Balls
ESTELLE
I stare at the open spam email like it’s a live grenade, and it might as well be. The words on the screen blur as my mind kicks into overdrive.
Four weeks.
That’s how long it took me to find it.
Fuck.
I read it again on impulse just to distract myself from the endless chatter in my head and the growing dread rising swiftly.
Kindly confirm your appointment for the contraceptive injection scheduled in three day’s time. Choose a slot that best suits your schedule by clicking the link below...
Just a reminder that the effectiveness of the last injection cannot be guaranteed beyond five days from the date of your scheduled appointment in three days.
Five days plus three.
That’s eight days from the date the email was sent.
I’m counting now.
Then I count again.
Twenty-eight days minus eight...
Double fuck.
How many times have I had unprotected sex with Carlos in the last three weeks?
I stop counting after three.
When was my last period?
It ended the day before the interview.
Triple Fuck.
Of course, things would turn out this way right after I told him I wanted a break and he left.
I stuff my phone in my pocket and close the door. Grayson is waiting for me outside the elevator, his brows furrowing as his pensive eyes assess me.
For a moment, I wonder if my expression is an open book and the trained bodyguard can practically read my thoughts.
“Did Ross bring the empty suitcase to your room?” he asks.
“Yeah, he did.”
Obviously, I didn’t pack any of the new clothes Carlos bought for me. It was an easy decision; Carlos didn’t take anything with him when he left, so neither will I.
Grayson doesn’t say anything, though I catch his jaw clenching in my peripheral vision while we wait for the elevator. Carlos will probably be unhappy to see me show up empty-handed, but I can’t really care about that now.
“You can change your mind,” Grayson says right as I’m about to step inside the car. He’s holding the door open for me. “It’s not too late. The plane will wait.”
I shake my head without looking at him. “It’s just clothes.”
“He bought those for you.”
“I know.”
I slide across the seat and lean back, mentally counting again. It’s useless—I know that—but what else am I going to think about?
Can’t think about Elsa and Micah or the gun Alice pointed at my head.
Can’t think about the anguish on Carlos’ face when I walked away.
Can’t think about the possibility of being pregnant and—
“We need to make a stop,” I blurt out.
Grayson meets my gaze in the rearview mirror. It’s just the two of us today.
“Where?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “A pharmacy.”
“You don’t feel well?” he asks, his tone tinged with concern.
I decide not to answer. “A supermarket would be good, too.”
He starts shaking his head. “Not a supermarket. What do you need?”
His intense gaze is too much, too questioning. I look away. “Feminine products.”
Silence stretches between us, loud in the spacious car. Speculation hangs thick in the air. I’m hoping he thinks I'm getting my period and leaves it at that.
The back of my head finds the headrest, and I close my eyes, counting, refusing to give in to the crippling anxiety. There’s no point until I know for sure.
What if it’s positive?
The car comes to a stop in front of a CVS store. My gut tightens the closer I get to the answer.
“Give the rest of the security guys a moment to park, and we’ll go in,” he says.
“You’re coming with me?”
Our eyes meet in the rearview mirror again. “Yes.”
Fuck no.
“I’d like to go in alone, Grayson.” I stare at him hard. “I need privacy.”
He doesn’t bat an eye when he answers. “You know that’s non-negotiable.”
The frustrated sigh leaves my mouth unrestrained. “Fine.”
I walk into the CVS store first, with Grayson following close behind. At least he’s giving me a wide berth. It takes everything I have to remain calm and composed with him so close.
If I let my internal struggle show, I know he will most likely call Carlos, which is the last thing I want—and need—right now.
Steeling myself, I stop at the pregnancy test section, pointedly ignoring Grayson, instead focusing on the seemingly endless options in front of me.
Somehow, at twenty-nine years old, this is my first time standing in front of shelves of pregnancy tests.
What if it’s positive?
Does Carlos even want children?
I know frighteningly little about the man I was supposed to marry two days ago.
How do you even bring a child in his world without constantly fearing for their lives?
Why are there so many fucking options?
It’s a stick you’re supposed to pee on to tell you if your whole life is about to change. Why can’t we just make one good pregnancy test and call it a day?
“Estelle?”
I don’t answer.
