Chapter 20

Cassie

I had avoided my father all weekend, refusing to be a part of the company’s plans. On Monday morning, I woke up late and left after my father had already gone. I didn’t want to see his face or hear any of the words he had to say to me. When I got to the site, I did a walkthrough, hoping to see Scott, but he was nowhere to be found. I asked Bill, but he sadly shook his head, letting me know he had already been fired. I had known that was going to happen over the weekend—that was why my father didn’t want me at the site—but I’d been hoping I was wrong, that I would come in and he would still be there.

I knew better, though. He had called me nonstop on Saturday, and I figured that was why, to tell me what had happened, to look for solace in my words. He had filled my voice mail, but I hadn’t listened to any of them. I was too much of a coward. I knew when I heard his voice I would break down, knowing I had been the main cause of everything that had happened. I couldn’t face him. I didn’t even know what to say. I’m sorry? What was that going to do when I had cost the man I loved his entire future? I promised him I would make my father see, that I would be relentless in my cause, that I would find freedom for both of us. But when the hammer came down, I did what I always did and bent to my father’s will. I hid out in my plush bedroom, knowing nothing in my life would change while everything in Scott’s life would fall apart. There was no amount of “I’m sorry” that would make up for that.

When I decided to sleep with Scott, I knew what the risks were. We both knew what the risks were. It was my father, though, and I knew exactly what he would do if he found out. But I let it go. I fell in love with him, and instead of doing what you were supposed to do when you were in love with someone, I did the complete opposite. I didn’t look out for his wellbeing or try to make things right. I let it go until, finally, it all blew up in his face. He was right. He was the one to lose it all, not me, and it was completely my fault that he lost his job.

Now I felt less motivated than I ever had in my life.

I had come home from school ready to hit the street, working with my father, getting to know the company, and getting myself prepared for when I graduated. I couldn’t have been any more motivated then. But after everything that had happened, I didn’t know what to think. I was angry, furious even that my dad had so much control over me. He controlled my career and my choice in men, and he always had. I just hadn’t seen it until now. He had always made it seem like it was the most important thing, like I was making the choices, but he was there pulling the strings.

I went to work, knowing I just needed to get to through the day, but the entire time my emotions were on a serious roller coaster. I felt like everything in my life was a fraud. I had been duped into this life because my father had some twisted control issues. I wondered if he did the same thing to my mother and if that was why she barely ever came home. By the end of the day, I was beat, and I felt like sitting down and crying myself to sleep, but I couldn’t. I had promised Whitney I would have dinner with her, to talk about everything and try to come up with a solution. I grabbed my change of clothes and switched over in the trailer before heading out to meet her at the restaurant. When I got there, she was waiting outside for me with a bunch of lilies. They were my favorite, but even those didn’t bring a smile to my face.

“It’s worse than I thought,” she said, putting her arm around me. “Come on. Let’s get some food and hash all of this out.”

“Okay,” I said and walked inside with her.

We had to wait a few minutes for our table, and I stood there looking around the room at all the happy couples. Why couldn’t I have a life where I picked the man I wanted to be with? Why did my father have to be such a damn nutcase?

“Come on,” she said as we followed the hostess to the table.

I pulled out my chair but froze, smelling something pungent floating through the air and taking over my nostrils. Whitney looked at me strangely, and I set the flowers down on the table and rubbed my head. I felt lightheaded, and the room was swirling around me. Suddenly my stomach lurched, and I covered my mouth and ran straight for the bathroom. I pushed into a stall and fell down on my knees, clutching the toilet bowl and throwing up. I groaned, holding my head and sitting back on my heels. I pulled off some toilet paper and wiped my mouth before tossing it in and flushing the toilet. I stumbled over to the sink and threw some water on my face, shaking my head. I looked pale and tired, and sweat covered my forehead. I didn’t know what monster bug had attacked me, but I felt like complete and total hell.

“Oh, my God,” Whitney said, coming in the bathroom. “Are you okay?”

“I puked,” I said.

“I thought maybe you had, like, diarrhea or something, and I didn’t want to crowd you,” she said, grabbing my hand. “Come over here and sit down.”

