Chapter 8 Beatrice
BEATRICE
Sienna: How are you feeling?
Istare at her message, my eyes bleary and sore from a night of barely any sleep.
There was a part of me that thought it would get easier once I knew the truth. But it seems I was lying to myself, because now that I know, I want to go back to being in denial.
Denial was fun.
I could pretend that none of this was happening.
Denial meant I could think back on that night with the fondness it was meant to be remembered with, not with the confusion I have now.
I’m on birth control. I have been since I was fifteen.
He used a condom. I watched him open the packet and roll it on.
I might have wanted to feel him come inside me, but it was a fantasy that stayed locked in my filthy little mind.
So how?
How did this happen?
My stomach rolls. It’s been the same since I realized my period was late. It’s not unusual, but once a few more days passed and nothing happened, I got suspicious.
It was one time.
One time with protection. Double protection.
And yet, here I am.
Up shit creek without a fucking paddle.
I continue staring blindly at Sienna’s message.
I need to reply to say yes, get my ass out of bed, and go to work.
Right now, my business and the women I work with are the best things in my life.
They’re what make me get up in the morning; they push me forward and force me to see that there will be light at the end of the tunnel.
I was almost there. I could almost see the brightness. The good times were almost within touching distance. And now…another curveball.
Bea: Yeah, I’m feeling much better. I’ll be in as planned. Thank you for holding down the fort yesterday.
Sienna: Anytime, you know that. Do you need anything?
“Fuck,” I gasp, letting my arms fall to the bed.
A miracle. That’s what I need. A miracle and a lottery win. Neither of which is going to happen because a, I don’t believe in miracles and b, I don’t play the lottery.
So basically, I’m fucked.
Bea: No, I’m good, thank you. See you soon x
With a groan, I throw the sheets off and climb out of bed.
I make it halfway across my room before I stop and take a step back until I’m standing in front of my full-length mirror.
I let my eyes drop down my body until they linger on my stomach. It’s not flat by any stretch of the imagination. I love food and hate the gym too much to ever have abs. But it’s okay, all things considered.
My hand lifts, my fingers splaying over my tank as I try to imagine what I might look like in a few months from now if I continue with this pregnancy.
My heart lurches.
There is no if.
I am continuing with this pregnancy.
It’s going to be hard. Really fucking hard. And I’m sure there are going to be many, many days—and nights—when I’m going to question my decision. But ultimately, it’s my decision.
There are so many unknowns about this situation, but the one thing I do know is that I will love this little baby with everything I am. I will do everything I can to ensure it has the best life possible.
I’m not entirely sure right at this moment what that life will look like, but it will have a life.
My thoughts briefly flicker to Everett, but I squash them as fast as they arrive.
He’s not going to be interested. He’ll take one look at me and decide I’m a bunny who’s after his money.
I shake my head.
He needs to know. But there is no way I’m asking him for anything.
Somehow, I’ll figure out a way to do this myself.
Sure, there have been a few bumps in the road, but I’ve managed this far without any help, and I’m sure I can handle this.
With freshly washed hair and a full face of makeup, I feel almost myself as I walk into the salon almost two hours later. The only issue is what I’m carrying. A decaf coffee.
I started ordering it the day I first got suspicious, just in case. Turns out, I made the right decision.
“Holy shit,” I gasp as I push the door open into our small staff room area out the back and find Sienna standing in the middle of the room with a bowl of oatmeal in her hand.
Sienna stares at me in surprise. “Didn’t you just park next to my car?”
I think back…did I?
“Yeah,” I mutter, assuming that I must have. “I just wasn’t expecting you to be right there.”
Sienna studies me, her brows pinching.
“So you’re not totally okay then?” she accuses.
I hold up my takeout cup. “I will be after this.” It’s bullshit, of course. Decaf coffee fixes nothing. But she doesn’t need to know that.
I’m going to tell Sienna. She’ll more than likely be the first person I confide in, but not yet. I need to get my head around it all before I burden someone else with my issues.
She puts a spoonful of oatmeal in her mouth before smirking at me. She looks guilty as fuck.
“What have you done?”
“Nuffin,” she mumbles around her breakfast.
“Sienna,” I half warn, half laugh.
“Ugh, fine. I managed to get two tickets to next week’s playoff game. You’ll come, right?”
Up until three weeks ago, I had managed to escape all invitations to watch hockey with Sienna. It helped that her brother was here and used to watch with her. But since he’s moved out of town, she’s lost her partner in crime. And I fear I may have shown just a little too much enthusiasm last time.
Everett Donnelly is a bad influence.
“You won’t have to see him. He probably won’t even know you’re there. Our seats are up with the gods. They’ll be teeny tiny little people on the ice with no chance of picking us out in the crowd.”
Sienna looks at me with her big, pleading eyes, and I find myself crumbling faster than a pack of cards.
“Fine. Fine. But I am not wearing his jersey again.”
As each day passes, my nerves about stepping back inside that arena only grow.
But as much as I don’t want to do it, I know that at some point, I’m going to have to.