“Do you need help?” he asks.
I need so much help right now it’s not even funny. “No, I’ve got it.”
But I don’t move.
Surely, there has to be a right choice, right?
“You’ve been staring at them for a while.” He’s standing next to me now.
I don’t look at him.
I can’t.
“I don’t know which one to choose. I don’t know what the right choice is,” I whisper, more to myself than to Grayson.
“Okay,” he says gently, “take your time.”
“What if I mess up?”
He’s silent for a moment, probably realizing that I’m not having a life crisis over just a test.
“I don’t think it’s about the right choice,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
Another long pause.
I’m well aware we are standing side by side staring at shelves of pregnancy tests, but somehow, I feel safe and comfortable here with the gruff head of security, instead of unsteady and awkward.
“I think it’s about balls, well, lady balls in your case.” He shifts closer until our arms touch, then lowers his voice. “The kind of balls it took to apply to work for Carlos in the first place.”
I finally look up at him.
“I was just desperate. Anyone can have balls when they don’t have another choice.”
He stares at me for a moment before he speaks. “You did have a choice. You could have done anything else. Changed your line of work, left the city—anything else. Why did you decide that working for a man like Carlos was even an option?”
I shrug.
“I don’t know,” I lie.
“Yes, you do.” He turns his body to face me. “Why did you get in the car that first day? Why didn’t you turn back when we handed you the earplugs and blind sunglasses?”
My body tenses. I feel the walls of the cold, boxy interrogation room closing in on me.
“I don’t know,” I say tightly.
He shakes his head, his eyes calling me out on my bullshit.
“Why did you walk out of that kitchen when you heard the gunshot?”
“Grayson, I—”
“Why did you keep working there even after what you saw that night?”
“I don’t know!” I snap loudly.
What does he want me to say?
“Why didn’t you rat on Carlos when you were with the Feds, and why did you agree to marry him?” he asks, his voice bereft of any emotion.
He’s baiting me, forcing me down a path that I’ve refused to walk for weeks, too terrified of the truth I’ll find out about myself.
I reach for three random pregnancy tests and head for the checkout counter. Anger buzzes under my skin, making the back of my neck tight.
I pay with cash and walk out without looking back at Grayson, wrapping the paper bag with the tests inside as soon as I’m in the car.
We drive in silence for a long time, but I feel his eyes on me in the rearview mirror.
“What do you want me to say?” I ask when I'm finally done with the frustration eating at me. “I applied because I didn’t want the rich assholes who wanted to ruin my career, instead of admitting their fault, to win.”
I’m almost hyperventilating, the anger bubbling over. No one would defend me, so I had to defend myself.
“If I left the city, they would have won. If I changed my line of work—they would have won. What they did wasn’t right. I needed to fight the only way I knew how. By staying.”
My hands are shaking.
I inhale and exhale deeply to steady myself, my loud breaths the only sound in the car for a long while.
Grayson doesn’t say anything until we turn onto the private airfield. The medium-sized plane is waiting, a line of black Cadillac SUVs parked next to it.
“You and Carlos are more alike than you think,” he finally says.
He parks the car and comes to open my door. I step outside, the wind blowing wisps of my hair wildly around my face.
“He had the video taken down weeks ago,” he says, still holding the door open, “right after the job interview.”
I’m too stunned to say anything.
I walk up the stairs numbly, trying to shake off the remaining anger and piece my frazzled mind back together.
My eyes lock on Carlos as soon as I’m in the cabin.
He’s here.
The paper bag suddenly weighs a ton in my hands. His intense gaze travels leisurely down my body as I walk down the aisle, calm and composed, but there’s no denying the heat in his eyes.
I find a seat a few rows in front of him, sighing in relief when I’m no longer directly in his line of sight. The plane accelerates down the runway minutes later, and we’re airborne before I can catch my breath and think clearly.
I need to know.
As soon as the seat belt sign is turned off, I stand up, grasping the paper bag tighter, and make my way to the restroom, pointedly ignoring Carlos as I walk past him.
Once I’m inside the small but luxurious room, I let the mask fall from my face. My rattled expression stares back at me, the anxiousness tightening my eyes.
Time to pee on some sticks.
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