by Ryan, Lexi
“You’re . . . pregnant?” She’s pale. She actually looks like she might be sick.
I shake my head slowly. I’m not done. “And by assuming I came here to lie, by assuming I’d go to such disgusting lengths because I want him, you’re only enabling a lying womanizer. Shame on you. If you want to believe him, go for it. Personally, I want nothing to do with him.”
Something flickers across her face, but I’m too angry to analyze it. I’ve said what I needed to say. I’m done.
Easton
Me: Come over for dinner? I’m grilling steaks.
Shay: Not tonight. I’m tired.
Me: You could come over and nap? My bed is pretty damn comfortable if you recall.
Shay: I just need a night at home.
I want to ask if she’s sure everything’s okay, but I already asked that when she left my house this afternoon. I want to ask if the idea of Scarlett moving here is freaking her out, but I already asked that too. I want to tell her I love her, but I’m a little afraid that this time she might not say it back.
Shay
I got back from Chicago around nine and went straight to Teagan and Carter’s. Carter is helping Easton with the equipment setup in his new theater room, and Isaiah is visiting his grandmother. I knocked twice before strolling right into their house and sitting my pregnant, emotionally exhausted ass down on their couch.
“Here. You look like you could use this.” Teagan emerges from the kitchen and hands me a bottle of beer.
“No alcohol for me.”
“Still the stomach thing, huh?” Shrugging, she returns the beer to the fridge. “Coffee?”
“I’m actually trying to cut back on my caffeine intake too.”
This shocks her. “You really must be feeling ill. But honestly, the coffee is probably harder on your stomach than the alcohol, so good call.”
There are a dozen excuses I could easily use to not drink alcohol or caffeine, but now is really as good a time as any to share my big news with my best friend. I clear my throat. “About that . . . I went to the doctor this morning. It turns out there’s an explanation for my exhaustion. A . . . pretty obvious one that also explains the nausea and food aversions.”
Her jaw goes slack and she lowers herself into the chair. “You’re pregnant.”
Tears burn at the back of my eyes. I know if I speak I’m gonna open up the floodgates. I really don’t want to cry again today, so I just nod.
“Holy shit.” She puts her beer down and rushes back into the kitchen. She yanks open the freezer. “Ice cream?”
I nod again and watch as she fills two large bowls with chocolate peanut butter chunk swirl. My favorite.
She doesn’t say another word until we’ve each eaten several bites. “Are you okay?”
I’m sure she must have a thousand questions, but I’m so grateful she chose to start there. “Yeah. I mean, I’m getting there, at least.”
She watches her bowl as she pushes a spoonful of ice cream around. “It’s definitely George’s?”
I laugh. God, for a blessed moment in the doctor’s office, the possibility that it was Easton’s crossed my mind. No, not possibility—dumb hope. “It’s George’s.” I put my ice cream down on the coffee table. “Easton and I talked Sunday, and I decided I wanted to stay in Jackson Harbor and give him and me a chance. And now instead of going out on dates with him and finding a job in the place I really want to be, I need to figure out how I can blow them away at my L.A. interview so I can start over somewhere else.”
“Wait. Is that what you want to do? Start over?” She shakes her head. “Why? I don’t understand.”
Because I’m too ashamed to raise a married man’s child in front of my mother. Because I’ll do anything to avoid disappointing her like that. Because I can’t ask Easton to raise another child that isn’t his. “It wouldn’t be unexpected, would it? It’s what I’m supposed to do next.”
“The only thing you’re supposed to do next is figure out what makes you happy.” Teagan puts both of our bowls in the sink before returning to the living room. “You didn’t answer my question. Is that what you want?”
“I’ve spent the last eight years of my life working on this PhD. I’m a good teacher. I’m a grown woman. I can do this.”
“Of course you can. I have every faith in you, but why move to L.A. if you don’t want to live there? Why leave your family?”
“Because I can’t look my mom in the eye and tell her I’m having a married man’s baby.” I close my eyes and hot tears stream down my cheeks.
“You didn’t know, Shay. Just explain. Your mom will understand.”
Shaking my head, I open my mouth to explain, but I can’t. I can’t speak the truth Easton broke me with. Saying the words feels like a betrayal to my father’s memory. “The whole thing makes me feel like an idiot, Tea. It’s like I’m looking at a map with a million different roads, and the only rule is I can’t stay where I am. I see all these options, and everything’s confusing, but there’s one thing I know for sure.”
“What’s that?”
I meet my friend’s eyes. “The timing and logistics might be awful, but when I sat in the doctor’s office and she started asking me about my periods, my biggest fear wasn’t that I might be pregnant; it was that I might have something terrible wrong with me that would keep me from having kids. I want this baby.”
She takes my hand and squeezes it. “Then start there, but don’t assume you have to leave. Your mother will love you and this child no matter what.”
“And what about Easton?” My voice cracks.
“I don’t know, baby. I think he’s the only one who can answer that.”
“Will you come with me to my ultrasound tomorrow?”
