Wildflower (Colors #4) (25 page)

“But… I… that’s not…” I stuttered, trying to wrap my head around what was happening. “It’s not possible. I have an IUD.”

“You
did
!” Navie shrieked excitedly, her happiness completely at odds with the internal freak-out I was currently having. “That’s so awesome! Are y’all back together or something?”

“But… I have an IUD,” I muttered again, my brain no longer working correctly.

“Harlow,” she semi-shouted, taking hold of my shoulders and giving me a tiny shake. “I was just kidding about the whole pregnancy thing. It was just a joke. If you have an IUD, you’re good. I just got one of those babies put in myself. I was tired of taking a pill every damn day. I’m covered for the next five years.”

“Five years,” I whispered just as my vision started to close in on me.

“Har? You’re starting to freak me out. What’s happening?”

I did a quick mental calculation and discovered I’d had my IUD for six years, all the while praying I somehow messed up the timeline and it was still good. It wasn’t expired. It couldn’t be expired. There was no way.

“Son of a
bitch
!” I shouted once reality came crashing down on me. “We need to go to the pharmacy.
Now
!”

The other shoe finally dropped.

Two hours later, I’d drank about thirty billion gallons of water, peed on approximately a dozen sticks, and was currently pacing the length of my bedroom while Navie and Chloe—who I called in for additional moral support—sat on the bed and watched me, wearily.

“They can’t all be right,” I spouted frantically. “I mean, they can’t be!”

“Sweetie,” Chloe spoke in a soothing voice. “Twelve tests, all positive.”

I began shaking my head in objection. “No. No, that’s not right!” I called as I ran to the bathroom where the pregnancy tests were lined up along the sink. My gaze darted between all the pink plus signs and double blue lines and screens that read
pregnant
like a giant neon sign.

“There was that one that was negative! Not all of them were positive. One was negative! Maybe
that’s
the right one.”

“Oh, babe,” Navie cooed. “That’s the one I peed on, remember? You were convinced that all the tests were faulty so I took one to just to make sure?

My shoulders slumped. “Damn it. I can’t believe this is happening,” I cried in defeat as I walked back into the bedroom and collapsed onto the mattress between my two best friends. “This is like a bad dream. Or a movie. I feel like I’m in
Home Alone
, but instead of forgetting my kid when we go on vacation, I keep getting knocked up!”

I shot a murderous look at Chloe as she did her best not to laugh, trying to mask it with a cough that ended up choking her.

“Sorry, sorry,” she sputtered as Navie ran her fingers through my hair.

The shrill chime of my cell phone sounded from somewhere in the room, and just like every other time for the past two hours, I ignored it. I knew exactly who it was, and I had no intention of talking to him ever again.

“You’re going to have to talk to him eventually,” Navie said.

“Like hell I will,” I scoffed. “This is all his fault. If that asshole wouldn’t keep getting me pregnant, I wouldn’t be in this mess!”

“You don’t think you’re being just the slightest bit unreasonable?” Chloe asked me, a stern expression painted across her face.

“No,” I grumbled, crossing my arms over my chest and staring up at the ceiling, pouting like an indignant child.

“Well you are,” she replied with a small tug to my hair. “It took the
both
of you to make this happen. It’s no more his fault than it is yours. You can’t blame him for this because you’re scared. That’s not fair to either of you.” My phone chimed once more at the end of her chastisement.

“Answer it,” Navie coaxed softly.

I looked in the direction of my ringing phone, blinking back tears as I sighed. “Not yet. I’m not ready yet.”

I didn’t know what was going on. But I knew that I didn’t fucking like whatever it was.

“Voicemail again?” Derrick asked as I threw my phone into the locker with a little too much force.

“Yep,” I clipped as I grabbed my duffle bag and slammed the locker door. Something was wrong. I could
feel
it.

I thought I was finally cracking through that goddamned armor she wore around herself for protection. I thought we were
finally
getting somewhere. But I still felt her tense up every time I told her I loved her. I was still at arm’s length. It was like she was just
waiting
for something bad to happen so she could cut and run.

