5. Grace
Chapter 5
Grace
I throw myself into the spreadsheet in front of me, willing the numbers to take up all the space in my head. The little cells blur together on the screen, my eyes darting over percentages, balances, and projections. It’s mind-numbing, and that’s exactly what I need. If I think about Kane for even one second, I’ll lose what little composure I have left.
The memory of his hands on me, his mouth against mine, his low, rough voice murmuring my name—it all flashes through my mind like a movie I can’t pause. No. Focus. Kane Mitchell is not allowed to take up this much real estate in my brain.
“Hey, Grace!” Yolanda’s chipper voice cuts through my thoughts, pulling me back to reality. She leans against the edge of my desk, holding a coffee cup and wearing that knowing smirk of hers.
“What’s up, Yolanda?” I ask, keeping my tone as casual as possible.
“You’ve been staring at that screen like it holds the meaning of life. Everything okay?” She arches a perfectly manicured brow, clearly fishing for gossip.
“Just busy,” I say quickly, gesturing to the mountain of papers on my desk. “You know how it is. Quarterlies don’t calculate themselves.”
She laughs, taking a sip of her coffee. “Well, if you need a break, we’re talking about Shari in the break room. Poor thing thinks she’s coming down with something.”
I glance at her, grateful for the distraction. “Shari? She’s always the picture of health. What’s wrong with her?”
Yolanda shrugs, her smile turning mischievous. “Morning sickness, probably.”
The words slam into me like a freight train. My stomach drops, and my pulse quickens. “Morning sickness?” My voice comes out sharper than I intend.
Yolanda laughs. “Oh, don’t worry. She’s not pregnant. She was just joking around earlier about how she’s been feeling—tired, queasy, craving weird foods. You know, typical pregnancy stuff. It’s probably just a stomach bug.”
I swallow hard, trying to keep my expression neutral. “Right. Probably just a bug.”
But her words stick, digging into my brain like splinters. Tired. Queasy. Weird cravings. My hand tightens on the edge of my desk, my mind racing through the last few weeks. Late nights at work. Skipping meals. A random craving for pickles that I chalked up to stress. I love eating pickles.
Oh, god.
Yolanda’s still talking, but her voice fades into the background as my thoughts spiral. It’s fine. It’s nothing. Just stress. But the seed of doubt has been planted, and now it’s growing roots, tangling around every rational thought I have left.
I glance at the calendar on my desk, my heart pounding harder. When was the last time I—oh no. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.
“Grace?” Yolanda’s voice snaps me back to reality, her brow furrowed. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. ”
“I’m fine,” I lie, forcing a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. “Just realized I forgot something important. Excuse me for a minute.”
I grab my phone and practically sprint to the bathroom, locking myself in a stall and leaning against the cold metal door. My breathing is shallow, my thoughts are a chaotic mess. This isn’t happening. It can’t be happening.
I pull up a period-tracking app on my phone, my hands shaking as I navigate to the calendar. The dates stare back at me, the gap between them a glaring red flag.
Shit.
My mind flashes to that night with Kane. The heat, the passion, the complete lack of thought or planning. We didn’t even—no. I can’t think about that now.
The app’s notification pops up on the screen: “You’re 11 days late.”
Panic rises in my chest, choking me. This isn’t real. This can’t be real. My life is already complicated enough without adding this into the mix. Kane Mitchell as a potential baby daddy? No. Absolutely not.
But as much as I want to deny it, the fear settles deep in my gut, refusing to be ignored.
I press my palms to my eyes, trying to block out the world, trying to keep the panic at bay. I can’t deal with this. Not here. Not now.
And definitely not with him.
Because if there’s even the slightest chance I’m pregnant, Kane Mitchell is about to complicate my life in ways I never saw coming.
The little pink box stares up at me from the counter, mocking me with its cartoonishly cheerful branding. The words Over 99% Accurate practically scream at me, as if the manufacturers know how badly I want it to be wrong.
“Ridiculous,” I mutter under my breath, shoving it further into the corner of my cart. I don’t even know why I bought it. This is just stress, or maybe the flu, or too much caffeine. That’s it.
But the nagging doubt won’t go away, so here I am, standing in the self-checkout line at Hibiscus Pharmacy, trying to pretend I’m completely normal while my heart races like I’m about to rob the place.
“Grace Fletcher, buying a pregnancy test,” I whisper under my breath, the words tasting strange and foreign. Like they belong to someone else’s life. Someone who doesn’t have a career to focus on, who didn’t spend a reckless, unforgettable night with Kane Mitchell in a moment of total insanity.
The clerk watching the registers glances my way, and I immediately look down, pretending to inspect the gum display like it holds the secrets of the universe.
“You need to chill,” I tell myself. But even as I swipe my card and bag the box, I feel like I’m walking out with a ticking time bomb in my purse.
The drive home is a blur. Every red light, every slow driver, every pedestrian feels like some cruel cosmic joke, as if the universe is dragging out my misery.
By the time I make it to my apartment, the tension in my chest is unbearable. I slam the door behind me, drop my bag on the floor, and pull the box out like it might bite me if I don’t keep an eye on it.
