Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Then I sipped my whiskey tonight, and it has an astringent taste. It burned my mouth and immediately made me nauseous.
I’ve never, ever felt that way before. And then I realized it’s Friday, and I still hadn’t gotten my period.
My cycle has never been super regular. And I haven’t had to track it in a while because, well, I haven’t been having sex. And the sex I had with Tuck was safe sex. Protected sex.
Except for that one bit where he was inside me without a condom for a minute, maybe less. Just the proverbial tip. Not deep enough or long enough to get me pregnant, surely?
I still couldn’t shake the panic that gripped me, which is why I excused myself from dinner. I ran to my apartment and immediately panic-Googled my symptoms.
The diagnosis that came up again and again?
Pregnancy.
I was out the door and on my way to the Maritime Market two seconds later. I grabbed a box of pregnancy tests and zoomed back home, not even stopping to put my bag down before heading to the bathroom to pee on a stick.
Two very long minutes later, I got two pink lines. It’s the only test I didn’t want to ace.
I refused to believe it, so I tossed that test in the trash and took another one.
Same result. I knew it in my bones.
I’m pregnant.
There’s been no one else other than Tuck. The baby is his.
I burst into a fresh round of tears. Not knowing what else to do, I ran, hopping back in the golf cart and heading for the beach. I needed some air. Time to think. To process the fact that I’m pregnant with my boss’s baby.
And now that man is running toward me, his handsome face a mask of stone. His eyes slice right through me. I begin to shake. Tears stream from my eyes. I don’t know how I’m going to face Tuck, but I can’t keep running.
The sand is warm against the bare soles of my feet as I brace for impact.
“I saw it.” He draws to a stop a few feet away from me. “The test.”
I still can’t read his expression. A thousand questions whip through my head. I don’t know where to start. Does any of it even matter, other than the fact that I’m pregnant?
“You went into my apartment?” I manage.
He puts his hands on his hips. “I saw you leave and come back. I texted and called you, but you didn’t answer. I was worried. I wanted—” He stops. The muscle in his jaw flexes. “I had to know you were okay.”
“Well.” I sniff, crossing my arms. “I’m not okay. Not by a long shot.”
He blinks, bringing his eyebrows together. “It’s me?”
“It’s you. There’s only been you, so . . .”
His eyes flicker. “Fuck.” He spears a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”
His words are like a punch to the face. I start to cry, my face screwed up against the pain and panic that courses through me. It’s embarrassing. This is why I wanted to be alone, so I could fall apart in peace. At the very least keep my dignity intact.
But here I am, sobbing like an idiot.
“Maren.” His voice is softer now. “Shit, Maren, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I was only—”
He doesn’t finish the thought. Instead he wraps an arm around my neck and pulls me in for a tight hug, pressing my face against the warm, solid wall of his chest. His shirt smells like detergent and him, the woods and the smoke, and my heart turns over.
Even in the midst of a very real crisis, my want for him rings clear as a bell.
I’ve missed you, I want to say.
“This sucks,” I say instead.
His other arm circles my waist. He holds me against him, his grip firm, unyielding, like he knows this is exactly what I need—to be held while I cry my eyes out.
“It does,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’m so fucking sorry, Maren. I thought we were being careful—”
“We were. Except . . .”
Except for that handful of heartbeats where we lost control.
“I’m furious with myself for letting that happen,” he says. “If I had known—I just assumed—I was stupid, and I regret that now. I regret everything. I’m sorry.”
I know he’s trying to make me feel better, but his words hurt. Of course I didn’t want to end up pregnant. Even so, I don’t regret having sex with him. It was excellent.
Life-affirming.
Apparently those feelings are one-sided, though. I was naïve to expect otherwise. Tuck is hot, rich, and more than ten years older than I am. He doesn’t want me. Not the way I want him.
“I was there too,” I say. “It’s my fault too.”
His chest barrels out on an inhale. He lets it out, his breath warm on my temple. “It’s my job to keep you safe. I didn’t.”