Derrick grabbed up his own gym bag and followed me from the locker room, talking as we headed for the parking lot. “Well, you’ve said she’s been sick, right? Maybe she’s just sleeping, man. I’m sure it’s nothin’.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” I grunted, knowing deep in my gut that wasn’t the case. It was something else.

I clicked the locks on my SUV and pulled open the back door, tossing my bag in just as my phone chimed with a text notification from my pants pocket.

Harlow: Sorry I miss ur calls. Been sleeping. Still not feeling well, will call u tmrw.

That was it. That was all she had to say after avoiding my calls all fucking afternoon.

“That her?” Derrick asked, completely clueless to the fact that I was so pissed I was about to crush my phone in my hand.

“Yeah. She says she’s sleeping.”

He grinned and hit me on the shoulder. “See? Told you. You’re off girlfriend duty for the night, my man. Feel like grabbing some beers down at the Moose?”

I gave some thought to his suggestion and decided it was better to go out with a buddy than it was to go home to an empty house and stew on whatever bullshit Harlow was trying to pull.

“Sounds good.” I pulled the driver side door open and climbed in. “First round’s on you. I’ll meet you there.”

Harlow wanted to wait until tomorrow to talk? That was fine. I’d give her the night. But my ass would be on her porch steps bright and early the next morning. I wanted answers and I wasn’t leaving until I got them.

I couldn’t figure out how my life had gotten so off course.

Pregnant before I graduated high school. Married just shortly after graduation and my eighteenth birthday.

It felt like I was living in the twilight zone, not in the Murphy house. The house I was currently living in because his parents—the same parents that pushed us to get married so our baby wouldn’t be born “in sin”—convinced us it was bigger than Grammy’s and would make raising a new baby easier.

I had gone from a happy, carefree teenaged girl to a moody, hormonal, wife and mother-to-be faster than my mind could comprehend.

And I was terrified.

Terrified that I wouldn’t be a good mother.

Terrified that I wouldn’t be a good wife.

Terrified that I’d royally screwed up my life.

But mostly, I was terrified because, since getting pregnant and married to Noah, I was more alone than I could ever remember feeling before.

Letting out a heavy sigh, I looked at the clock on the bedside table from my spot against the headboard. 11:53.

Noah had promised he’d be home by seven. He said it was just hanging out with some of the guys from his old team for a bit. But seven o’clock has passed almost five hours ago and, as usual, I was alone.

The Murphys were at some charity benefit in Jackson Hole and planned to stay the weekend. I’d been excited at the prospect of being alone with my husband for what felt like the first time since getting married. I’d planned a big, elaborate dinner that was currently wrapped in Tupperware, sitting in the fridge. I wasn’t all that good of a cook to begin with. Grammy used to say I was kitchen-challenged, but I’d waited on Noah for so long that most of what I made had scorched to the bottoms of the pans.

Blinking back the tears I felt burning my eyes, I turned my gaze from the clock to the framed photo sitting next to the lamp. Lifting it up, I held it in front of me as my free hand rubbed a circular pattern on my belly. When I first saw that little pooch, I’d been amazed, it seemed my baby bump had popped out overnight.

I hadn’t been able to stop touching it.

I rubbed and rubbed as I stared at the picture, my heart splintering in my chest, just a bit as I studied Noah’s. I’d studied that picture hundreds of times over the past couple of months, and every time I felt something in my chest crack.

It was our wedding picture.

The only one we’d taken that day.

We were standing outside the courthouse, me in an ivory, knee length dress with a bouquet of white and peach colored roses, Noah in an ill-fitting suit he’d gotten for a football banquet our senior year that he’d already managed to outgrow. We were both smiling for the camera. It wasn’t the fact that neither of our smiles met our eyes that hurt, it wasn’t even the fact that his arm around my shoulders wasn’t holding me to him tightly like usual. It was what I saw in his warm, whiskey eyes that killed me.

Fear.

Regret.

And worst of all, resentment.

We were too young to have gotten married. Neither of us really wanted that, but we wanted to make his parents happy, and we convinced ourselves that we loved each other and it was the right thing to do.