Two pink lines glared before my eyes.
Right on the test I peed on one minute ago.
And next to the two pink lines were two symbols telling which symbol meant what. I already knew what they meant, but I looked anyway: two lines mean pregnant.
Two. Fucking. Life-changing. Lines.
I scrambled for the second pregnancy test and tore it open. Tears threatened to leak from my eyes, but I let anger take over my body. I was shivering. Angry and overwhelmed and terrified.
The second test was a horrible reassurance that yes, I was, in fact, pregnant as fuck. The thought terrified me more than it did an hour ago. It rattled every bone in my body down to my core. It turned my stomach into a rock and sank me to the floor and pulled every sob and breath and tear and every fiber of my being. My mind was more unstable than a china shelf, about to crash onto the hard tile.
Four hundred million questions ran through my head, but I needed to talk to someone before it exploded into four million pieces. My shaky hand slowly plucked my phone from my pocket and held it to my chest before I could face the screen to turn it on.
Honestly, I hadn’t made much effort to reconnect with friends since returning home from college. My sole focus was practicing, training, and caring for the horses, being there for my dad…meaning I had no one. Or at least, no one close enough to talk to aboutthis. One name, however, glowered at me through my contact list: Jack Hennicke. It was already dark out and pouring down rain. There was no way I was going over there and telling him this, especially in my current mental state. He was the last person I wanted to know what was going on at that moment because I was pretty sure if I so much as saw his face, I would break down all over again.
I left my phone on the floor and set out to the kitchen for something to cure at least one thing: my appetite. I wanted to empty the contents of my stomach, but it would give mesomething to do—at least for a few minutes. The only appetizing food in the refrigerator was last night’s pork roast, so I pulled it out and plated it for the microwave. While it heated, I pulled a notebook and pen from the junk drawer to write down a plan. I could sulk all I wanted, but at least I could do something about it.
But when my pen hit the paper, my mind went blank.
What did you do when you were twenty-two, alone, and pregnant?
Adoption and abortion were dismissed the moment they crossed my mind. I couldn’t do either of those things without wondering what my child would be like for the rest of my life.
A melodic noise I thought was the microwave distracted me from my notebook. I glanced toward the microwave, but it was still heating my dinner. The noise sounded again, and it took me all but five seconds to realize it was the doorbell ringing.
Well, shit. I was not in the right state of mind for company. I wiped some smeared mascara that had smudged beneath my eyes and smoothed my hair in the hallway mirror before opening the front door. And what do you know, it was the man of the fucking hour.
Jack Hennicke stood before me under the small awning above the door, his hair and white t-shirt soaked, and his hands in his pockets. He looked unsure of himself, a rare occurrence from the famously confident playboy. My eyes widened at the sight of him.
“Hey.” His eyes met mine.
Did he do this on purpose? Was this some evil practical joke from the universe, urging him to show up at my front doorminutesafter I found out I was pregnant withhis baby?
The hair on my arms stood as I took him in. This man. Was thefather. Of my child.
Our child.
How the hell did this happen?
“Hi.” I tried to act as nonchalant as possible. Like I was definitely not carrying his baby, and I was definitely not just crying on the bathroom floor because of it. “What’s up?”
“I, uh, kind of need to talk to you. Is it okay if I come in?”
My heart dropped at his question, not romantically, but out of pure fear.
No. Don’t come in. Go home and never come back.
My entire body shook with nerves. With the fact that my body was permanently intertwined with his from the baby I was carrying inside of me. I could barely hold it together.
But of course, my body absent-mindedly decided to step back and open the door a little wider for him to come inside. Jack looked at the ground and made his way through the door. He waited for me to close it before starting toward the kitchen, where then, go figure, the microwave beeped. I jumped back into consciousness and attempted to get ahead of him and hide my notebook of plans for our baby before realizing I hadn’t even written anything. He reached the kitchen and sat on the island barstool across from where the notebook lay open. He didn’t seem to take notice of anything. His eyes were distant with whatever was on his mind.
I sat down in front of the notebook and quickly closed it, pushing it off to the side. “So, what did you want to talk about?” I asked.
His gaze roamed my face. I nearly withered beneath it, afraid that he would look too close. His brows furrowed. “Are you okay, Maggie?”
“Yes, why?” I replied quickly. The best way to get him out of here was to get through whatever he needed to talk to me about and send him on his way.
“I don’t know, you seem a little…frazzled. Have you been crying?”