She pulls me into a hug. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Shay
When I got to campus this morning, there was a note from the department secretary in my mailbox saying Dr. Alby needed to see me in his office. I planned on talking to him this morning, but judging by this note, his wife already had a conversation about it with him last night.
I hope she chewed his ass out—and not in the sexy way.
When I knock on his office door, I’m numb.
“Come in!” His tone is decidedly grumpy. Good. That makes two of us.
I push into his office and shut the door behind me.
When he tears his gaze away from the computer, his eyes lock on that closed door. “Shay. I think it would be better if you kept that door open.”
What a fucking asshole. “Really? You didn’t mind me closing it when you were cheating on your wife with me.” Oh. Wow. That felt great. Why was I putting this off?
He blows out a breath. “Merritt told me you came to her office last night. And before you get all high and mighty with me, you should understand that I made the decisions I did based on my gauge of your maturity level. After the way you handled speaking with her, it’s clear that I made the right call.”
In this moment, I see George clearly for the first time. Honestly, I’m disgusted with myself for getting personally involved with him. I’ve always known on some level that George needed taking down a notch, but why on earth didn’t I ever find his ego annoying? Like, vagina-shriveling unacceptable. I shake my head. “My maturity level? What a convenient excuse that must’ve been for you—to lie to your wife and keep me in the dark about your marriage so you could fuck me. You knew I would’ve turned you down if you’d told me the truth.”
He rocks back in his chair, chest puffed up, nostrils flaring with anger. “I suppose now you’re going to act like you didn’t want to? Play the victim card and say I coerced you through the mentor-mentee power dynamic?”
I shake my head. “I never thought that. Your evaluation of my work and guidance of my research always felt completely separate from our personal relationship.”
He swallows and his chest caves in. Good. At least he’s been a little worried about it.
“I didn’t sleep with yo
u for academic favors,” I say, realizing we need to get this cleared up first. “And I never felt like you used your position on my committee to get me in bed.”
He scrubs a hand over his face, nodding. “Okay. Good, good, good. This is good to hear.”
“That’s a lot of good in reference to a situation that’s pretty fucked up, George. You’re not off the hook for not telling me about your wife. Not with me, at least. If she wants to ignore what you’ve done, that’s on her. Even if I wanted a relationship with you, I wouldn’t forgive you for keeping me in the dark. I don’t have the energy to hash out how I feel about your lies right now.”
He smirks. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
I cock my head to the side. “What exactly did your wife tell you?” Did she tell you I’m pregnant?
“She told me to get out.” He shifts uncomfortably. Ass sore, George? “And then she told me I needed to talk to you.”
“She’s right. We do need to talk.”
He stares at me and when I don’t immediately explain, he says, “Spit it out.”
“I’m pregnant.”
He goes pale then seems to shake away the instinctive panic. “The football player works fast.”
“The baby isn’t Easton’s.” I stare at him, but when he only stares back with that constipated confusion face, I say, “I’m eleven weeks and four days pregnant.” I pull the ultrasound picture from my purse and place it in front of him on the desk.
He stares at the black-and-white photo with wide eyes. “Can you be sure it’s mine?”
What a dick. “Before Easton came to town, you’re the only one I’d slept with in years.”
When he lifts his eyes to mine, they’re angry. “You told me you were on the pill.”
“I was. It looks like I got pregnant during that Florida conference. The doctor said if I was that sick, the birth control wouldn’t have worked right.”
“The chances, though . . .”
I point at the picture. “Right there. There’s the chance.”
He stares at me for a long beat, and I watch as the possibility clicks into place in his mind. “I can’t marry you, Shay. You’ve been acting weird since you saw that ring, but I’ve never given you reason to believe I wanted that from you. I don’t want to lose my wife.”
“If you think I want to marry you after all I know now, you’ve lost your goddamned mind.”
“I mean, I’d want a paternity test.”
“Would you? And what then? What would the proof of a paternity test change for you?” I shake my head. “I might not like how this happened, but I’m not upset to know I’m going to be a mother.”
“Well, at least that’s one of us.” He blows out a breath. “You got just what you wanted, didn’t you? An excuse to stay home. An excuse to ignore everything you’ve worked so hard for so you can . . . what? How will you support this kid? Are you going to be a fucking bartender?”
I know that shot is supposed to hurt, but it doesn’t. I don’t care what he thinks of me, of my family or my choices. “I’m only telling you because it’s the right thing to do. Not because I expect anything from you.”
He looks dumbstruck. I wonder how many other women he’s been sleeping with while not using condoms and pretending to be single. Maybe even other women at this college who thought they were protecting their own reputation by keeping the secret. “I think it would be easier all around if you make this decision regarding the baby in the same way I told you to make the decisions regarding your career,” he says. “Don’t factor me into the equation.”
“Would you sign away your rights to the child?”
He shrugs, as if I’m asking for something meaningless. “If that’s what you want, that’s fine with me.”
I take a breath. “And when I defend my dissertation, I expect you to do the same. Evaluate me as if we were never together, as if we were never involved.”
“You think I’m going to evaluate you unfairly because of all of this? I have the highest regard for academic integrity.”
