No Strings
“I’m not wrong. I double- and triple-checked, and honestly, I kind of resent you accusing me of being wrong. Either you don’t trust me, or you don’t think I’m capable of doing my job. Either way, that’s not okay.”
“All I’m saying is that you could very well be mistaken. Hell, you told me you couldn’t conceive, yet here we are, a few months later, and you’re pregnant. So if you could be mistaken about that, maybe you’re mistaken about this too.”
It takes me a moment to wrap my head around what he’s just said, and once I do, I take a step back, trying to get a handle on this new information. “I’m not…” I shake my head. I can’t be... We tried for years, and it never happened. I’m broken…
“When’s the last time you had your period?” he asks. “You’ve been throwing up, certain smells make you sick, and your body, especially your breasts, are sensitive. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put it together.”
“No… I…” Fuck, am I pregnant? I try to think back to when I got my period last, but my brain isn’t working. Too much is happening at once, and all I want to do is cry.
When Ben quirks a knowing brow, my blood boils over, and I snap at him. “Even if I were, that has nothing to do with the fact that your dad stole from you, and instead of listening, you’re accusing me of lying about it.”
Hurt and confused and needing some space to think about everything that’s just happened, I bolt out of Ben’s place without looking back. It’s only when I get to the elevator that I realize I’m without any shoes or keys or hell, even my cell phone. I’ve been staying at his place for so long that everything of mine is there.
Praying Brianne is home, I get on the elevator and press the button for our floor, all while blocking everything out that was just said. If I think about it, I’m going to lose it.
When I knock on the door, Brianne opens it, confused. “Did you lose your keys?” The second her eyes lock with mine, all the emotions bubbling to the surface spill over, and I throw myself into her arms.
“I think I’m pregnant.”
“What?” She gasps. “That’s amazing.” She backs up and looks me in the eyes. “That’s amazing, right?”
“Yeah, it would be, if my fiancé didn’t just accuse me of lying about his dad stealing from him.”
Her eyes go wide. “Oh, shit. Come sit down. I think we’re going to need an impromptu girls’ night, complete with ice cream and tea, because it seems you have some spilling to do.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Benjamin
“Fuck!” I pound my fist against the closed door and then, without thinking, swipe a bunch of shit off the table. When the vase holding the flowers explodes against the wood floor, shards of glass flying every which way, I release a harsh sigh, feeling as though that’s the perfect representation of my life at this moment—fucking shattered.
This can’t be happening. She was supposed to find the issue in the books that my dad left behind. She was not supposed to tell me my dad—my own flesh and blood—was stealing from me. It doesn’t make any sense. He worked for me for years and was paid way beyond his pay grade. He has no reason to steal from me. She has to be lying. She wouldn’t be the first woman to lie to me.
I’ll be damned if I allow her to destroy my family and disgrace my father’s name. But even as the thoughts emerge, I internally cringe because deep down, I know that’s not who Savannah is. She doesn’t lie or trick or play games. I saw the look on her face when she told me, and it was clear it hurt her to say the words almost as much as she knew it would hurt me to hear them.
My thoughts go back to the weeks leading up to my dad’s death… The way he was sneaking around and hiding where he was going. I tried to ask him what was wrong, but he refused to confide in me.
“Pizza here?” Brody asks, stepping out of his room and snapping me out of my thoughts. He looks around at the sight of destruction, then glances at me. “Where’s Savy?”
“She left.”
“What happened?” He walks over and picks the pizza box up, setting it on the table and opening it. Because it was closed, the pizza is still intact, just a little jostled.
“We got into an argument.”
He nods and picks up several of the roses, carrying them into the kitchen.
“Leave it,” I tell him. “I’ll clean it up.” It’s my fault, after all.
“I got this. You can go.”
“Go where?”
His eyes meet mine. “Find her and fix whatever you broke.” He holds up the flowers. “I’m assuming these were meant for her.”