by Julia Bright
Pregnant.
No…
Blaine stuck his head inside the partially opened door then pushed it open farther, coming straight for her. “Why are you crying?”
“I’ll leave you two alone.” Neither looked the nurse’s way as she left the room, the door giving a firm click as it shut in place. She’d gone straight to the circle of Blaine’s arms and clung desperately to his T-shirt. Her emotions were all over the place, but she couldn’t find one single ray of hope, no matter how hard she tried, and that just caused everything to get a little bit worse.
“What’s going on, Pres?” Blaine asked, wrapping her tighter in his arms. When the tears slowed, and she was certain she’d created an ugly stain on Blaine’s shirt, she just turned her head, laying her cheek on his chest. “Tell me what’s going on, babe?”
“They say I’m pregnant.” The words were even more shocking when she said them aloud. Seconds passed before Blaine gripped her forearms, pulling her away as he got right in her face.
“No! Presley, no. Can they be wrong?” he asked, and she just shook her head. There was no comfort in finding him as panicked as her.
“They say they’re certain I’m pregnant.” Presley gave a hiccup and covered her mouth with her hand. How had she let this happen? She had goals and dreams. Even more so, she was firm in her resolve to never live the life her mother had. She couldn’t be pregnant.
“Pres, this isn’t the end of the world. We can take care of this,” Blaine said reasonably after a long pause. She did note his words and tone were in direct contradiction to the freaked-out expression still on his face.
“I don’t have any money, Blaine. It’s expensive to get an abortion, and I absolutely can’t afford to have a baby.” Her shoulders slumped as she pulled away, going for her duffle bag.
“He needs to pay for this. It’s his fucking responsibility,” Blaine declared vehemently. That was one good thing about Blaine, when Roan turned out to be such a jerk, the infatuation was over for both of them. Blaine’s deep disdain for Roan had grown to rival even hers.
A knock on the door drew both their gazes that way. After a moment’s pause, the nurse entered. She looked between both Presley and Blaine before silently laying the discharge papers on the bed and sneaking out.
“Can you take me home?” she asked, again wiping at the tears running down her face, willing herself to pull it together as she tugged her sweatpants from her bag. Quickly she pulled those on, working around the annoying paper gown.
“Of course I can. But we’re calling him, Pres. He’s paying for this,” Blaine said determinedly, giving her his back to continue dressing.
“We’ll see.” Presley quickly finished and gathered her things. Before she left the room, she went to the small sink and splashed cold water on her heated, red, swollen face. When she stood at the mirror, wiping the paper towels over her face, she was certain this was the very worst moment of her entire crappy life.
A solid twenty-four hours later, Presley sat on her bed, legs crossed, with her head in her hands. Tena sat on the edge with Blaine sprawled out across the rest of the mattress, taking every other available inch. The dread and worry of the day lay heavy on her heart. She was pregnant—from her first sexual experience, the one that turned out to be a one-night stand.
She’d never told anyone, but she was so unsophisticated that she had actually thought she’d fallen in love with Roan that night—that they had been making love, not having sex. Life should have already taught her this lesson. Her mom had done this very same thing, which had resulted in Presley. She’d never known her father. How in the world had she gone full circle? Because Presley had thought somehow her life was different. God, the innocence of such a thought made her stomach roil, dread making her that much sicker.
With a deep, helpless sigh, she looked up Tena. “I have to get an abortion. I can’t afford a baby. I’ll lose my scholarship. I can’t stay in school if I lose my scholarship,” she said, her voice sounding frantic even to her as she rambled out the words.
“I told you I’d help,” Blaine said passively, staring up at the ceiling fan in complete disinterest. Since she was about his only friend left in the world, he was forced to listen to her all day and night crying over how she could have possibly let this happen. Reaching for the pillow, she snapped it out from under his head then whacked him on the face with it.
