Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Her eyes go wide. “Should you be taking medication from someone that only has fake MD credentials?”
“He did his research before he forged the scrip.” I use my elbow to wedge a pillow deeper into the box. Having Carter know that I’m pregnant has been surprisingly helpful. He even sent me prenatal vitamins yesterday.
Phoebe’s brows furrow. “The family doctor here already knows you’re pregnant. Can’t you just ask her for them?”
“I don’t trust her.” It’s as simple as that in my head. I rarely trust anyone outside our closed circle. That includes medical professionals. It took an ungodly amount of courage for me to just go get help for my insomnia.
Phoebe comes closer with a permanent marker in her grip. She scribbles Pillows on the side of my box. Her eyes flit up to meet mine, concern doubling. Tripling on me. “You will have to eventually go see an ob-gyn for the baby, you know that, right?”
“Right,” I say stiffly. “But I can do that in New Hampshire.”
“Hails—”
“I don’t need any other people in Victoria knowing I’m pregnant. Not yet.” I’m not ready to confront the questions. Who’s the father? And are you even fit to be a mother? I’ve thought a lot about my own mom. How she’d be thrilled if Phoebe and Rocky became parents. But me…I know the first thought in her head will be Are you even mentally well enough to carry a child?
I want everyone to see that I am better than I was. And that means putting time between this baby announcement and my breakdown at the storm shelter. It hasn’t even been a month. I just need more time.
Phoebe helps me manhandle the frilly pillow, and I clamp the flaps down while she tapes the box shut. “I can keep your secret, Hails. You know I can. I will.”
Guilt is not a foreign monster. It’s one that sleeps with me in my bed. I can’t shake the feeling even now. “You don’t need to go to great lengths to keep this one for me, Phebs.”
“I’m a trained liar. These aren’t great lengths. I’m swimming in a kiddie pool.”
“My brother is one of the most perceptive humans on the planet. Lying to him can’t be qualified as ‘kiddie pool’ material.” I try to catch her eyes. But she’s drawing a strawberry on the flap of the box.
“It’s not lying. It’s evading the truth.”
My heart skips. Don’t choose me over my brother. But I worry she will. I worry she has.
Phoebe has been keeping Rocky so far in the dark that I can tell he’s starting to think she’s keeping something from him. And I know Phoebe—she will play it up and purposefully mislead him to deflect the attention off me.
She’s already slyly laying the groundwork to make it seem like maybe she could be pregnant. It’s what she does. She’s being my best friend. One who throws herself in front of a moving vehicle to make sure the eighteen-wheeler doesn’t slam into me. Even at the risk of losing her very real relationship with the man she loves.
I want her to stop.
But I don’t know how to make her stop.
I should say the words Tell Rocky the truth.
My throat swells, knowing how agonizing it’d feel if my brother knew the news before Oliver or Jake. But letting Phoebe take this one for me crushes me in a different, still painful way. “M-maybe he should just know,” I stammer. “I can tell him.”
To avoid her eyes, I pick at the edge of the tape with my fingernail.
“In due time, Rocky can know,” she says. “But I sense that isn’t now.” Phoebe and I finally meet each other’s gazes and hers is steeled—ready to fight me on this.
I open my mouth to start the argument, but the front door swings aggressively open as someone barges inside. We both snap our heads toward the firstborn heir to the Koning estate.
Trent Koning Waterford.
He struts into the loft with his white leather bucks, white chino shorts, and matching Brunello Cucinelli polo, like he just stepped off a croquet lawn. I’m almost certain he has. He lifts his designer sunglasses to the top of his head and pushes back the longer, fluffier strands of his brown hair, two shades darker than Jake’s.
I loathe Trent just as much as Phoebe does, but I’ve been coached to lay low. Do not engage.
Trent only has pettiness in his bones when it comes to his younger brother. What Jake has, Trent wants. It’s why Phoebe’s been a prized possession ever since Jake dated her. Plus, she’s quite literally the definition of a vixen. A real-life siren. Anybody with a pulse could be seduced by her with a flit of her eyelashes, and unfortunately, she’s been known to catch strays.
Trent just happens to be the rabid alley cat with fleas.