Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“It can’t be me.” Hailey crinkles her face. “I’ve barely slept. I’ve been stressed. What can grow in that condition?”
Am I pregnant?
Rocky. I feel myself trying to call out for him. The powerful need for him to be next to me—it slams into me like a head-on collision.
I feel sick.
Morning sickness? It’s not even the morning. I’m battling with the desire for him and the fear of telling him. We’ve never had these talks. We’ve never discussed what a year looks like together, because I haven’t created a vision board of our life. Okay, I need to go to Staples. I need to get cardboard. Tape. Some construction paper and cute strawberry stickers.
What if one of us doesn’t want to stick babies on the board? What if I don’t want a minivan ever? These are things I don’t have answers for. I’m not ready—I’m not ready.
We’re not ready.
“You’d be surprised”—Dr. Kent peers up from the charts she’s reorganized—“how strong new life can be.” Her smile tries to console us. “Hailey is the one pregnant. It looks like you’re about seven weeks along.”
She squeaks out a shocked breath.
I hold her hand tight. Then I suddenly remember how she was ill outside the grocery, how she’s been more emotional lately, and I just attributed all these signs to exhaustion.
“And Phoebe’s not…?” she asks.
“No, Phoebe isn’t pregnant.”
I release a breath, but it’s staggered because I also remember, “I gave you my condoms. You were using my box of condoms.” Guilt piles up on my rib cage. Did I…did I cause this? Should that have been me?
That was supposed to be me? If Rocky wasn’t particular about condom preferences, we’d be the ones expecting.
Is that how it works?
“I don’t have the stats,” Hailey says softly, “but a defective condom is probably like one in a million, Phebs. You didn’t know.”
When Dr. Kent gives us a minute alone, I rotate to my best friend. “I’m here. I’m here for whatever you need or want to do, Hails. You don’t have to figure this all out today.”
She’s biting her thumbnail.
“Do you know who…?” I start to ask.
She shakes her head wildly. “It has to be…either Oliver’s or Jake’s baby. Neither one wants a serious relationship with me, Phoebe.” She wipes at her watery eyes. With more words of affirmation and reassurance from me, Hailey calms a little.
But I tell her, “I’ll cancel my date night. Let’s just eat pints of Rocky Road and stay in.” She loves ice cream when she’s sad.
“No…no, you go,” she says. “It’ll make me feel better knowing I’m not bringing you down.”
“Hailey Thornhall. I enjoy my time on the floor with you. How dare you say otherwise.”
Her smile turns into a laugh, and it’s the sound that carries us out of the doctor’s office. It also carries me into my date at ten p.m.—a horror-movie screening.
* * *
—
Months into fake dating Jake, I learned that the Konings own the eight-screen theater in town. A bit of a shocker, considering Jake rarely ventured there, but I suppose in his childhood, the public theater was seen as a bit dingy compared to his lavish private home theater.
When I brought up how it’d suck if Trent obtained the movie theater in the division of assets—because chances are, he’d turn it into some gentleman’s club—Jake said we should go more often.
He, very sweetly, requested they start screening horror movies at night.
So A Nightmare on Elm Street plays in the dark theater, and I get comfy in my seat among many, many rows of empty chairs. Nightly horror showings might not be the most lucrative idea, since Jake and I are literally the only ones here.
But I bought popcorn.
He even purchased Sour Patch Kids.
“Freddy!” I shout in a crunch of popcorn. “Don’t do it!”
Jake laughs.
And then my pulse goes from about twenty to one hundred miles per hour—as I sense Rocky. I brave a quick glance behind me. He sinks in his chair, his brooding face lit from the bright glow of the screen. Before his dark gaze shifts to mine, I face forward.
I smother a smile.
He’s never abandoned me. Not a single moment when we challenged ourselves through this job. Not even when I have to slowly cut off my fake relationship with Jake. He’s always, always going to be here.
This is our date. And I wonder what it’ll look like ten days from now. I wonder if the intensity will amplify until we both just explode. Become particles floating in the air. Merge as atoms.
The chair creaks behind me. Rocky careens forward, and his dominating, dangerous presence closes in on me. I do my best to concentrate on the screen.
My breathing catches, but I shout, “FREDDY! Come on!”
His jaw skims my cheek as he whispers, “Shut the fuck up. I’m watching a movie.”
A smile tries to burst through me, but I push it all down to retort, “No one is in here, so no, I will not shut the fuck up.” I pop another kernel in my mouth, chewing slower as anticipation shifts me to full throttle.