Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 65643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
“I just want them to leave you alone,” I said with a sigh. “I feel bad enough that I dragged you into this.”
“Hey, don’t act like there was nothing in it for me. I was using you, too, remember?”
Even with the shitstorm swirling around me, I found I could still be deeply grateful to have people like Andrew in my corner. He and Noemi were sticking by me fiercely. She hadn’t even wanted to talk about Garrett.
“If anyone understands the appeal of Garrett Thompson, it’s me, Dez. But I called to talk about your career. It’s going to take a hit. Lay low and let it pass, and I guarantee I will get you a part in the next movie I do.”
It blew my mind that she hadn’t at least wanted to talk about it, but she sounded definitive when she said she didn’t. That it was mine and Garrett’s life and she only wanted us to be happy.
“Yeah, but usually you–” I trailed off.
“Tell you what I think will make you happy?” Noemi laughed wryly. “Not this time, little sister. You’re an adult. It’s time for me to back off.”
“Don’t go too far,” I warned. “I’m not doing a great job so far.”
“You’re doing fine. You can’t even imagine what would have come to light when I was your age if the paparazzi had been like they are today and everyone had had a camera in their hands.”
I doubted it. Noemi had always been flawless. But I appreciated her saying so. It was her and Andrew’s encouragement that convinced me I didn’t need to stay in hiding. I could go back to LA with my head held high–even if I did keep the brim of my baseball cap pulled low. No need to invite attention. I would hire a defamation lawyer and go after Jasmine, guns blazing. I would go back to acting classes and nail my next audition. No one would ever question how I got my roles again.
But then disaster struck.
My period, always clockwork regular, hadn’t come when it was supposed to five days ago.
“It’s the stress,” my grandmother said. She didn’t read the tabloids. She didn’t know about Garrett.
“Probably,” my mom added, concern creasing her brow. We still hadn’t talked about it, but she definitely knew about Garrett. She brought home a pregnancy test with the groceries the next day. I put it on my bathroom counter and ignored it. Surely it would come. Surely there was no need to take this test. Surely…
But finally, the morning I decided that I was going home, I took the test. I just needed to be sure. I couldn’t have any doubts or worries clouding my new resolve. I’d see the negative sign and know that there was nothing standing in my way.
I was so sure it would be negative.
The small blue plus sign in the test window landed like a blow to my solar plexus. I literally gasped and had to grab the counter for support. My neck stopped supporting my head, and it fell forward. I stared down at that plus sign for what felt like hours.
This was it. One of my worst fears. I was pregnant. Forget Jasmine and the cheating scandal and the director who was going on talk shows proclaiming that he didn’t let anyone push him around, this was the true end of my career. I’d just breathed oxygen into the scandal for another year. This would be Christmas for the tabloids. They’d get to run headlines like Pregnant and Alone! with pictures of me looking forlorn. Destiny’s Baby Daddy? with pictures of Garrett and Andrew and a couple of billionaire yacht owners in circles around my face.
I threw up. I didn’t know if it was a pregnancy symptom suddenly manifesting, or if it was a reaction to what was to come, but suddenly my stomach turned itself inside out.
My mom, who hadn’t picked up a sub job that day so she could help me get ready to go home, came running. Her eyes traveled from me to the pregnancy test on the counter, and her flushed-with-worry face went pale.
“Is that what I think it is?”
I nodded, still grasping the cold porcelain basin with trembling fingers.
Through tear-blurred eyes, I watched the parade of emotions cross my mom’s face. Joy, fear, concern, sadness, joy again. It was like watching the reels of a slot machine spin. I closed my eyes, nauseated by the reflection of my own array of emotions. I felt her kneel down beside me. Her cool fingers pushed the hair off of my sweaty cheek.
“Baby, you have options,” she said quietly. A thread of sadness stitched her words together.
I knew what she meant. I’d already run the possibility through my head. Weighed it. Tested it. “I know.” I opened my eyes and watched my breakfast swirling around in the basin below. It would be a long time before I could stomach raisin toast again. “I’m going to keep it.”