Very Wicked Things

And then the last time she’d tried—third time’s a charm, right?—I’d failed her in the worst way, proving that I’m useless when it comes to putting others needs before my own.

A white car parked in my spot brought me back to the present, and I squinted, recognizing Emma’s Lexus. I pulled in the garage and walked around to the front, thinking perhaps she was sitting by one of the statues on the front porch, but she wasn’t.

I called her on my cell and heard it ringing from the back of the house. Walking around the corner, I found her, curled up in the cold on a lounge chair by the pool. She’d thrown a towel across her legs.

“Didn’t know we had plans,” I said to her sleepy face as she stirred around. She looked almost sweet like this.

She pushed up and patted down mussed hair. “What time is it?” Her voice was small, not at all like Emma.

“Too late for you to be here. You didn’t call or text. What’s up?” I crossed my arms.

Her eyes flared and I noticed how nondescript the blue was. Nothing like Dovey’s.

“Do I have to make an appointment to see you? I thought we meant more to each other than that.” She stuck out her lip. “Don’t you even care about me a little? I thought we had fun last fall.”

I groaned. And here it was. The determine-the-relationship talk. I’d sensed it coming for a while.

She caressed my arm. “We haven’t been alone together for months. I miss you and the way you—”

“Stop,” I said, pulling back.

She harrumphed, body bristling. “I knew it. You don’t want me anymore. Just like Matt.”

“Hey, I’m nothing like that asshole. I never lied to you about what we were.” At her crushed face, I softened. “Is this about something he’s done?”

She sighed. “No. This is about us.”

I straightened up, needing the distance. I didn’t want to lead her on. “Why don’t you call me in the morning and we’ll talk. But right now, I just want to be alone.” To mull over Dovey and get trashed.

“You don’t love me,” she suddenly called out, catching me by surprise. “You want Dovey. Stupidest name I’ve ever heard, by the way.”

My gut tightened. “Emma, don’t be—”

“I’m pregnant,” she announced.

I stumbled back, crashing into one of the patio chairs. Nah, I misheard. She didn’t just say she was pregnant, did she? Because that was…

“I’m pregnant,” she repeated, her voice shrill.

I shook my head. Nope, she was definitely delusional. Very definitely confused because I used protection every single time. The only person I’d ever not used a condom with was…

“Say something,” she shouted, wringing her hands.

I sat down on the cold concrete.

“Are you sure?” My voice was low, my lungs losing air as her news settled.

She nodded, her eyes darting around the pool area. “Morning sickness doesn’t even describe what I have. It’s all day, every day. I’m exhausted and emotional. I hate the whole thing.”

“But have you seen a doctor?” Right? Like draw blood or something? I had no idea.

“I don’t need a doctor. I took a test at home…and…and it’s not the first time, okay. It’s not. I know what it’s like, you see, because last year, with Matt— ” her voice cracked.

“What happened last year?”

“I took care of it because of my father’s television show and the scandal it would cause. I did what I had to do. You understand, right?”

What? I gripped my head, taking in all the info she was slamming me with.

“What am I going to do?” she exclaimed. “Please, don’t be like Matt. He didn’t speak to me for months when I told him I was pregnant. Don’t do that to me. I—I can’t take it if you do.”

Fuuucccck. I bent over and put my head between my legs, because her words were insane and I couldn’t do this and what the hell was I going to do?

This was a whole other different level than anything.

A real living thing I was responsible for…

And the truth of it hit me. Hard. It flashed like a neon sign in my head: a real baby. Mine.

Diapers, tiny clothes with snaps, pacifiers, and then holding it and rocking it, and I don’t even know what all else. It all crashed into my head and I wanted to deny, deny, deny.

But the truth was I’d slept with Emma.

My stomach did some crazy topsy-turvy thing, and I jumped up and ran over to the bushes, vomiting up everything. I gagged and retched until my throat was sore, glad to finally get it all out. My nausea had been boiling up and rolling around since this morning.

She started sobbing.

I hung my head, staring at nothing.

What would we do?

Was I going to run from this too?

“Tell me you aren’t going to get rid of it,” I rasped, wiping my mouth as I stood. She blanched and looked down guiltily, indecision on her face.

“Emma, wait,” I said, thinking of the baby Cara had been.

The tears came harder and louder then, her shoulders shaking.

She gulped in air. “I want to move to New York City. I want an acting career. Not a baby.”

She had dreams. I got that. But…

I walked over to her, trying to not let my legs buckle. “I’ll take care of you, but you’re not the only one in this scenario, Emma. Think about me, too.” I crawled in the chair where she sat and wrapped my arms around her.