Some way, somehow, I have to tell Everett.
I’ve tried coming up with a million different scenarios, all of which are almost impossible.
The fantasy of him walking into my salon because he’s desperate to see me again, sweeps me into his arms, and tells me that he never wants to let go, is probably the most unbelievable of them all, but that doesn’t stop it from floating around my head regardless.
The second most unrealistic is that I find a message from him on socials. As nice as it would be for him to be the one to reach out, I doubt he even remembers my name.
As much as it hurts, I was nothing but a willing woman for him to get his kicks with.
As the week progresses, I try to put on a positive face.
I want to say it’s easy. But under the surface, I’m beginning to spin out of control.
Sienna can see it. I’ve caught her studying me closely a few times, but she’s kept her questions to a simple “are you okay?” to which I obviously answer yes.
I’m on borrowed time, though, because while Sienna might allow me to be quiet and figure my shit out, she’ll only give me so long.
She knows life has been hard recently, that I made some less-than-ideal choices regarding the business and money, although she doesn’t know the full extent of it.
She knows I’m stressed, that I got close to losing everything I’ve worked so hard for.
She also doesn’t know that I’ve had a whole load of new stress piled on top of that.
Thankfully, the salon is crazy busy, which stops her from getting too many opportunities to probe. But as the clock rolls around to our hockey date, I know my time is up.
“Oh shit,” I gasp when my buzzer rings twenty minutes early.
With my sneakers in my hand, I rush over to answer it.
“Hello?”
“It’s meeee,” Sienna sings.
Shit.
I look around my apartment. I can’t let her up here.
“I thought we were meeting at the bar,” I say, cringing.
“I know but I was early, so I thought I’d come and pick you up. Get our night started.”
I lean forward and rest my forehead on the wall beside the intercom.
This is going to be a disaster.
“I’m just putting my shoes on. I’ll be right down.”
“B-but—”
“Two minutes,” I say before releasing the button and cutting her off.
I can picture her standing out there on the street with her famous pout on her lips, hands on her hips.
In a rush, I slip my feet into my sneakers, grab my zip-up from the side, and throw my purse over my shoulder.
I don’t bother looking in the mirror as I rush out of the apartment for fear one of my neighbors will recognize her and let her into the building.
They don’t, and two minutes later, I find her standing on the sidewalk, exactly as I imagined.
“What the hell?” she asks, her brows pinching.
“My apartment is a mess.” It’s not a lie.
It’s a fucking disaster, but I don’t want to tell her why.
Doing so would mean confessing that my fuck-up still lives on, dictating my life.
Much like with that positive test, I’ve lived in denial for as long as I can, it’s time to face the music, even if I don’t like the tune.
“I don’t care about that. I brought shots,” she says, holding up the bag swinging from her fingers.
My stomach knots, acid racing up my throat.
“What’s wrong?” She gasps, racing forward. “You’ve just gone as white as a ghost. Is it your migraines? Do you have another one?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine. Just hungry.”
She accepts my words but doesn’t look entirely convinced as she pulls out her cell and orders a rideshare to the bar she’s chosen to start the night in.
“So, who are they playing tonight?” I ask, hoping to distract her from my imploding life.
Of course, I already know. I may or may not have been doing some research.
The Vipers have reached the playoffs for the first time in a while. Everyone is super excited about it, and word on the street is that they’ve got potential to go all the way.
Sienna chats away about the structure of the playoffs as our car pulls up and whisks us away.
Our driver happily joins in. I’m hardly surprised. He’s got a Vipers’ snake hanging from his rearview mirror, and he’s wearing a team hoodie.
I quickly find myself tuning them out as my thoughts return to what I might say should I bump into Everett tonight. Like Sienna says, it’s unlikely. I looked at where our seats are, and he won’t know we’re there. But fate brought us together once; maybe it will again.
I press my hand to my stomach as nerves erupt. The thought of standing before him and confessing my secret makes me feel physically sick.
“Bea?” Sienna asks, noticing my panic.
“I’m okay,” I whisper.
“Here’s fine,” she instructs the driver, and when I look up, I find that we’re just a little down the street from the sports bar.
The second I’m out of the car, I gulp in fresh lungfuls of air.
“What the hell is going on?” Sienna demands to know. “Are you sick? Do you need to go home?”
It would be so easy to lie. To tell her I have a migraine and climb back into a car and then my bed. But I don’t want to be at home. It isn’t my home anymore. It’s just a place I’m existing until I’m kicked out.
“No, I’m fine.”
Her eyes narrow. “You are not fine,” she accuses.
“Please, can we just go in and get a drink?”
She continues to stand there, waiting for the truth to spill from my lips.
“Fine,” she finally says, throwing her hands up in defeat. “You find a table; I’ll get the drinks. What do you want?”
“Soda, please.”
She freezes. “Soda?”
“Yeah.”
“Just soda?”
Her eyes burn into the side of my face.
My heart hammers against my ribs.
She knows. She’s guessed. She’s—
“You’re pregnant.”