Chapter 13 #2
I count backward through the last month, my mind racing. Jaxon and I have been together many times since my last period. And we didn’t use protection. The app said I was safe, that I wasn’t ovulating yet, and that we had time.
But how long was the app frozen?
How long was I relying on bad data?
The exhaustion. The nausea over the past couple of days. Being lightheaded. The way my body feels heavy, strange, and not quite my own.
“Fuck.” I stand up so fast the chair scrapes against the floor. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
I pace across the kitchen, pressing the heels of my palms to my temples. This can’t be happening. Not now. Not when everything is already falling apart.
But the signs are all there, aren’t they? The bone-deep tiredness that made me sleep until nine. The way everything smells wrong. The fog in my head that I’ve been blaming on emotional exhaustion.
I need to know. I need to be sure.
My body goes numb even though the blood is racing in my veins. I grab my keys and my purse, still wearing my cotton pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt, and makeup smeared across my face.
Shit!
I don’t care. I need to get to a pharmacy and get a test. If I’m right, if I’m actually pregnant, everything just became infinitely messier.
I have no idea how Jax will take the news.
Holy mother...
How did I let this happen?
I grab my sunglasses. They’re oversized and dark enough to hide behind. Then I rush to my car.
The drive to the pharmacy is surreal. Every red light lasts an eternity. Every turn takes me closer to an answer I’m not sure I’m ready for. My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles are white.
I park three blocks from the nearest drugstore, in a lot where no one will recognize my car. The walk is like a funeral march.
Inside, the fluorescent lights scream at me, and the aisles are too narrow. It’s like they’re caving in on me.
I keep my head down, my shades on, and make my way to the family planning section like I’m trudging through enemy territory.
There are so many options. Digital. Traditional. Early detection. I grab three different boxes and head to the register with my heart pounding so hard it’s about to fall out of my chest.
The cashier is a young woman who barely glances up. “That’ll be sixty-two fifty.”
I hand her my credit card, my hands shaking, praying she doesn’t recognize my name. She doesn’t.
Thank God for small miracles!
She bags the tests and slides my receipt across the counter with a bored, “Have a nice day.”
I’m back in my car before I can breathe again. The drive home is a blur.
And now, I’m standing in my bathroom, staring at three pregnancy test boxes spread across the counter like evidence of a crime I committed.
I open the first one with the weight of the world riding on the next few minutes. I read the instructions five times, even though they’re simple. Pee on the stick. Wait two minutes. Two lines mean I’m pregnant. One line means I’m not.
I open the next two cartons. This one says “pregnant” will appear if my test is positive. The last one says I’ll see a plus sign if it’s positive.
Simple.
Except nothing about this is simple.
I take each test, set them on the counter, and immediately leave the room because I can’t watch them develop. I can’t sit here and stare at them while my entire future crystallizes in real time.
While I wait, I go downstairs, pour myself a glass of water, and check my phone.
One hour. I’ll wait one hour before I look. That way, I’ll have time to process this situation so I can prepare for whatever answer is waiting for me upstairs.
My phone buzzes.
Callum: Hey. Just wanted to reach out. I know last night was rough. I’m here if you need to talk.
My stomach drops.
Oh, God… Callum.
If I’m pregnant... If those tests are positive, it’ll destroy him. He’s barely holding himself together as it is, fighting so hard to stay sober and to be worthy of a second chance.
And I’ll have to tell him I’m carrying another man’s baby. A man I’ve hidden from the world.
Jesus, there’s no way I could’ve messed this situation up worse. I want to throw up, but that just makes this whole thing more treacherous.
Jax helped make Callum’s sobriety possible. He’s the man who funded his label and gave him creative freedom. The irony is so brutal it makes me dizzy.
What will this do to Callum? Will he spiral? Will this be the thing that sends him back to the darkness he fought so hard to escape?
My hands go numb as I set the phone down without responding. I can’t think about Callum right now. I can’t think about what this means for him when I don’t even know what it means for me.
Another text comes through.
Callum: I love you, Lily. Whatever you’re thinking about, we can figure it out together.
I close my eyes, guilt crushing my chest like an elephant is sitting on it.
He thinks we have a future. He thinks there’s a chance and that we’re building something together. And in the meantime, I might be carrying Jax’s child.
The man who pushed me away, who gave me a house instead of answers. The man who won’t fight for me, even though I can see in his eyes that he wants to.
I suck in a breath, trying to stop the tears from building.
What do I want?
The question hits me like a slap.
Forget Callum and Jax. Forget the lists, the logic, and the impossible choices.
If I’m pregnant, what do I want?
I sit with the question and let it settle in my bones. The answer comes quietly and gently, like it’s been there all along.
I want the baby.
If I’m pregnant, I want this child. I want to keep it, raise it, and love it. I have the money and the resources.
There’s no reason I can’t have a baby. I can figure out the rest later.
Sure, there might be custody agreements, co-parenting arrangements, and conversations I’ll have to have with both men who might think they have a claim on my future. But first, I need to know.
I glance at the clock. Forty-five minutes have passed. Fifteen more to go.
My phone buzzes again. Not Callum this time.
My King: I can meet you after work. The Malibu house at six o’clock and we’ll go from there.
My breath catches. Four hours from now, I’ll be sitting across from him. And depending on what’s waiting for me upstairs, I might be telling him we need to figure out our relationship because we’re going to be parents.
The harshness of it presses down on me until I can’t breathe. I stand and pace the kitchen. My heart races and my hands won’t stop shaking.
Another glance at the clock. Fifty-five minutes.
“Oh, come on. Just hurry up.” That’s right. Talking to myself is absolutely normal right now.
My phone rings and I nearly jump out of my skin.
It’s Callum.
Fuck it. Maybe talking to him will help me waste time.
“Hi, Callum.”
“Hey, vixen. I just wanna see if you’re…we’re okay.”
“Of course we are.”
“You sure?”
I glance toward the stairs where the answers to my future sit on the counter in my en suite. The circumstances splinter in my head.
How do you expect to pull this off, Livianna? If I’m pregnant, can I keep the baby safe?
That frightening thought just occurred to me.
Callum…our loss.
It’s enough to send me into overdrive. Adrenaline spikes in my veins, and my heart thumps. My breathing quickens.
The space around me blurs. “Shit. I can’t do this.”
“Lily, what’s wrong?”
“I… Callum… I can’t breathe.”
“Are you having a panic attack?”
I see spots. “Yes… Help me…please.”
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
“I’m not far from you. What’s the gate code and I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
But I think he’s already too late.