Chapter 6
Six
Leo
I deliberately avoid the plethora of positive pregnancy tests on the counter, and hold back Harper’s hair as she retches over and over again.
Nothing’s coming up, but she doesn’t stop for long minutes.
When it eventually ceases, she collapses, resting her forehead against her arm, her breaths coming in rapid succession.
“You okay?” I ask, going for another paper towel, dampening it, and pressing it to the clammy skin on her forehead.
She nods so I get up, move into the kitchen, and search until I find a glass, filling it with water.
When I bring it to her, she’s sitting back on her heels, pale as fuck, her eyes closed.
“Here,” I say softly.
Her eyes peel open a millimeter, then she lifts a shaky hand and takes the glass, sipping slowly.
“Okay?” I ask.
A nod.
When she doesn’t drink anymore I take the glass and set it on the tiny vanity then sink down beside her.
“Harp,” I begin.
She goes stiff then exhales. “What?”
“We need to talk about it,” I tell her gently. “You know that.”
She nods but turns her head away. “Yeah,” she whispers. “I know we do.”
But she doesn’t say anything and for long minutes neither do I.
“It was a surprise, yeah?”
Her eyes flick to mine then away. “Yeah. I, um, haven’t been feeling that well, but I just thought I was tired because things were so busy. Today I started doing the math, realized I haven’t had my period in a while and…I took the test.”
“Tests.”
“What?”
“Tests, plural,” I say, hitching my head toward the sink.
She gives me a ghost of a smile. “Let’s just say I didn’t really want to believe the results of the first test.”
“So, five?”
“One of every type of test they sold.”
I chuckle even though my heart is pounding. “Covered your bases.”
A nod. “I try to.” Her shoulders slump. “Or in most cases, anyway.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur.
She just sighs and shoves her hair out of her face. “This wasn’t in my five-year plan.”
This wasn’t in my whole-life plan.
“What was?” I find myself asking.
Her eyes come to mine, hold. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t know,” I lie.
I shouldn’t. It’s why I forced myself to walk away—one night together, and I was already imagining a future with white picket fences and a minivan packed with kids with Harper’s eyes, her hair, her smile.
Insanity. I can’t have kids, can’t do that to them.
So, I ended things between us even though it was the last damn thing I wanted to do.
And yet…I still want to know everything about Harper, anyway.
She sighs again. “Look. I feel like shit, yeah?” she mutters. “And, like you said, this was a surprise, so I don’t have it all figured out just yet.”
We’ll figure it out together, I almost say.
But…I can’t.
“Yeah, I feel that,” I say instead and her eyes flick to mine, something like derision in the hazel depths.
She sighs and waves a hand at her still-flat stomach. “So, if you want an answer about what I’m going to do…”
My stomach twists. “Christ, I’m not going to tell you to have an abortion, Harper.”
Her brows lift. “You’re not? I can’t imagine that your girlfriend is going to be happy that you knocked up some chick you don’t care about.”
“She’s not—” I shake my head, focus on the more important question. “Why do you think I don’t care about you?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Acid churns through my insides. “Harp—”
She sighs and pushes to her feet.
But she does it so fast, she wobbles…and she really doesn’t like it when I steady her with my hands on her shoulders.
“Don’t,” she snaps, brushing me away.
“Don’t be stubborn,” I snap back. “You’re pale and shaking and clearly feel like shit. Let me help you.”
She snorts. “Right. You want to”—she does finger quotes—“help me.”
“Look,” I say, shoving a hand through my hair, “I’m an asshole, but I’m not a monster. I’m not going to tell you to have an abortion. I’m not going to tell you to keep it. That’s your choice, and I’ll respect whatever decision you make.”
“So, you’re a good guy now, huh?”
The question. The tone. The shame piling on my shoulders…they all catapult me back in time.
“Don’t ever have kids, yeah?” my father says as he scowls over at my mother. “They’ll ruin your fucking life.”
My mother sniffs and dumps the hamper full of dirty clothes onto the couch. “Leo, why don’t you tell your father that it’s not his son’s laundry I have a problem doing. If he’d stop being a jerk and start treating me like the queen I am then I’d gladly do his laundry too!”
“And why don’t you tell your mother that I’ll treat her right when she starts acting like a real wife,” my dad snaps. “Of course, I don’t think she has those skills in her.”
A gasp of outrage. “Leo, you tell your father—”
I growl and shove the memories away, the edges of my temper beginning to fray. “What the fuck do you want me to say?” I grit out.
“What do I want you to say?” Harper steps closer, cheeks flushing, eyes flashing with anger. “How about what I want you not to say?”
Fuck.
“How about I really wish you hadn’t fucked me and told me you couldn’t wait to see me again?” She jabs at my chest with her pointer finger. “Or maybe that you hadn’t showed up the next day and decided to be brutally honest about how much of a mistake it was to slum it with a girl like me—”
“I didn’t—”
“Or maybe it’s just that I wish you’d been straight with me from the beginning instead of pretending to care.”
“I do ca—”
“Don’t you dare lie to me,” she spits out.
I want to tell her why I had to end us before we started, why she should be relieved instead of upset.
But that doesn’t matter.
All that does is—
“Look,” I say, “I know that neither of us planned for this, that neither of us want this. But I’m not going to force you to do something you’re not comfortable with, whether that’s keeping the baby or not.”
She opens her mouth.
“If you do keep the baby, I’ll be here,” I say, stomach twisting at the thought of becoming a dad, even as the thought of Harper raising our child without me fucking kills. Yeah, a baby is pretty much the last fucking thing I need in my life, but I can’t deny that I feel something for it already…
Can’t deny I want her to keep it.
“If you don’t,” I force myself to say, “I’ll take you to the clinic, hold your hand, and stay with you afterward.”
For a second, she doesn’t move, just stares at me with those intense hazel eyes.
Eyes that fill with tears.
Or maybe not.
Because almost as soon as I think I’ve spotted the growing dampness, she blinks and any sign of emotion is gone.
“Right,” she says coolly, wiping her hands on her apron. “Look”—a breath—“I have some things to finish up here and can’t think about this right now. I have your contact info and will get you the specifics about your choices later today.”
I frown, not understanding.
Not at first, anyway.
“I suggest you pick three or four appetizers and sides, two main dishes, and I can either make a simple birthday cake or recommend a bakery that can do something fancier.” She shrugs. “You can look at the quote and let me know which way you’d like to go.”
I stare at her for a long moment.
Try to think of something meaningful to say.
And come up blank.
Great.
She points to the door. “I’ll follow you out so I can lock up.”
And, fuck, but all I can do is walk back out front and move to the door.
When I hesitate with my hand on the cool metal, she reaches by me, pushes it open. “I’ll be in touch.”
About the baby?
Or the birthday party?
But I don’t ask.
Because what fucking right do I have to ask anything of her?
And anyway, it doesn’t take long for me to get an answer.
The quote for her to cater Shannon’s party is in my inbox before I get home.