Chapter 7 Beatrice
BEATRICE
Isit at my desk at the salon, staring at my accounting software, attempting to reconcile our recent transactions, but I can’t focus on anything. The screen is a blur.
Everything is a blur.
It’s been three weeks since Sienna’s birthday, and as far as everyone knows, everything is great.
Our hangovers faded, and we returned to normal life.
We were all at the salon first thing on Tuesday morning to start a new work week.
We’re almost fully booked with people wanting to be summer-ready, keeping all of us busy with jobs we love.
Only, while the others are focused and enjoying time with their clients, my life is starting to spin out of control.
Things were already hanging on by a thread after some questionable decisions I made a few months ago. But they’ve potentially taken an even worse turn.
I…
Fuck. I can’t even think it.
I slump back in my seat and close my eyes.
The relief is brief, because no sooner am I plunged into darkness than my thoughts return.
My ability to ignore the inevitable is becoming increasingly difficult.
A week ago, I was living in complete denial. But as the days pass, the harder it is to convince myself that everything is okay.
“Fuck,” I bark before opening my eyes, slamming my laptop closed and shoving the chair out behind me.
I can’t do this any longer.
I can’t sit here pretending that everything is okay. That my already fragile life isn’t being thrown headfirst into another fucking disaster.
This shouldn’t be happening.
We didn’t do anything wrong.
But…
My stomach rolls and my mouth waters dangerously.
I pause, my eyes on the trash can in the corner of the room as the nausea almost gets the better of me.
It’s always the same when I’m stressed and anxious. And that’s all it is.
But it’s not, the all-knowing little voice in my head says.
Once I’ve got a handle on myself, I grab my purse, throw it over my shoulder, and rip the office door open.
The scent of bleach hits me along with the sweet floral scent of the air fresheners Sienna bought recently, making me want to run back to the trash can. But I take a deep breath, hold my head high, and walk through the salon.
Lessy is busy at the basin, washing her client's hair; Savvy is deep in conversation as she does an intricate set of nails, and Sienna is sitting behind the reception desk, working on social media content while she waits for her next client.
“I need to cancel my appointments this afternoon,” I say, stepping up to the desk.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
She scans my face, looking for the answer.
“Another migraine?” she asks, incorrectly guessing why I probably look like a train wreck.
“Yeah.” It’s not entirely a lie. My head does hurt—it has for days.
But it’s not a migraine. I haven’t had one of those in a while, but I can’t lie, I’m pretty sure I’m due one.
They’re worse when I’m stressed, and right now, I’m just about as stressed as one person can get. I’m not about to tell her that, though.
The little bit of denial that still lives within me allows me to believe that I’m wrong, that I’m not hiding anything from her.
“I’m gonna go home and go to bed. You can hold down the fort here, right?”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll call your clients and get it sorted. Go,” she says, shooing me away. “I’ve got everything covered here. Call me if you need anything.”
I nod as a lump of emotion crawls up my throat.
Sienna is too good to me. She has no idea how much her friendship and support have meant to me over the last few years. But, honestly, I’m not sure I could have done it all without her.
Owning my own salon has been a dream of mine since I was a little girl, and without her, I don’t think it would have happened.
“Thanks, Si. I owe you.”
“Nope. Never. Now go. Rest.”
I nod as I back away from her, afraid she’ll be able to tell that I’m lying to her if I stand here too long.
With my head lowered, I hurry out of the salon and down the street to my car.
As I pass the store, I consider going in and getting what I need. But the fear of being seen by a client stops me.
Instead, I climb into my car and head in the direction of one a little closer to home.
My heart is in my throat as I walk down the aisle I need, my hands trembling and my stomach constantly rolling.
I’m almost twenty-five, and this is the first time in my life I’ve had to think about this.
It’s a fact I was very happy about until I discovered that I have no idea what I’m buying.
There are too many options. All of them claim to be the best and give the fastest, most reliable results. But surely, they can’t all be.
All I know is that I shouldn’t go for the cheapest. I have no idea if the saying “you get what you pay for” works in this department, but I’m not willing to be a test dummy for it.
