After Cas leaves, I lock the door like he tells me to.

“Mommy,” Noah says in a sleepy voice, holding his arms out to me. I slide onto the bed and wrap him in a hug. I take a moment to just breathe him in, love washing over me as I hold my little boy. I’ll keep you safe, I tell him silently in my head. I promise that no matter what, I’ll keep you safe.

“I got scared of a loud noise,” he murmurs into my chest.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I tell him. “It was just Cas. He had to, uh, fix something, but it made a loud noise.”

Noah sits up and looks toward the bedroom door. “Is Cas here?”

“No, bug. He had to go somewhere.”

“Oh.” His tone is disappointed. Noah looks up at me. “I like it when Cas is here,” he says.

My heart constricts. “I do too, honey.”

“Is Cas gonna be my daddy?”

I freeze. Somehow, Noah has asked the one question that I have no idea how to answer. All my fears, all my hopes, all my regrets about the past are encapsulated in it.

I sit there paralyzed, unable to answer, and Noah asks me again.

Oh, God.

“I don’t know, baby,” I finally whisper.

“I want Cas to be my daddy,” he declares. “Can we ask him later?”

“I’ll tell you what, Noah,” I say in a strangled voice. “Let’s not ask him just now. Okay?”

Noah frowns, but thankfully he doesn’t argue. “Okay. But can we ask him later?”

“We’ll see, bug.” I kiss him on the forehead and try to blink back tears. “We’ll see.”

Noah’s wide awake now, and I don’t have the heart to tell him to just go back to sleep. Since I’m too antsy to sit and read with him, I settle him in with my computer and Chip-Chip and let him watch videos for a while. Then I go back out to the living room to pace and think.

The nausea I’ve been fighting off and on for the past week is back, and I bow my head and close my eyes as a wave of it washes over me. With everything that’s happened today, I’d tried to push it to the back of my mind. But now that Cas is gone, and after Noah’s too-astute question, it’s harder to ignore. When the wave has passed, I stand up straight and open my eyes.

It’s time to find out the answer to something I’ve been almost too afraid to contemplate.

I remember the first time I used one of these pregnancy tests. At the time, the humiliation of buying the thing was almost more traumatizing than actually taking the test itself. I put it off for weeks, and worked myself into such a frenzy of worry that by the time I actually saw the twin pink lines in the little window, it was almost a relief just to have it over with. Just to have an answer.

This time I’m older, so buying the test was less embarrassing. Even so, I made sure ahead of time that the cashier at the drug store in Tanner Springs wasn’t someone I knew before I checked out. Now, as I lock myself in the bathroom and pee on the strip, I’m hit with a sense of déjà vu. Twice in my life, I’ve been worried I was pregnant. And both times, it was from being with the same guy.

I stare at a tiny hole in the shower curtain, my hands clasped tightly in my lap, and count three and a half minutes in my head, just to be safe. Then I take a deep breath and look at the little stick.

And, both times, the answer was ‘yes.’

* * *

I spend the next half-hour wandering around the apartment in a daze. How could this have happened? I’ve been on the pill for the last two years. Wishful thinking, since I hadn’t had sex in much longer than that before I came back to Tanner Springs and started up again with Cas. I guess it’s true what they say about the pill working only ninety-nine percent of the time. But, I mean, ninety-nine percent… that’s practically always. How the hell did this happen?

If it could happen to anyone, it would happen to you.

Just one more damn mistake. God, even when I’m trying to be responsible, I still can’t manage to keep my life sorted out. It’s so damn discouraging.

I’m going out of my mind being here without Cas. I’m waiting anxiously for him to call me, but I’m dreading it, too. Because once he does, he’s going to come back here, and I’m going to have to tell him everything. I’ve screwed this up too many times. I can’t keep all of this from him for one second longer.

A thump at the door jars me from my reverie. I almost go to open it, thinking it’s Cal. But then I realize he definitely would have texted or called me to tell me he was coming back.

