Page 40 of Gatling
I checked my phone again. Seven minutes had passed since I sent my message.
No answer from Ryker.
I tried not to freak out. But a tug of uneasiness still twisted in my stomach. He usually moved heaven and earth to make sure he answered when I called. But this time—the one time that I really needed him—he was silent.
Dragging myself out of bed, I shuffled into the bathroom. I swallowed around the lump in my throat as I studied my reflection. My frizzy bedhead. The dark circles under my swollen, red eyes. The curve of my stomach, pressed against my T-shirt. I placed my hand there, imagining what it would be like to feel my baby kick and squirm in my belly.
What if Ryker doesn’t want to be a father?
The thought was sobering. Am I ready to raise a child as a single mother? Noah would help, of course. Even if he was furious with me for the rest of my life, he would never abandon me.
But I had to prepare myself for the reality that Ryker might not want this the way I did.
After a shower, my morning sickness abated to a tolerable level. I managed to stomach a light breakfast without feeling nauseous. Noah hummed to himself as he popped two slabs of bread from the toaster, slathered them in a thick layer of blackberry jam just the way I liked it, and offered one to me. I smiled at his thoughtfulness.
He would make the best uncle in the world.
As we ate our toast together, I almost poured out everything to Noah. My feelings for Ryker. Sleeping with him. The surprise pregnancy. And now…the excruciating wait for a response from him.
I wanted to tell Noah how scared I was. I wanted him to wrap me in a hug like he used to when I was little and scared of the dark. I wanted him to tell me that everything would be okay.
“You look distracted this morning, butterbean,” Noah said. Leaning back against the counter, he sipped his coffee, watching me over the rim of his mug for my answer.
I loved his kitchen—spacious and homey. He claimed his obsession with tidiness was merely his military training shining through. But it was more than that.
Noah had worked his ass off to give me a home after our parents died. He learned how to cook, how to sew a button back on, how to braid my hair. He learned how to bake my favorite cupcakes for my birthday, and how to create matching last-minute Halloween costumes from whatever he could find around the house.
Noah would work just as hard to make sure my baby was loved as much as I was.
“You can talk to me,” he added. “About anything. I know we’ve had our fair share of arguments over the years. And I can be a total killjoy—”
“You’re not a killjoy,” I said. “Just a stick-in-the-mud.”
“Is that better or worse?”
I smiled softly.
“I think I turned out okay, so it doesn’t matter either way.”
Noah chuckled.
“That’s a good answer. I bet you’re buttering me up for something.”
You have no idea.
But I couldn’t drop the bomb on him now. Not five minutes before I was supposed to leave for work. And I still hoped that Ryker might respond at any minute.
Tonight. I would tell Noah everything tonight. If Ryker hadn’t responded by then…well, I guess this was part of letting him go.
On my way to work, I took a detour, driving by the Blackjacks clubhouse in the hopes that Ryker might be there. Hoping I could talk to him in person. I scanned the parking lot, lookingfor his bike. He still hadn’t responded to my text, but the read receipt proved that he’d seen it.
That made me feel worse.
I should just call him and get it over with. But deep down, I knew I was stalling. My pregnancy was going to change my relationship with Ryker. He purposefully removed himself from people, living in that rustic cabin in the woods, alone. And now I expected him to eagerly welcome a baby into his life?
Only three bikes were parked at the clubhouse. None of them belonged to him.
Disappointment welled in the pit of my stomach.