“You can’t help. You’re broke now, too. Why do I have to keep reminding you of that?” Presley said, irritably. Social media had turned out to be Blaine’s downfall. His parents had seen a post of Blaine and his boyfriend. They had disowned him before they could even hear Blaine’s explanation. He’d been living off her small savings ever since.
“Blaine shouldn’t have to pay either. You need to call that jerk,” Tena declared with a deep-seated venom in her voice. Presley's best friends were the very best. This had been pretty much Tena’s tone and attitude toward Roan since she’d walked through the door the morning he’d left her behind. Nothing had changed since.
Kady stood in the open doorway, eating from her bowl of mac and cheese. “I second that. Even if you get an abortion, he needs to pay. He’s such an asshole, Pres. He shouldn’t get off this easy.”
“I don’t even know how to reach him,” she said, grabbing Blaine’s pillow, crumpling it in her arms. The idea of calling Roan made her stomach churn, but she just couldn’t figure out anything else to do. Maybe her mom could loan her a few hundred dollars.
“I have his number,” Blaine offered, cocking his head to look over at her.
“Call him!” Tena declared instantly. Blaine clearly must have thought that was the best idea ever. He immediately reached inside his pocket for his phone, quickly tugging it out. He entered a code, worked the screen before handing her the cell.
“I can’t,” she said, refusing to take the phone. Maybe she could babysit more. Surely she could find some evening work, taking care of some kids.
“Put your pride aside. You shouldn’t have to do this alone,” Kady scolded. The bowl she ate from now forgotten as she entered the room and absently placed it on the dresser, and came to the bed before sitting down beside Tena. They both looked so concerned, so did Blaine for that matter.
“I don’t know,” she hedged. Blaine rolled to her side of the bed and used his finger to push call. Before she even realized what he’d done, the phone started ringing. She dropped the cell to her lap as if it were a hot potato, like that would ever stop the inevitable connection. Slowly, she picked up the phone, her heart slamming in her chest as she put it to her ear and stared at Kady.
“Why the fuck would you be calling me?” Her eyelids closed as her whole world stopped at the sound of his voice. It had taken months to get over the one night they’d shared together. She wasn’t anywhere close to being over Roan Westfield. Tears welled, and she swallowed the lump in her throat before she could answer.
“Hey,” she said after a long pause. There was silence on Roan’s end for so long she looked down to see if the call had disconnected. It hadn’t, so she spoke again. “Are you busy?”
She got nothing but laughter from him until his bitter, anger-filled voice said, “You’re calling me from his phone. Classic. Fuck off, Presley. Don’t call me again.”
The phone disconnected, and she burst out in tears. What was wrong with her? She was an emotional basket case. How could everything she’d experienced that terrible morning three months ago come back to sit on her chest and actually feel worse now?
“What happened?” Kady asked, all the frustration was gone, leaving only compassion as she came toward her and pulled Presley into a hug.
“He doesn’t want me,” Presley said through the tears, wrapping both her arms around her friend.
“Shhh, babe. We’ll figure this out. You don’t have to do this alone,” Tena said, coming in for a three-way hug. Her friends held her so tight they managed to make her think that they could in fact work all this out.
&nb
sp; “Fuck him, Presley. You tried. We’ll be here for you. You’re better off without him,” Blaine said and joined in on the love fest. She cried, but only because that seemed all she could do anymore. After a minute, Blaine pushed some tissues into her hand. Man, she was just so screwed.
Chapter Seven
April 2017
Presley walked through her quiet classroom, picking up a stray pencil off the floor and placing it on one student’s desk and then a crayon on another. She grinned at the textbook lying askew on the floor and looked around the room. She saw the trail of Louis’s papers and school supplies that had apparently fallen free of his backpack again. She shook her head. The boy would never learn that he had to do more than stuff the pack full; he actually had to use the zipper to close everything inside. As busy as her afternoon would be, she took the minute to follow the trail of papers, picking each up, then placed them on his assigned desk before going for hers. Presley grabbed her sweater and her own stuffed satchel before going to the door.
