Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. I just let myself be held, panic washing through me in waves.
“What are we gonna do?” I whisper.
A beat. “I don’t know. But let’s start with how you’re feeling.”
My heartbeat catches. I appreciate his concern more than he’ll ever know. “I’m okay. All week I’ve felt like I had a mild hangover or something. I’ve been off, but I thought it was just PMS. More than anything, I’m tired, but that’s not new.”
“I’ll ask Dad to help out with Katie. He can cover for you while we . . . figure everything out.”
More panic wells inside me. On top of regular life—mid-terms, my full-time job—now I have to deal with this. A totally unexpected pregnancy. There will be doctor appointments. Morning sickness. Conversations that will probably be very uncomfortable, considering there are big, life-changing decisions to be made.
“Oh, God, Tuck.” I start to cry all over again. “I’ve done dumb things before—”
“Really, Miss Magna Cum Laude? For some reason, I don’t believe you.”
I scoff, a small smile working its way across my lips despite the tears that continue to leak from my eyes left and right. “I’ll amend that statement. I’ve done some dumb things, but overall, I try to make good choices. That’s how my parents raised me.” My throat closes in. Mom and Dad are going to be so, so disappointed when they hear this. If I decide to tell them, that is. Not sure how I’ll be able to keep such a big secret. “But one slip-up, and here I am. I’m too young, Tuck. None of my friends are even thinking about getting married, much less having kids. And school. I have to finish school. I’ve worked so hard to earn a seat at the table, you know? Because I want a career. I want to do something I love. But starting a career with a baby—” I swallow. “It’ll be excruciatingly difficult. We . . . yeah, we need to consider all our options.”
Is not having this baby the right call? What about adoption? I’m not sure how I feel about those things, but I’m incredible grateful I have options.
Tuck’s chest barrels out again. He’s quiet for a beat, then another. As much as I’m freaking out, I appreciate the fact that he doesn’t fill the space between us with empty platitudes. Tuck always keeps it real. And I think he does that because he gives a shit.
“I’m here,” he says at last. “I know you’re scared. I am too. But you’re not alone in this, Maren. This is our problem. Mine and yours. We’ll face it together, all right?”
I close my eyes. The tightness in my chest loosens just enough that I can take a deep, cleansing breath, air hitting the bottom of my lungs.
“All right,” I say. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me for taking care of you. Least I can do.” He pulls me closer, his words muffled as he presses his lips to the top of my head. “We’re not making any choices tonight. Tonight, you rest. I have some soup in the freezer I’ll heat up for you. You eat, then you go to bed early. Sleep as late as you want. We’ll catch up in the morning.”
I sag against him, something like relief mingling with the sudden warmth in my skin at his kiss. Apparently panic and arousal can coexist. “Were you an officer in the Navy, or were you an officer in the Navy? I like your plan of action.”
His turn to scoff. “I like giving orders.”
Don’t I know. “You’re sweet.”
“I’m not. But I’ll take good care of you, Maren. I fucked up once, I ain’t gonna do it again. You have my word.”
And he keeps it. I follow him home. I take a long, hot shower and put on my coziest pair of yoga pants. Tuck knocks on my door as I’m blow-drying my hair. He hands me a shopping bag of food, the homey smell of chicken noodle soup rising from a Tupperware container inside.
“I put some garlic bread in there too. The cheesy kind, Katie’s favorite. And a cookie, because cookies make everything better.”
“Thank you,” I manage, my eyes brimming with tears as I unpack the bag. There are also a couple cans of ginger ale, a box of Pedialyte ice pops, and a drawing of a witch Katie made in school today with her handprint.
“She insisted on sending you a present so you can feel better.” Tuck meets my eyes. “Speaking of Katie. Let’s obviously keep this to ourselves for the time being. I don’t want to rock her boat.”
I crack open a ginger ale. “Of course. As far as she’s concerned, it’s business as usual. As long as I’m not, like, violently ill, we’ll keep our routine intact.”