I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. That’s what she said. She’s lying. This is her way of getting back at me. Laughter erupts from deep in my stomach. “Good one. I’m not falling for that shit. Look, if you’re still pissed about that night, we can talk about it. But don’t start spreading rumors.”
“I’m not lying. I am pregnant, Lars. And it’s your baby.”
“You show me a paternity test and then we’ll talk.” I shift my car into reverse, but she starts talking, halting my movements.
“You were my first. And my last. I’ve never been with anyone else. It’s your baby, Lars.”
My hand holds the gear tightly. “Ok.” I nod. “Humor me. How far along are you? Have you gone to the doctor?”
“It was almost three months ago, so I’d guess like eleven weeks, maybe. And no, I haven’t gone to the doctor.”
“If a doctor hasn’t confirmed it, then how do you know?”
“Lars, I’m pregnant. I wouldn’t make this up. A friend bought me a whole bag of tests and they were all positive.”
“A friend? What friend?“ I didn’t know she had friends.
“Vi Moran. She can be trusted. Don’t worry.”
“Vi Moran, as in Josh’s sister?”
She nods.
I grip the gear even tighter. So tight that all the blood has drained from my knuckles. “Go to the doctor and show me proof, then we’ll talk.” Impulsive jackass returns as I slam my foot on the gas. My tires spin rapidly, before finally getting some traction and getting me the hell out of this place.
My mind is in this hazy fog that doesn’t allow me to even finish a complete thought.
No way. She can’t be.
There is no way in hell that I can be a dad.
No fucking way. She’s lying. She has to be.
God, she better be. For the first time in my life, I want to be lied to. I won’t even be mad at her for this prank. She just can’t be pregnant with my baby.
5
I didn’t go home. Wherever home is. Is it Talon’s house? Dad’s place, with Cruella Deville and her wicked daughter? I drove three hours north and ended up at some ritzy hotel with a fridge stocked full of liquor and a king-size bed. Left the air on all night—even when my teeth began to chatter—just because I could. There was no one here to tell me it was too cold or too hot. No one to tell me how bad I’m fucking up. How I’ll never amount to anything, or how my choices are leading me down a dark and lonely path.
With my back pressed against the headboard, I tip back my bottle of breakfast and stare at the black screen of the tv mounted on the wall. While I have been drinking nonstop since I arrived, I’ve also done a lot of thinking. Haven’t really come up with any great ideas that will get me out of this mess I’m in, but my mind hasn’t shut off. It definitely wasn’t from lack of trying. You’d think half a fifth of whiskey would do the trick, but it didn’t.
Looking at the bottle of vodka in my hand, I realize this one won’t fix my problems either. My hand slaps around at the end table until I find the top then I twist it back on.
My phone’s been off since last night when I stopped myself from making a big mistake and I really don’t wanna turn it back on, though, I probably should. Regardless of the pity I’m taking on myself, there’s shit that needs to be dealt with.
I hold the button down until it powers on, preparing myself for whatever might be headed my way when the missed calls and text messages appear. Before this whole situation with Josh, I never had calls. I hung out with the guys, went to the gym, partied, and life was good. Now, everything is falling apart. Our circle has been broken, and I’m not sure it will ever be repaired. We’re all at the mercy of Zed. And there’s a good fucking chance that I’m going to be a dad, whether I like it or not.
Just as expected, a string of messages come chiming through. Buzz after buzz. There’s Madison, Talon, Tommy, Dad, Mom, and Willa. I tap Willa’s name first. I saved her number last night in the heat of the moment, after typing up a dozen different messages and deleting them all. They went as far as asking her to get an abortion, but as much as I’m not ready for this, I know that’s not an option. At one point I think I was even going to ask her to marry me. Also not an option. Hence, why I shut my phone off.
The truth is, I don’t have those feelings for Willa that a guy should have when he’s having a baby with someone. It’s not that I think there’s anything wrong with her. Sure, she’s awkward, quiet, and basic, but it’s not about that. Whatever she once saw in me isn’t reciprocated. I won’t run away from my responsibilities, but I’m also not sacrificing my happiness by being with someone for the sake of a child. It’s not fair to either of us.
Is that cold? Probably. Am I cruel? Without a doubt. I don’t mean to be, but one thing I’ve learned in the past couple of weeks is that it’s time to start watching out for myself. Aside from Talon and Tommy, I can’t count on anyone at this point.
Willa: Someone was outside of my house last night. Did you tell anyone?
Willa: Whoever it is keeps driving back and forth in front of my house. I’m getting creeped out.
Willa: Can you call me, please?
I don’t even have to question who it was. Sorry, Willa. Now that you’re in my life, Madison is coming for you. There is no way in hell she will let us have our secrets.
With that said, I’ve decided who I want my revenge on. It won’t be deadly. No. She won’t get hurt. But she will feel the sting of sweet pain as I blow up her entire world.
It’s after dark by time I get back into town. It took me a good two hours to get out of bed, an hour in the shower while I tried to sweat out the alcohol, and five minutes to relieve myself of some built-up tension. I still haven’t listened to the messages from the guys. My eyes skimmed one text that said Zed hasn’t returned their calls. If he hasn’t returned their calls then nothing is fixed. If nothing is fixed, we’re still sinking.
I’m not sure where I’m headed, but for some reason, I end up on Hayworth Drive in front of the church. Willa’s church. I know she’s here. She’s always here. Bible study, choir practice, youth group. I wasn’t kidding when I said the girl is a saint. Her car is also parked in front, so there's that. The next thing I know, I’m getting out of the car and slamming the door shut. Still smelling like a brewery, I zip up my leather jacket and smooth my hands down my black holy jeans—no pun intended.
Cupping my hand over my mouth, I breathe out and sniff. Just the scent of my cinnamon gum. Even if the whiskey was still lingering, Jesus drank, so they can’t judge me. My fingers wrap around the u-shaped handle and when it doesn’t sizzle at my touch, I feel confident that I won’t burn when I go in. I open the door and walk inside. I’ve been in the church before, but it’s been awhile. I should have known I’d be opening up to a room full of tables and chairs, and of course, about thirty people staring at me. I hold a hand up and wave at all the unfamiliar faces. “Hi. I just need to borrow her for a minute.” I point to a flustered Willa.