After turning off the light and locking the door, she walked down the hall, picking up after Louis all the way to the front doors of the building. She made a mental note to call his mom tonight to let her know what she’d been able to salvage. This was at least the fourth time this year that Louis’s mom had had to replace his school supplies. At eight years old, he should really be better about keeping his things together. She’d let him stew for a while before she saved him from some of his certain trouble.
“How’d you get out of after school duty today?”
Presley cringed, letting the voice send shivers up her spine. Mr. Hauser was the fifth-grade science teacher that appeared to have given up on life before she was ever born. Now, at fifty-five years old, he had hair growing out of every hole on his body, including the neckline of his 1970s velour pullover. She was certain that shirt had been all the rage on the disco dance floor. Picking up her pace, knowing that he’d struggle in keeping up, she answered, “I took lunchroom duty today.”
“The scuttlebutt is that gym of yours is doing real good.” Mr. Hauser was a portly man and did have to huff as he tried to walk side by side with her.
“The girls did wonderful this weekend. I’ve gotta go, Mr. Hauser, or I’ll be late.” She burst through the front doors, leaving him standing there as she started for the faculty parking lot. Presley waved at a few students, nodded at a fellow teacher, but never slowed her stride. She had fifteen minutes to get four miles down the road to the small warehouse she’d rented for her gym. Normally, she would have just taken the bus to avoid all the traffic, but not today. Tomorrow was a school holiday, and Sunday was Easter. That meant after practice tonight, she was driving back to Goodson, Nevada to spend three glorious days with her mother, little sister, and daughter. Man, she needed this break.
In the car, she expertly navigated traffic, only getting one or two flying middle fingers tossed her way as she drove through the masses on the Los Angeles streets to the gym, managing to be only a few minutes late. Generally, anyone being tardy got the strong stamp of disapproval, but luckily, Taren, her only employee, was even more a stickler for time than Presley. She zipped her compact car into a designated parking spot up front and grabbed her purse and duffle bag, jogging the rest of the way to her office in her high heels. “I’m sorry I’m late!”
“It’s not a problem. They’re stretching, but look at this, Pres.” She didn’t want to stop. She needed to change quickly and get out there to the team. Her three cheerleading teams had kicked butt at NCA nationals, two of them winning first place and the other coming in second. One had even managed to get a bid to the Worlds competition next month. They had their work cut out for them to be ready to compete against the best of the best international cheerleading teams, especially if they were taking the next three days off. In her spare time, Presley had been working on a new routine. If she could get that down tonight, she could video them and send the video by email…
Everything stopped as she looked over at their one desk and the huge stack of papers in two piles. They each had to be two feet high.
“What’s that?” she asked. Curiosity made her turn back toward the desk, everything else put on hold.
“It’s the applications for tryouts,” Taren stated proudly, throwing out a hand like Vanna White during Wheel of Fortune.
“What?” she asked, going to that side of the desk to flip through the top pages.
“I know! We have over two hundred completed applications with physicals and report cards. We have another fifty that are incomplete, but information’s coming. Can you believe it?” Taren asked and gave a little hop in all her excitement.
“No way!” Presley started to sift through the files with purpose. They were exactly what Taren said. “Oh my God. Was this from the social media ads?”
“No! Those haven’t started running yet. These came in over the weekend from our website,” Taren clarified, giving a small clap this time, and lifted her hand for a high five.
“This is so cool. Yay, us!” she said, reaching out a hand to high-five.
“Go get dressed. I’ll get them started.” Taren pivoted on her heels, bounding out of the office. Presley gave one last look at the applications. For only being in business for one school year, the gym was growing faster than she’d ever expected. She gave her own mental celebratory yay and went to change clothes.
