Only One Mistake (Only One 6)

“A court case for someone who stole your phone?” she asks, shocked. “A little extreme.”

“She gave away private and personal information,” I say. “And she tried to extort me.”

“She used your phone as leverage,” she points out, and I glare at her.

“And when I said no, she refused to give me my phone back.” I shake my head. “Whatever it is, I didn’t get your call.” I close my eyes. “I didn’t want to, but I had to change my number, and all of my stuff from my other phone couldn’t be retrieved because of the fucking cloud that I still have no idea what it means.” I take a deep breath. “Which is why I couldn’t call you.”

She looks at me, not sure. “You would have called me?” she asks, putting her hands together in front of her.

“Of course I would have called you,” I say. “What we shared, it was…”

She holds up her hand, and when she utters the words, I’m still in shock. Even though I knew she would say those words, when she finally does, all I can do is stand here and stare at her with my mouth hanging open.

“It’s yours.”

Chapter 14

Jillian

Here in the middle of the room where we started our one-night stand, I tell him what I was planning on telling him when I called him and got the stupid pre-recording.

The number you are calling is not in service. Please check the number and try your call again.

I called every day since then, hoping it would change. Hoping—always fucking hoping—I would hear his voice, but it was always the same thing.

I wring my hands together. “It’s yours,” I say, and his mouth hangs open, and he puts his hand in front of it, gasping.

“What?” he asks, shocked, and I just look at him.

“The baby is yours,” I confirm again, and all he can do is blink. He looks like he’s going into shock, and at this point, I’m worried he’ll pass out.

“How?” he whispers, taking off his hat and tossing it on the counter. His hands run through his hair. “Like how?”

“I mean, if I have to explain that, I don’t think we were doing it right,” I say, trying not to freak him out, yet getting a little freaked out myself.

“I don’t mean how, how,” he says, walking past me to the living room, where he starts to pace. “We used protection.”

“We did,” I say. “All three times but…” I shrug. “But the condom is only ninety-eight percent effective.”

He just shakes his head. “It didn’t break,” he points out. “They were all intact. Trust me, I remember.” I’m about to say something when he just looks at me. “Two out of every hundred people get pregnant, and we are the one.”

I don’t know how they do research, and I don’t know why this conversation bothers me. I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe I was expecting him to be a little happy. Maybe the irrational side of me was hoping he would be even a little bit excited, but standing here in front of him, having to go over all this, is making me angry. I’m about to say something to him when my stomach suddenly sinks and then rises. “Oh, no,” I gasp, running to the bathroom and closing the door behind me. I rush to the white toilet and make it just in time to throw up whatever is inside my stomach. I put my head down on my arm as my body decides that none of the food I ate today is good enough. I’m dry heaving as tears stream down my face. I give myself a couple of minutes before I ease myself away from the toilet enough to sit, but I don’t have the energy to move.

Sitting on the floor with my back to the wall, I close my eyes and wait for the nausea to pass. The knock on the door has me opening my eyes. “Are you okay in there?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, I’m having a tea party. I’ll be right out,” I sass.

I get up to grab a glass of water and rinse out my mouth, then wet a washcloth and put it behind my neck. Looking at myself in the mirror, I cringe, knowing I have to go back out there. Walking to the door, I pull it open and see him leaning against the opposite wall. “It might look like I’m crying,” I say, “but don’t flatter yourself.” He stands up in front of me. “Why are you still here?” I ask, and he just looks at me and down at my stomach.

“Why would I not be here?” he questions, and I walk away from him because my body might tempt me to lean in closer to him and hope that he hugs me. I walk over to the counter and grab my water and take a drink. “Do you always get sick?”