Finding Him (Covet 2)

“Any other symptoms?” The doctor looked concerned.

My stomach dropped. She was fine, she had to be fine.

“No.” Keaton shook her head. “But I do think it’s stress.”

“Could be.” The doctor nodded then smiled kindly. “Why don’t we rule out the easy things first, like the flu, an infection, pregnancy . . .” As her voice trailed off, my eyes grew a bit too large for my head, meeting Keaton’s.

She squinted down at her hands then up at me and looked ready to puke again. “Julian . . .”

The doctor glanced between us. “Something wrong?”

I don’t know how I knew, just that I did. That would make sense, wouldn’t it? It wasn’t like we used protection the first time. Hell, I didn’t even think about it. I don’t think either of us were thinking about anything except for the pain to fucking stop.

It had to have been that first time.

I ran my hands through my hair. “I think she needs a pregnancy test.”

Keaton’s panicked expression wasn’t helping the wild thumping of my heart as I grabbed her hand and waited for the doctor to come back.

Instead, it was a nurse who asked Keaton to pee in a cup, and what was only ten minutes ended up feeling like a thousand years as we waited in that room for them to tell us something that would alter us forever.

It was almost too much.

The snow falling outside.

Finishing the book.

Writing “The End.”

And the possibility of a new life.

The nurse returned with a smile on her face. “Congratulations. It’s early, looks like you’re around three weeks, possibly four, though it’s hard to tell. Your hCG is reading really high. Congrats again, you’re going to be a mom!”

Keaton squeezed my hand so hard I was afraid it was going to fall off.

And then she burst into tears.

I quickly pulled her into my arms and held her. “Hey, hey, it’s going to be okay.”

“No.” She sobbed harder against my chest. “Because people are going to know it’s not his.”

Had she stabbed me in the heart—it would have hurt less than those words. I pulled away and stared at her in disbelief. “Are you serious right now?”

She hiccupped out another sob. “Julian, dating is one thing! Having a baby is—everyone’s going to know!”

“Then let them know!” I roared. “Why the hell do you care what they think?”

“Because I promised him!” she yelled right back. “I have a lucrative book deal based on my undying love for a man who died eleven months ago! What happens when they find out that I moved on and had a baby? Nobody’s going to believe it was real. Nobody’s going to care about him anymore!”

“It’s not him you’re worried about,” I said with hurt in my voice. “It’s you.”

“What?” she hissed, her expression one of shock and irritation.

“This book . . . this isn’t about him, Keaton. He’s not here. This was only ever closure for you, and I’m sure he knew that, I’m sure he hoped it would help. But whether or not people believe your story has nothing to do with you writing it. He asked you to write it. He didn’t ask people to believe it or even read it. You’re the one doing that. You’re the one existing in this in-between space where you can’t let him go and we can’t be together. You say you want that, but you want everything to be tied up in these neat little bows. That’s not fucking life, trust me. I would know.” I hung my head. “And the really sad part? You’re making this about you when it’s about us, when it affects both of us, when I can’t think of anything that would make me happier than being a dad to a little girl who has clear blue eyes just like you, or a little boy with dirty hands he refuses to wash. And you’re sitting there feeling sorry for yourself because of what people are going to say. I’m not trying to say your feelings aren’t valid. I’m just saying mine are too, and unless you can write ‘The End,’ you can’t move on, because you won’t let yourself.” I stopped talking, too upset to say anything more. “I’m going to go grab some coffee. Do you want juice? Water?”

“W-water.” Her voice cracked.

I walked toward the door and paused, my hands anchored on the doorjamb as I allowed my head to fall forward. “I’m not leaving you,” I said without looking back. “I just need space. I need time to think, and I don’t want to hurt you any more than you want to hurt me, but that’s what you keep doing, over and over again without realizing it, and I can take a lot, Keaton, I’ve lived with that sort of rejection my entire life, I can take one more. What I can’t take is the fact that I’m falling in love with you—and that doesn’t even seem to be a factor in your decisions.”