Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Then I know I’m screwed.
Several big tears start rolling down her cheeks.
Now that I’m looking more closely, I notice she must’ve been crying before she showed up today—her eyes are red-rimmed in a way that doesn’t happen instantly.
Then her face crumples.
“Ethan, I’m… I’m pregnant,” she sobs.
The world stops spinning.
Or maybe I’m the one who stops, so frozen I’m thrown off to the edge of the planet.
Pregnant.
She can’t be pregnant.
No fucking chance.
“You’re not,” I growl in disbelief, but she’s shaking her head, her lips trembling.
“It’s y-yours, Ethan. That’s why I’ve been trying to get in touch with you so much. It’s… it’s your baby.”
“No,” I say weakly.
The one word, the only word I can get out.
“Yes! Trust me, I checked. I checked three times and—” Her voice chokes off. “I’m definitely pregnant. And you’re the father. I haven’t been with anyone else.”
Shit!
Holy fucking shit this is bad.
“Please,” she whispers, but I don’t have the first clue what she wants.
Money? A ring?
What is she expecting?
I’m just a kid myself with no experience and too much life to figure out. Only, now it’s like my whole future just went up in a cloud of smoke.
This doesn’t happen to Blackthorns.
What the actual fuck am I supposed to do here?
It’s not like she’s my girlfriend.
I’m not remotely ready to be a dad.
Christ, I don’t want to settle down, especially not with this boring chick I used to get off and never expected to see again.
“We used protection. I know we did,” I say weakly.
But I’m not talking to Tay.
I’m trying to reason with the goddamned universe, bargaining to undo reality.
Maybe I’m setting up a cosmic kick in the nuts and I don’t even know it.
“I know. I know. It doesn’t make sense, but it’s—”
“How? Tell me how, Tay.” I swipe an arm through the air, pure frustration boiling out of me.
She shrugs frantically.
“Dunno. Maybe the condom broke? I’m on the pill, too, but maybe—” Her nostrils flare.
I have a terrible feeling I’m supposed to be comforting her or something, but all I can think is that she shouldn’t be having a baby.
I know I damn sure shouldn’t.
She can’t be pregnant and this can’t be happening!
“Ethan.” Her voice breaks around my name and her hand falls, then curls into a fist.
Her nails are chewed down, the color from her last manicure faded.
I never liked her nails much.
Always wanted her to use her mouth instead of her hands on my cock for that reason, because she always went for blinding bright colors and fake extensions that were too long.
None of my thoughts make sense. I feel like she just punched me in the nose and I’m reeling.
This is my fault too.
Because I’m the idiot who fucked her a few too many times, but I can’t bring myself to say any of the right things.
I’m too young. Too dumb. Too shell-shocked.
Be nice. That’s what Margot keeps telling me, and it might go a long way here.
But right now in my moody punkass brain, I don’t have the neural connections for kindness.
Taylor looks up at me, her expression shuttered. She looks like she’s ready to flee all over again.
Maybe I’m glaring or scowling or my jaw’s falling off, I can’t tell.
Everything goes numb.
“I need time,” I bite off, forcing the words out. “To think, to sort this out.”
She takes a step back.
Her flip-flops gently slap the wood.
Whatever she hoped for—a hug, a promise, an answer to how we can possibly unfuck our lives—it isn’t coming.
“Time?” She stares at me, her lips trembling so brokenly again. “Jesus, I knew this was stupid. Goodbye!” she rushes out, her face breaking into hot, messy tears again.
Then she’s gone.
And I’m alone on this dock in the creeping darkness with the damning knowledge I’m going to be a father.
It takes me hours to move, like I’ve been made one with the wooden boards under my feet.
When I finally do, I skip dinner, go straight to bed, and stare at the ceiling until morning, trying to wrap my head around the end of my world as I know it.
Way to go, shitbrains.
You’re going to be a daddy and you’re not even man enough to work for Gramps.
I twist up and punch the pillow, wishing I could drive my fists into my own face without leaving a mark.
It’s a tantrum.
The most pathetic damn thing in the world after getting a hookup pregnant, but I think about everything I dreamed, all the things I hoped to escape, and the bitter, bitter fact that it’s gone forever now.
If she was going to get rid of it, she would’ve done it after I blew her off half the summer.
I don’t have the heart to ask her. Or the head to make a decision that big.
Ultimately, it’s her choice, and it sounds like she decided.
I’m going to be a father.
A fucking dad.