Voices hit my ears from the other end of the aisle, and I panic.
In a rush, I reach for the box closest to me, and I practically run in the opposite direction of the couple approaching so they don’t see what I’m buying.
I opt for the self-checkout so I don’t have to interact with anyone, and before I know it, I’m back in my car.
The drive home is a blur. So is getting into my building and climbing the stairs to my second-floor apartment.
As I push inside, I don’t see the state of my home.
I’m blinded by fear.
With the box that will determine the direction of my future clutched to my chest, I walk on autopilot to my bathroom and close the door.
I wish I could get it over with, but seeing as this is the first time I’ve ever done this, I need to at least skim the instructions.
I can’t risk doing anything wrong and getting an incorrect result.
As much as I might be terrified of what I’m about to confirm, I need to know without a doubt that that’s correct.
I read through the instructions.
Pee.
Wait.
Future determined.
I blow out a breath, my eyes locked on the plastic stick between my thumb and forefinger.
“Now or never, Walsh,” I mutter to myself as I undo my pants and lower my ass to the toilet.
My heart races as I do my business and put the cap back on the stick. I place it screen-down and start the timer on my cell.
I’m not looking early. I don’t want any false results. I just want the truth.
You already know the truth.
I try blocking that little voice because, as much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. All the signs are there. And with the way my life has been going recently, it’s almost predictable.
I don’t know what I did to piss the universe off, but whatever it was, it really didn’t like it, and it’s making sure I suffer.
For the next two minutes, I pace back and forth across my small bathroom with my heart in my throat and panic knotting up my stomach.
A million thoughts race through my head so fast that they make me dizzy. But the biggest one of all is: what the fuck am I going to do?
I swear, the second the alarm sounds, my heart plummets into my feet so fast it leaves me breathless.
I cancel it, plunging the room into silence.
The weight of what I’m about to discover presses down heavily on my shoulders.
Just turn it over.
My hand trembles violently as I reach for the stick resting on the edge of the sink.
Memories from that night come back to me in vivid detail.
It’s not the first time I’ve thought back to it. If I’m honest, I replay it at least once a day, and more often than not, it’s while I have my vibrating friend in my hand and I’m alone in bed.
Every time it’s over, I chastise myself for using him as my spank bank material, but I can’t help myself. It was hot, and it gets me off in record time. But one thought of the way he had me pinned against the wall with his thick cock buried deep inside me, and I’m gone.
He shouldn’t still have that power over me. It’s been three weeks. I haven’t seen him or spoken to him since. Okay, that’s a little bit of a lie. I have seen him many, many times.
Stupid social media algorithms.
I swear to God, every time I open any social media platform, there he is smiling back at me with that stupid cocky grin on his face.
"I always get what I want.” I hear the words as clearly as if he just growled them in my ear like he did that night.
Well, Everett Donnelly, you may have got yourself a little more than you were hoping for.
I shake my head, my fingers resting on the plastic of the test as I will myself to pick it up and look.
Just do it.
Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe it’s all just stress and everything will be fine.
Maybe…
Maybe…
Maybe…
I take a large breath, my chest expanding with it as I finally pick the test up and flip it over.
My eyes lock on the little screen that gives me the verdict, and the second I read the single word there staring back at me, all the air comes rushing back out of my lungs.
I stumble back, a sob erupting before my calves hit the bathtub, and I lower my ass to the edge.
I knew. I knew what it was going to say, but that doesn’t stop the shock of seeing the word hitting me, right along with the harsh reality of the situation I’m dealing with.
It was just a moment of fun.
A few minutes with a man I knew I should have stayed far, far away from.
But it’s too late now.
It might have only been a brief exchange. We may have been fully protected. But it seems that didn’t matter because the universe, or fate, or fucking something, had a different path planned for me.
“Oh my god,” I sob, tears spilling from the corners of my eyes.
For a moment there, I thought doing the test and discovering the truth was going to be the hard part, but I hadn’t considered what comes next.
How the hell am I meant to tell Everett Donnelly that I’m pregnant with his baby?