Another pound, then banging. My heart starts to race as I consider that whoever is behind the door isn’t here for a social call.

And then, as I stare in horror, I see the knob jiggle and hear the sound of a key turning.

Without thinking, I fly to the closet and grab for the high cubbyhole, my hand flailing around until it finds the gun. I had completely forgotten about moving it, and I’m almost dizzy with relief that it’s still there. I try to shout, to warn whoever is coming in to stop, but my voice leaves me at the critical moment and all that comes out is a harsh wheeze of terror.

When the door opens, I’m pointing the gun straight at the opening, trying not to shake uncontrollably.

It’s Charlie Hurt. His face is bloated and bandaged, bits of dried blood under an obviously broken nose. He looks absolutely horrific. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I’m so shocked at his appearance I almost start to lower the gun.

Then he laughs.

It’s a chilling sound. His broken nose means his breathing is altered, and the laugh is guttural, deep and almost animal. His face — what I can see of it — twists into an ugly leer. “You gotta be fucking kidding me,” he snarls.

“Get out of my house, Charlie,” I shout. “My dad is not going to like that you broke in here and scared me half to death.”

“You stupid bitch.” His eyes narrowing in disgust. “You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about. It ain’t your dad who sent me. Your dad’s got a price on his head, did you know that?” He snarls and spits pink on the ground. “He’s, fucked, little lady. When the people I work for get their hands on him, he’s done.”

My heart starts to race as I try to make sense of what he’s saying. Charlie’s not working for my dad? He’s working for someone who’s looking for my dad — someone who wants to hurt him — to kill him!

A sob of terror rises in my throat, but I fight to swallow it down. If they’re looking for my father, then why is Charlie here? “I don’t know where my dad is,” I stammer. “He’s not here! Please leave!” My voice starts to rise. “Please!”

Charlie chuckles and shakes his head, as if he’s amazed at how stupid I am.

“I know he’s not here, you dumb cunt,” he spits out. “He’s not the one I’m here for.” He takes a heavy step toward me.

“Stay back!” I cry. Blood rushes in my ears as I tell myself that I may really have to do this. I thought seeing the gun would stop him in his tracks, but it’s obvious that he doesn’t believe for a second that I’ll shoot him.

Or else, I think crazily, he doesn’t care.

Hurt takes another step toward me. I resist the urge to shriek, and level the gun at him, crouching slightly into a shooting stance.

“I mean it, Charlie!” I tell him. My voice comes out high and reedy. “I’m prepared to shoot you.”

“You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into,” Charlie Hurt rasps. “You can’t fuckin’ scare me. You’ve got nothing on how scary the people who sent me are.”

I open my mouth to respond, but just then a sound to my left stops me.

“Mommy?” Noah says in a small, questioning voice. “Why are you yelling?” He looks from me to Hurt, confusion clear on his face.

“Honey, you go back in the bedroom,” I say in a quavering voice. “Okay, baby?”

Hurt cuts me off. “No. You stay, kid.” Noah stops in his tracks, not knowing who to obey.

“Noah!” I say more sharply. “Go to my bedroom and lock the door!”

Hurt barks, “Noah! If you want your mom to be okay, you’ll stay right here.” He turns to me with a terrible, inhuman gleam in his eye. “This is even better. I was going to bring the Spiders Abe’s daughter for leverage. But Abe’s grandson is even better.”

No! An almost blinding flash of terror threatens to knock me off my feet. But it’s followed by a wave of pure, maternal rage. I have to protect Noah. I have to protect this baby. I have to keep us safe for Cas.

“Don’t touch him!” I yell at the top of my lungs. “Don’t you dare touch him!”

Hurt lurches forward toward Noah and I know what’s going to happen next. “Noah, RUN!” I scream. His little pajama’ed feet squeak as he darts off down the hallway. Oh, God, don’t let Noah see this, I pray.

The gun goes off. The noise is deafening.

But the sight of what I’ve done is even worse.