Say It Ain't So (SWAT Generation 2.0 9)

Right fucking now.Chapter 8

I think I’ve sprained my liver.

-Hastings to Aurora

HastingsThere was no denying it now.

I stared at the little white stick that was glaringly saying ‘PREGNANT’ in big bold letters.

Fuck.

Hell.

Piss.

Shit.

Damn.

“Did you take it?” Suzanne asked.

“Yes,” I said, my voice sounding scared.

“What does it say?” she asked, huffing and puffing. “Damn, it’s hard as hell to climb stairs now. I really need to get my knee fixed.”

I couldn’t even muster up the strength to tell her that she was right.

“It says pregnant,” I told her, sounding just as sick as I felt.

I was pregnant.

I was a single, pregnant woman with the baby daddy so far out of the picture that it was comical.

Son of a bitch.

How was I going to tell him?

Hell, how was I going to tell my parents?

I was fairly sure that my father still thought that I was a virgin.

Maybe he would think that I immaculately concepted this child.

One could only hope.

“Oh, boy,” Suzanne said. “What does the other one say?”

I looked at that one, too.

“It says a pink plus sign.” I swallowed. “So, I’m guessing that is positive, too.”

I swallowed even harder, hoping that by doing so it would keep my stomach contents down where it belonged.

Only, that hadn’t been happening to me lately.

Starting the week before I’d come back from Alaska, I’d had horrible morning sickness.

Luckily it stayed as just morning sickness.

Sadly, morning really did mean morning. From twelve a.m. to eleven a.m., there was a possibility that I’d puke. Thankfully, once noon hit, that meant that I could once again eat and drink like a normal person.

And my God. My boobs were massive.

I didn’t know what had happened at first. All of a sudden, they were just there, and big, and I could see them.

Now, it all made a sick sort of sense.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

I turned in horror to stare at the door. I had no pants on. My hands were covered in pee because after I’d taken the first test, I went ahead and took eight more after that. Oh, and even at the eighth test, I still couldn’t quite figure out how to not pee on my hand while I peed on the stick.

“Gotta go,” I whispered. “I’ll call you back.”

After hearing her worried ‘okay,’ I hung up and dashed toward my room.

I licked my lips nervously as I snatched up a pair of sweatpants, quickly washed my hands, and hurried to the door.

I knew who it was.

I didn’t even have to answer it to know.

It was like there was a magnet in both of our chests, and it was calling me to him.

Putting the white stick that I’d never put down, even to wash my hands, in my hoodie pocket, I reached for the door.

Bile was still very much there when I first saw his handsome, perfect, dimpled, very pissed off face.

“You never answered.”

I stiffened when I heard that voice.

I’d done a damn good job at not looking at him as I’d opened the door. At least, I’d tried to.

But there was only so much that I could handle.

And hearing his voice, even angry as it was, was enough to make my eyes move away from his shoulder to his face.

I swallowed and forced myself to meet his eyes.

“I don’t want to play games,” he said. “I texted. I called. I thought we had something going.”

I got angry then, remembering messages I’d sent to him yesterday and the day before, then recalling the ones he’d replied back with.

I pulled out my phone and opened up the message app, then turned my phone around to show him.

“I did reply, asshole,” I said as I let him read.

“There’s punctuation,” he murmured; eyebrows lowered so that there was a cute little crease in between them. “I don’t use punctuation. That wasn’t me.”

I rolled my eyes and shoved my phone into my hoodie pocket, right along with the thing that shall not be named.

I’d tell him. Really, I would.

But I wasn’t going to tell him until I had it confirmed for sure.

A pregnancy test wasn’t a hundred percent accurate, and I wanted to make sure that if I involved him in my life any further, that it was for real.

That the baby was real, even though I knew in my heart that it was.

“Then who was it?” I asked through gritted teeth. “Someone that knows punctuation, had your phone, and sent mean texts?”

He gritted his teeth right back. I could practically hear his molars crunching together.

“I don’t know, but you can bet your ass that I’ll find out.” He paused, head tilting. “Doesn’t mean you couldn’t have answered my texts or calls.”

I swallowed hard.

“I blocked your number,” I told him, tilting my chin just a little bit higher.

His eyes narrowed.

“Well, that’s just too bad, isn’t it?” He paused. “Guess we’re not exploring this after all.”

Then, without a word, he turned around and started walking back to his duplex.