Chapter Ten
Brent
#onelineortwo
The smell of lilies attacked me as I walked into my mom’s shop. I normally loved them, but for whatever the reason, they triggered a relapse of my stomach bug, and I found myself running to the bathroom instead of greeting my cousin, whom I was meeting for lunch. I reached the toilet just in time. Lunch was officially off the table.
“Little pig, little pig let me come in,” Kayson called through the mostly closed door when I finally stopped retching.
I flushed the toilet and rinsed my mouth as the sound of his incessant knocking echoed through the small room. I loved my cousin, I really did, but sometimes I just wanted to smack him upside the head.
“Buzz off, cousin.”
Which apparently meant come on in, in Kayson’s interpretation because in he came.
“My store, my rules.”
It was so not his store, although it would be one day. Mom had already told me about her plan to gift it to him before she married Henry so she could quote “focus on her new life.” I was happy for Kayson, but I’d be damned if I would spoil the surprise.
“Fine.” I sighed. “Come in. But it’s not your store.” Yet.
“True, but it worked so I don’t—whoa, you look awful.”
I really truly did. This bug was made of awful.
“Thanks. I appreciate that.” I pushed past him and out into the main part of the shop, away from the smell of vomit.
“No.” His hand settled on my shoulder, his tone grave. “Seriously, you are a new shade of green.”
“I’m aware, but I just emptied my stomach, so all should be well soon.” Or so I hoped. That had been the pattern so I was holding onto it.
“Do you have a fever?” He placed his hand on my forehead as if he had a magical thermometer built into his hand.
“Probably not.”
“Did you eat the sushi at the convenience store?”
Maria was never going to live that decision down, although someone was buying it, or she wouldn’t still be stocking it.
“How dumb do you think I am? We don’t even live near the ocean, and they have no kitchen. No way would I eat that. It’s just a bug.” A nagging feeling told me it wasn’t just a bug although my googling result of stomach cancer felt wrong, too.
“Well, if you are still sick tomorrow, you should get it checked out.” He handed me a bottle of water he had stowed under the counter.
I opened it and took a long swig.
“They had that noro whatever in Glennville. You don’t want that.”
“I think if I had the Norovirus, I’d know by now.” And I’d already googled the daylights out of it to make sure I didn’t. “It’s not getting worse. It just comes and goes.”
“Comes and goes?” He smirked. What the heck was funny about puking?
“Yeah. So?”
He leaned in close and whispered, “Are you pregnant, little cousin?”
“As if,” I scoffed, suddenly wondering if that was indeed my issue. But it couldn’t be, right? “I only had sex once in freaking forever and we used a condom.”
He belted out a laugh before schooling himself.
“Rose is living proof that that doesn’t matter.” He slapped me on the shoulder.
“Rose was a condom baby?” Not that I should’ve been surprised. My cousin was all about safe sex, and boom, he has a baby a hot second after meeting his omega. In hindsight, it made sense.
“Yep. Damn thing must’ve had a hole or something because when—let’s just say it was empty.”
Shit, shit, shit.
“Was this a condom from the same box you gave me when you went all overprotective big cousin on me and gave me the talk—again?” If he gave me a faulty condom, I was never in a million years going to let him live it down.
“That was over a year ago.” Because, of course, he thought that meant it was a different condom. Did he know me not at all? I hadn’t even had sex with my cheat of an ex, although finding him with another man was the entirety of the reason for that.
“So?”
He just shook his head at my response.
“You kept a condom for over a year?”
“Not the time to be tormenting me over my lack of sex life.” I grabbed his stool, taking a seat. I was so stupid tired. Puking wears you out.
So does growing a human.
But I didn’t want to let myself go there. Not when I didn’t even know the father’s last name or where he lived or freaking anything.
“Shit. Yeah, it does. I’m so sorry.” He was kicking the edge of the counter lightly with the tips of his shoes.
“We don’t even know I’m prego.” I was. I hadn’t put the pieces together until he mentioned it, but now that they were in front of me, it made sense.
“Hold that thought.” Kayson ran to the back returning quickly with a bag from the grocery store. “Here.” A glance inside told me it was a pregnancy test. Small-town living where you get your pregnancy tests at the grocery store.
“You just carry around pregnancy tests?”
I was stalling. Thinking I might be pregnant or even probably pregnant was much less real than knowing I was, via science.
“Maybe.”
Oh, there was more to that story.
“You were bringing this home.” My eyes lit up. Kayson and Reid were amazing parents, and the idea of them populating Mapleville with their perfect little babies sounded amazing.
“Maybe.” He winked.
“No freaking way. Really?” I jumped off the school, hugging him.
“More, I was going to—never mind, it was dumb anyway. I was going to ask Reid if we wanted to start trying for number two, and I bought this as a prop. Just pee on it already.” He was babbling. Which was fine because, once again, it bought me time.
Kayson pointed to the bathroom, and I begrudgingly got up and meandered in there, my cousin hot on my heels.
“Are you going to leave?”
“I guess.” He sighed before leaving.
It took me thirty seconds to open the box and read the directions and five minutes to work up the courage to pee on it and set it on the back of the toilet. I wanted to watch it, see it change before my eyes, but that was a big no in the directions. Lying flat seemed to be of the upmost importance.
“All done,” I announced as I walked out of the bathroom as if I had just managed some great accomplishment. “It says three minutes.”
“I’ll set the timer.”
He played around with his phone, setting the timer as a notification bing came through.
“Holy shit!” Kayson squealed, yes squealed. “The florist was tagged in this.” He held the phone to me. “Is this him?”
On the screen was a video of J, my J, only his name was Joaquim according to the hashtag #JoaquimneedshisOmega. He wanted me. Why else would he make a video with that hashtag? My stomach was wiggling now, but for an entirely different reason. He wanted me, was searching for me. The video had over a million views. A million. How did that even happen?
“It—it is. But if I’m—”
“Time to look.” He pressed play and I stood there mesmerized. Wondering what to do next. It wasn’t like I could send him a picture of me holding the test with the hashtag #singlepregnantomega, or could I?