s voice to work. “Hey, superstar,” she says to Jackson, tugging one of his earbuds off. “We’re going out. You want popcorn?”
“Yay!” he cheers, leaping off the couch, completely oblivious to the storm I’m holding back behind my ribs.
I go to the bathroom and splash water on my face, staring at myself in the mirror like I might be able to see something different. My hands shake. My pulse races. But when I step out again, I smile for my son like nothing’s wrong.
Because I don’t want him to see me unravel.
The grocery store feels like a bad dream. Too much light. Too much noise.
Ivy handles it like a professional. She grabs tampons and a pregnancy test in one aisle, then drops a bag of caramel popcorn into the cart. Once she has paid, she disappears into the restroom first, tossing me a nod and a “don’t overthink it” look.
When she comes out, she passes the test to me like it’s a torch in a relay race.
“My turn?” I ask.
“Your turn,” she says, firm but kind. “You’ll be okay.”
I swallow hard. “Okay.”
She leans in. “Jackson and I will be waiting by the entrance."
I step into the restroom like I’m walking into a firing squad. The plastic is smooth in my hand, and I take longer than I should just reading the instructions. Like the steps are somehow new. Like I haven’t done this before. Like the truth won’t punch me just the same.
I take the test. I stare at the wall. I count every exhale.
The result blooms like a betrayal.
Two lines.
Positive.
I don’t breathe. Don’t move. Don’t think. Just sit on the edge of the cracked plastic seat and let my entire life collapse into a pile of unanswered questions. Pregnant. And not just pregnant. Pregnant while sleeping with three different men.
I flush, wash my hands, tuck the test deep in my purse, and walk out like nothing happened.
Ivy’s leaning against the wall near the entrance with Jackson, who’s crunching through a bag of popcorn. She takes one look at me and knows. Her expression softens, and that makes my knees want to buckle.
The car ride back is quiet. Jackson babbles about a dinosaur documentary. Ivy hums and nods. I stare out the window, my stomach churning, my brain rewinding to every touch, every moment of sweetness and heat and wanting. Every night with Cam, every stolen hour with Tanner, every soft morning with Ace.
I can’t think about who. I can’t even breathe that far ahead.
Ivy puts Jackson to bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world, brushing his curls back, turning on his lamp, kissing his forehead. I sit on the couch like I’m not made of flesh anymore.
When she comes out, she doesn’t say anything. She just sinks onto the couch beside me and wraps her arms around my shoulders.
I let my body fold sideways, leaning against her, burying my face in her neck, and cry. She knows how hard my pregnancy with Jackson had been. Despite my issues with Aaron, he was at least there for what had to be the hardest nine months of my life.Now this.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper.