“God, I feel like total hell,” I said, sitting down in a chair off to the side. “I must have gotten the stomach flu or food poisoning or something. That came out of nowhere, though.”

“Maybe you’re worn out from everything that has happened,” she said, ringing out a towel and walking it over to me. “You have been under so much stress, and with everything that happened with you and Scott, your body and mind are just exhausted, girl. You have to start taking better care of yourself.”

I sighed. “I know. I really do. I mean, I never get sick, like never. Even when the flu is going around the dorms or everyone on campus has a cold, I never catch the damn thing. I have always had the best immune system ever.”

“Didn’t you get the award for never missing a day of school?”

“I did.” I chuckled. “One bad day, though, and I am out.”

“Or you’re pregnant,” she said, laughing.

“Yeah, right.”

I sat there in the chair laughing at Whitney’s joke, thinking about the last month of my life. Then it hit me. I grabbed my purse off the floor and pulled out my phone. I scanned back through my calendar for the red dot that signified my period and started to count backward. Whitney turned and looked at me curiously.

“What are you doing? Have you completely lost it?”

I counted the days four times, looking down at my phone and shaking my head. I looked up at Whitney, who was fixing her hair, a look of “oh shit” covering my face. She glanced over at me and put her hands down, slowly turning toward me. She tilted her head to the side but didn’t talk. She could see I was working it all out in my head, whatever it was.

I pulled up the calendar again and counted one last time. I was late, and more than just a day or two. I hadn’t had my period, or cramps, or any of that. I hadn’t even thought about my period since it normally came right on schedule and I always had cramps the entire day before. I thought it was just stress, that I was freaking out, feeling crummy, feeling tired all because of stress. I took in a deep breath and closed my eyes, trying to tell myself not to freak out.

“Whitney,” I said, opening my eyes. “Whitney, I thought it was stress.”

“You thought what was stress?” she said.

“The tiredness, the mood swings, the aching back. I thought it was all over the stress in my life and being on my feet all the time,” I said.

“So if it’s not, what is it?”

“I’m late,” I said, holding up my phone. “I am really late. I think I might actually be pregnant. Whitney, please tell me I am losing my mind.”

She walked over and took my phone from me, counting the days since my last period. She slowly looked up from the phone and raised her eyebrows at me. I groaned and put my face in my hands.

“No, no, no, no,” I said, shaking my head.

“Stop freaking out,” she said. “Come on. There is only one way to figure this out.”

I took her hand, and she helped me from the chair and drove me to the drugstore. We grabbed a basket and walked over to the shelf, where we looked at each other before choosing multiple tests and throwing them in the basket. We headed back to her house, and I drank three glasses of water.

“Here,” she said, handing me a small paper cup. “Dip them into the pee. You won’t have enough to pee on each strip.”

“Okay,” I said, walking into the bathroom with a bunch of tests.

I peed into the cup and then stood at the counter, dipping each tip in the pee and putting the cap back on. I lined them all up on the sink and started the clock. Then I sat down on the edge of the bathtub and tried not to watch them. I shook my head, realizing I may have just made a huge mistake. When the timer went off, I took in a deep breath and stood up, walking over to the sink. I looked down and covered my mouth, staring at five positive pregnancy tests. I swallowed hard and walked out into Whitney’s room, numb and in a trance. She ran into the bathroom, but no sound came out of her. She walked out after me and slowly sat down, staring off into space.

“You’re—”

“I know,” I whispered. “I have no idea what I am supposed to do now. My father is literally going to kill me. My life is officially over.”

“No, no, no,” Whitney said, turning to me. “This is not another thing you are going to let your father control. Do you hear me?”

“Yeah,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re right. This is my decision, my future. I’ll have to decide whether I want to quit school or not and stay in town. I mean, I’m so close to the end, but going to school pregnant sounds absolutely horrible.”

“You can always go back and finish after the baby is born,” she said. “And you don’t even have to go back there. You can finish your degree closer to home.”

“Home,” I whispered.

I didn’t know what I was going to do. My head was spinning way to fast to even think about school or my dad, or my future career. There were so many what ifs, so many things I would have to think about. There was one thing I knew for sure, though, without a doubt. I wanted to be with Scott.