Page 66 of Brutal for It
The tiny blur of life, proof that something good can grow from ruin.
Tommy’s truck pulls up just as the sun starts to set. He climbs out, smiling when he sees me. “Hey, Tiny.”
My throat closes.
He walks up the steps, leans down to kiss me. “You okay? You look pale again.”
“I need to talk to you,” I manage.
His smile fades. “What’s wrong?”
My hands shake as I hold out the picture. “I went to the doctor.”
He takes the photo, frowning at it, then looks back at me. “Jami?”
I swallow hard. “I’m pregnant.”
He doesn’t speak at first. Just stares, processing.
Then his hand trembles slightly as he looks back at the image. “That’s… ours?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper as the shame washes over me. “It could be. It might not be. I’m so sorry, Tommy. I didn’t know. I wasn’t myself.”
He looks at me for a long time, eyes full of a hundred emotions I can’t read — shock, pain, maybe even hope.
Finally, he sits beside me, the photo still in his hand. “You’re clean now?”
“Yes.”
“You staying that way?”
I nod. “For the baby. For you. And for me.”
He lets out a slow breath. “Then that’s all that matters.”
Tears blur my vision. “You’re not angry?”
“Angry at the world, maybe, I’m not gonna lie” he says softly. “But not at you.”
I cover my mouth with my hands, the sob catching in my throat. He pulls me into him, wrapping me up until the shaking stops.
“Whatever happens,” he murmurs into my hair, “you’re not doing this alone. We’re gonna have a baby, Tiny. And that is something to cherish.”
That night, after he’s fallen asleep, I lie awake listening to his breathing. My hand rests over my stomach, the faintest curve now that I know it’s there.
The fear doesn’t vanish, but it doesn’t own me either.
I think about my journal entry today. I told him. He stayed. I’m still sober. Maybe love really can give the gift of a new life.
I close the journal, turn off the light, and finally let myself rest.
Nineteen
Tommy Boy
There’s a moment, right before sunrise, when the world feels honest. Before the engines start, before the phones buzz, before the noise of life starts crawling through the cracks.
That’s when I think best. Or maybe it’s when I hurt the least.
