Axle's Secret

by Nia Arthurs

  Thomas grabs my shoulder. He’s calling my name, but I’m not hearing him clearly. It sounds like he’s talking from a distance.

  My gag reflexes warn I’m about to blow right on top of these lovely white chairs. I shake my brother’s hand off and dart out of the aisle.

  There’s no time to shoot into the hotel and find a bathroom. I scramble as far away from the wedding party as I can, sequestering myself behind a tree. The contents of my stomach are lost in the soft grass.

  I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that protein bar on the way.

  “Zora!” My brother’s voice thunders through the foliage. “Zora!” A moment later, Thomas appears with Diandra in tow.

  She’s wearing a one-shoulder navy dress. It’s one instance where the maid-of-honor didn’t have to wear a hideous gown to let the bride shine.

  Diandra’s brown eyes are laced with worry. Without thought to her outfit, she dives right beside me. My puke smells but she doesn’t wrinkle her nose or anything. Instead, she shoves a bottle of water at me. “Drink this.”

  “Thanks.” I guzzle it down.

  “That better?” Thomas asks.

  I nod and stand. Grass crunches beneath my heels. “Thomas, was that protein bar expired?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Diandra glances at me and then looks at my brother. “Could you ask the kitchen for some ginger?”

  “Ginger?”

  “Yeah, it will help.”

  Thomas looks at me as if seeking my permission before he leaves.

  I nod. “I’ll be fine. Go.”

  “I’ll be right back,” he assures me before striding out of sight.

  “Can you stand?” Diandra asks.

  “I think so.”

  She wraps her manicured fingers over my arm and helps me up. “How far along are you?”

  I almost stumble on my face but manage to catch my balance at the last minute. My head whips around to take her in. “What?”

  “You’re pregnant, right?”

  My jaw drops but no words fall out.

  “I knew there was something different about you. You were glowing, that’s what it was.”

  “I’m not pregnant,” I say with a horrified chuckle. “That’s not possible.”

  “You’re the nurse. Shouldn’t you know this stuff?”

  Yes, I should know this stuff. And now that I’m thinking about it, the signs are crystal clear.

  I’m starting to unravel now and my voice climbs to a squeak as I argue, “There’s no way that’s even possible. I haven’t been with anyone since…”

  Diandra studies me intently. “Who?”

  “Wilson…”

  “WILSON?” Diandra shrieks.

  “WILSON?”

  We both turn and watch as my brother storms through the brush, shoving branches aside like Tarzan.

  “Who the hell is Wilson?” Thomas roars.

  “I thought you went for ginger?” I stutter.

  “I came back to ask if I was supposed to bring it whole or put it in water. What’s this about my sister being pregnant?”

  The blood drains from my face. “Bro, I can explain.”

  Diandra, who obviously doesn’t understand that Wilson and I are about to die at the hands of my brother, jumps in. “But you two hate each other? When did you and Wilson sleep together?”

  I wince. “Can we not—?”

  “You slept with some guy you can’t stand?”

  “Thomas, first… calm down.”

  “I’m calm.” His nose flares and anger glints in his eyes as he says, “Very calm.”

  “There’s a chance I’m not pregnant.” That’s a lie because, now that I’m looking at it clearly, I’m very pregnant. “Let’s wait before we jump to any conclusions.”

  Thomas turns to Diandra. “Wilson’s the best man, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Really?” I hiss.

  Diandra shrugs. “He asked.”

  I pick my way out of the brush and step toward my brother. “Don’t do anything yet. Give me a chance to verify—”

  Thomas whirls around and sprints straight toward the hotel.

  “Thomas!” I scream.

  Diandra’s eyes are twice their usual size. “Uh-oh.”

  Together, we scramble after Thomas. We’re going as fast as we can, but Thomas has two things working in his favor—first of all, he’s six feet tall with garishly long legs and second, he’s not wearing four-inch heels.

  By the time we get inside, Thomas already has Wilson by the throat and pinned against the wall. He’s staring the guy down like a bull about to impale the matador.

  “Let him go!” I screech, grabbing the attention of the hotel workers exiting the hall where the reception is being held.

  “Are you the guy who got my sister pre—”

  I plow into Thomas, knocking him off balance and thus freeing Wilson from his clasp. Wilson clutches his throat and slides down the wall.

  I glare at my brother. “Don’t make a scene.”

  “What’s going on, Zora?” Wilson yells.

  I cringe. “I’ll explain everything later.”

  “Or you can explain everything now.”

  Diandra slides in, finally doing her job and outing the fire. She grabs Wilson’s arm. “Amaya needs us to take wedding photos. We should go.”

  “You don’t want to ruin Amaya’s special day, right?” I ask my brother. Playing the Amaya card is low, but I’m desperate and Thomas has already shown that he’s willing to fight dirty so my gloves are coming off too.

  He backs away, but he’s still staring a hole through Wilson’s face. “You’ve got thirty minutes. Diandra.”

  “What? Me?” She sticks a finger in her chest.

  “Bring this joker to my place as soon as your photos are done.”

  “Who do you think you a—?”

  I slap a hand over Wilson’s mouth. “Shut. Up.”

  “I’ll bring him over the second we wrap up the shoot,” Diandra promises.

  Thomas whisks me away and drives me to the pharmacy. He doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t have to. I know what I need to do.

  My fingers tremble when I toss the pregnancy tests into the basket and shamefully slink to the counter for the cashier to scan it. She does, throwing me judgmental looks all the way.

  Thomas drives me to his apartment. From the way he’s gripping that steering wheel, I realize it was the right choice to keep him away from Wilson.

  My feet tap against the floor mats. I find myself wishing I could process this alone.

  We make it to his apartment in one piece, and Thomas parks himself in the sofa. I shuffle to the bathroom and follow the instructions on the pregnancy test box.

  The two minutes I wait for the results are the longest two minutes of my life. I spend that time swiping through social media and pretending the tiny object waiting on the edge of the counter won’t wreck my entire world.

  Then my timer beeps.

  I force myself to pick the test up and stare at the lines.

  Thomas knocks on the door, loud enough to be heard over my thundering heartbeat. “What does it say?”

  “I…” I swallow the lump in my throat. Shuffle my feet. Squeeze my eyes shut. “I’m pregnant.”

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