I laugh. “Because academic integrity is everything, right? Apparently, for you, it’s even more important than personal integrity.” I take the ultrasound photo from his desk, tuck it into my purse, and leave his office.
Maybe it’s not wise to walk away with bitterness between us when the future of my degree hangs in the balance. If I’m going to move away and start over, I’m going to want this degree I’ve busted my ass for. But it was worth it.
Easton
Me: Everything okay? I missed you yesterday.
Shay: I’m dealing with some stuff at school. I’ve had some unexpected changes that complicate things.
Me: Can I help?
Shay: I need to do this myself.
Me: Will I see you at gymnastics tonight? Abi is excited.
Shay: No, Nic’s taking Lilly.
Me: You’re avoiding me.
Shay: I am. Kind of. Give me some space, Easton. We’ll talk, but I need to take care of me right now.
“What do you think about this one?” Carter asks, twisting the solitary diamond band between two fingers. “Is it too simple?”
I shove my phone into my back pocket and swallow my heartache. Because when your childhood best friend wants you to come along to pick out an engagement ring for the love of his life, you do it. “Simple isn’t a bad thing.” I study the diamond. “And that one doesn’t strike me as simple at all. Just . . . solid. Like you two.”
He grins. “I think so too.” His gaze flicks to the pocket where I just put away my phone. “Was that my sister?”
“Yeah.”
“She still avoiding you?”
I drag a hand through my hair. “Yeah.”
“Are you gonna do something about it?”
Do I look like an idiot? “She wants space.”
He frowns. “What’d you do?”
I shake my head. Carter doesn’t know about our history. I never told him about Paris or that she came to me when she found out their father was entering hospice care. Maybe it’s time to own up to all of it. “I didn’t do anything this time,” I say carefully. “But she has every reason to be cautious.”
“Meaning?”
“Listen, I’d like to tell you the whole thing, but if you beat in my face, you’re the one who has to explain your actions to my sweet, innocent daughter.”
His eyes go wide. “Oh, hell. We’re gonna need beer, aren’t we?”
I nod. “We should probably do this at the bar.”
Shay
I’m officially avoiding my apartment. I started packing it up yesterday in an emotional rush of energy. Even if I planned to stay in Jackson Harbor, and I don’t, I’d have to leave my tiny third-floor walk-up. It won’t be practical with a baby, never mind that it only has one bedroom.
I go to Teagan’s and smile when she opens the door. “Can I hang for a while?”
“Always.”
“Want to order in? I think I’m officially past the no-appetite part of this pregnancy and into the clichéd cravings part.”
“I . . .” Her gaze shifts to the living room just beyond the foyer.
And that’s the moment when I realize Teagan isn’t home alone. In the living room, Carter stops with a beer halfway to his lips. And halfway between me and the couch, Easton stands paralyzed, staring at me in wide-eyed shock.
“Easton’s here,” she says quietly. “Nic took both girls to gymnastics.”
Shit. I wasn’t ready for this yet. I might not ever be.
I turn around and open the door she just closed, pushing outside onto the porch.
“You sonofabitch!” I hear Carter say behind me. “I listened to your whole damn sob story, and now you’re telling me you got my sister pregnant?”
I close the door before I can hear Easton’s response. The porch swing is either too high or I’m too short, because my feet dangle a good foot off the ground as I let the swing rock me back and forth.
When the doo
r opens again, I look up expecting to see Teagan, but it’s Easton stepping out onto the porch with me. Easton, who doesn’t want to raise another man’s baby again. Easton, who just wants a simple life where he can focus on his daughter and avoid all the drama.
He studies the spot next to me, and whether because of my mood or because he can’t stomach the thought of being that close to me right now, he seems to think better of sitting there and leans against the porch rail instead. His jaw ticks as he stares at me. “You’re pregnant.”
I nod jerkily.
“And it’s not . . .”
I shake my head. I wish it were Easton’s. The thought takes me back to when I was twenty years old and so immature, trying to wish myself pregnant so maybe he’d choose me over Scarlett. But of course, I wasn’t. Easton was always too careful for that.
He pivots and faces the street. Good. Maybe this’ll be easier if I can’t see his face. Even if . . . even if watching him turn his back on me shakes me at my fault lines.
“I didn’t know until this week,” I say. I cannot stand the idea of him thinking even for a minute that I’m like his ex-wife—that I would have deceived him the way she did.
“That’s why you asked, though,” he says. “Monday . . . when you asked if I’d make the same choice.”
I swallow. “I know you probably don’t want to talk to me right now, and I don’t blame you. I’m leaving for the airport in the morning.”
He spins to face me. “What?”
“For the interview in L.A.”
“Your brother’s getting married on Saturday.”
That’s what he’s worried about? That I’ll miss the wedding? “I’ll be home in time for the family dinner Friday night, no worries.”
“I mean . . . You’ve put family first. You decided to stay, and now you’re gonna run away and leave them all behind?”
I don’t want to talk about moving away from my family. I just . . . can’t. I shrug uselessly.
“Does he know?”