“Okay,” I say aloud, my voice echoing in the silence. “This is stupid. You’re fine. There’s no way…”
But my hands are shaking as I tear open the box, the instructions spilling out like confetti. I skim them quickly, then toss them aside. How complicated can this be? Just pee on the stick .
The next few minutes are a blur of fumbling, muttered curses, and sheer disbelief that this is my life right now. Finally, I set the test on the counter and lean back against the bathroom door, crossing my arms tightly over my chest as I stare at it like it’s a snake about to strike.
The seconds tick by, each one louder than the last, until the silence is deafening.
“Just look,” I whisper to myself. “Rip off the Band-Aid. It’s probably nothing.”
But when I finally glance down, my stomach drops.
Two pink lines.
Two.
The world tilts, the edges of my vision blurring as the truth slams into me like a freight train.
“Oh, my god.” My voice is barely above a whisper, trembling with shock. “Oh, my god.”
I grab the test, as if holding it will make the result change, make it go away. But those lines are steady, unyielding. Positive.
“No,” I mutter, shaking my head. “This can’t be right. It’s a mistake. These things aren’t foolproof.”
But the tiny box on the counter says otherwise, and deep down, I know the truth.
I sink to the floor, my back against the door, clutching the test like it’s the only thing tethering me to reality. My mind races, a whirlwind of denial, fear, and something dangerously close to hope.
Kane.
His name flashes through my mind, bringing with it a flood of emotions I’m not ready to face. The thought of telling him makes my stomach churn. How would he react? With that infuriating smirk? With anger? With indifference?
I can’t do this.
I don’t want to do this.
My hands tremble as I set the test down, my breath coming in shallow gasps. “This isn’t happening,” I whisper. “It’s not happening.”
But it is.
And now, I have a decision to make.
Tell Kane or keep the secret.
The thought of him knowing, of his life entangling with mine in a way that can’t ever be undone, makes my chest tighten. But the alternative—hiding this, carrying it alone—feels just as impossible.
I stare at the test, the weight of it pressing down on me, and I know there’s no easy way out of this.
Because whether I like it or not, my life just got a hell of a lot more complicated.
Suddenly, the phone buzzes on the counter, Kate’s name flashing across the screen like a beacon of impending doom. I stare at it for a moment, the sound grating against my already frayed nerves.
Not now. Not when the walls of my reality are crumbling, and I’m standing in the middle of the rubble with no idea how to rebuild.
The phone keeps buzzing, relentless. With a growl of frustration, I snatch it off the counter and press accept.
“Hey,” I snap, my voice sharper than I intend.
There’s a pause, just long enough for guilt to creep in. “Uh, hi?” Kate’s voice is cautious, laced with confusion. “Are you okay?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, the words No, I’m not okay clawing at the back of my throat. But instead, I bite out, “I’m fine. What’s up?”
She hesitates, and I can almost hear her frowning through the phone. “Well, I was calling to check on you. You’ve seemed... off lately. And with everything going on for the wedding, I just wanted to make sure you’re not drowning in stress or something.”
Stress? Oh, Kate, if only you knew.
“I’m not drowning,” I lie, gripping the edge of the counter until my knuckles turn white.
“You sure? Because you sound?—”
“Kate, I said I’m fine!” The words explode out of me, loud and jagged, slicing through the fragile thread of patience I’ve been clinging to all day.
There’s a stunned silence on the other end, and immediately, regret slams into me.
“I didn’t mean to yell,” I say quickly, my voice softer but no less strained. “I’m just... dealing with a lot right now.”
“Clearly,” Kate says, her tone gentler now but still tinged with hurt. “You want to talk about it?”
No. Absolutely not. There’s no version of this conversation that ends with me spilling my guts about the test sitting on my bathroom counter. About Kane. About the fact that my life is teetering on the edge of something I can’t control.
“I can’t,” I murmur, hating the way my voice cracks. “Not right now.”
“Grace...” Kate sighs, and I can hear the concern woven into her words. “You know I’m here for you, right? Whatever it is, you don’t have to go through it alone.”
Her sincerity makes my chest ache, but it also fuels the rising panic clawing its way to the surface. If I let her in, if I tell her what’s going on, it’ll make this real. And I’m not ready for that.
“I know,” I say, forcing the words out. “Thank you.”
The silence stretches between us, heavy and awkward, until finally, Kate sighs again. “Okay. But promise me you’ll call if you need anything. Even if it’s just to yell at someone who’s not me.”
“Promise,” I whisper, my throat tight .
When we hang up, I drop the phone onto the counter and press my palms to my temples, trying to stop the pounding in my head.
The bathroom door looms in my peripheral vision, a silent reminder of the chaos waiting for me.
I walk toward it slowly, each step weighted with dread. The test is still there, sitting on the counter like some cruel cosmic joke. Two pink lines, stark and undeniable.
I stare at it, my breath catching in my throat. This can’t be real. This can’t be my life.
But it is.
And as the reality of those lines sinks in, my world tilts, shifting under my feet like the ground is crumbling away.
Everything is different now.
And I have no idea what the hell to do next.