The plane touched down, jarring Roan awake. The jolt startled him, making him sit up straight, looking around completely disoriented. Elle was beside him, giving him a clear “you’re embarrassing me” look. No news there. The taste of stale alcohol caused him to abandon the plan of finding out how in the hell he’d gotten on this flight and start hitting his palms against all his pockets to look for something to help wipe the foul taste from his mouth.
“You seriously look like hell,” Elle hissed in his ear, but produced a piece of gum that he immediately unwrapped and began to chew. It wasn’t in his mouth even a second before he realized he didn’t have an ounce of saliva to make this work effectively. He looked around for anything to drink, only to have Elle hand him the final swallow of a small water bottle. An Advil bottle was next. He downed those as she unfastened her seatbelt and rose, reaching for the overhead bin.
Like normal, Roan was processing everything about a step or two behind. He scooted to the edge of the first-class seats and followed Elle’s lead, trying to rise to help handle their luggage. The intense pounding in his head spiked with each move he made, making it impossible to remember where they had gone, or even why they were there. Roan reached for his jacket at the same time Elle gave one strong tug, pulling her heavy carry-on out of the overhead bin. It was too much for her to manage, and she lost control, hitting him squarely in the head, knocking him backward into the seat.
“Fuck,” he growled, violently shoving the case off him, sending the piece of luggage spiraling into the aisle.
“Shh!” She hissed and jerked backward to avoid being hit. “You’re embarrassing me, Roan. Get up.”
He looked over the headrest to see a line forming behind them. They were in first class, in the first couple of rows of the plane, and everyone before them was already off the flight. Shoving off the seat, his scowl had to be formidable as he reached over to grab the heavy case off the floor. With all the attitude a bad hangover provided, he yanked at the bag now hanging from Elle’s shoulder. Her long fingernails scratched across his arm as she fought him from taking the case.
“You’re being too rough. You’ll break it.”
The whole scene caused Roan to knock the man behind him with his elbow. The guy gave a solid grunt as he took the hit to the gut. As if this were some comedy show, Elle disgustedly flipped the laptop bag back over her shoulder as she turned to exit the plane, the bag clipping him in the jaw seconds before she stormed down the aisle.
Great. The blows just kept coming.
“Hey, you’re Roan Westfield,” he heard from behind.
Of course
he’d be spotted at his worst possible time.
Roan found the sunglasses on the top of his head and dropped them over his eyes as he gave a slight nod in the guy’s direction, thankful for his reputation of being an asshole. It allowed him to grunt his acknowledgement and turn away without a second thought.
“Can I have your autograph?” the guy asked, clearly not getting his fuck-you-don’t-talk-to-me vibe.
“Nah, man. Not now,” he said irritably and shoved the suitcase forward to navigate the small aisle. Regardless of what he’d just said or the terrible tone he’d used, a phone stuck in his face. Roan scowled as the guy grinned over his shoulder and took the picture, the bright flash instantly blinding him. That had Roan fighting mad. He shoved the phone out of the way, knocking the cell from the guy’s hand, sending it flying in front of him. Out of nothing more than the pissed off anger he had raging through him all the damn time, he managed to crush the device with his foot as he left the plane.
“Fuck you, man!” he heard yelled from behind him, but Roan never looked back as he stalked down the jet bridge toward Elle finally remembering why they were even there. The new team. Talks. Looking for a place to live. Shit.
“You look like hell,” Elle said from her perch by the entrance to the gate.
“I feel like hell,” he answered, passing his irritating girlfriend by as he ate up the terminal, going straight out into the masses who were exiting the airport. Why the fuck had he even brought Elle along? As girlfriend material, she was about the worst possible choice. Shit, his head spiked with pain as he realized the monumental problem with his last thought. That bitch was his fiancée. Great. Roan quickened his steps as he heard her stupidly high, high heels clicking furiously behind him, trying to keep up.
“Slow down,” she yelled, her voice screeching much like fingernails on a chalkboard.
