JAX

It’s been over a month since Harper stormed away, and I finally figured out a way to fix things with her, a way to apologize for being a jackass, but I think it might be worse for my mental state. Because now I’m obsessed with her, with everything Harper. With her curves and her smile and her soft, generous words.

I need to go to the city and knock on every door until I find her—but not until I finish this project. Not until I can make it up to her. I’ll finish today or tomorrow, then I can make a plan to find her.

When I’m in town getting my packages at the post office, checking email, and proving to Buck that I’m not some creep in the woods, I decide to call Dean.

Talking things out with him has always been my mode of operation, and maybe he can help me figure out my next steps with Harper. I know Buck offered to let me confide in him, but that boy is over his head with women as it is—no way is he gonna be able to give me advice.

And Dean is one of those blue-collar, salt-of-the-Earth good guys. He is my fucking polar opposite, and that’s why we’ve always gotten along.

He picks up right away. Not a dick like me, who screens calls and puts shit off.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Not exactly. Things have gotten complicated out here,” I admit. But how do I tell my oldest friend that I got a girl pregnant, when my dealings with women is the very reason I fucked up my part of the business? The reason I left him to handle the hauling company on his own.

“Wanna talk?”

“Yeah, but not here,” I say, looking around the crowded general store. “Shit, I’m at the post office. I don’t have service at my cabin.”

“I’ll come out there tomorrow,” he offers. See, he’s good guy. I didn’t even have to ask.

“Thanks, man.”

“Hey,” he says. “You see last month’s deposit?”

“Yeah, what have you been doing?” I ask. “Working with the mob? That kind of money is what we were hoping to see in six years, not two.”

“I know, right?”

I can’t help but think I’m what held our business back. Me. Once I was gone, it started to thrive. I was the fucking problem.

“Don’t go there, Jax,” Dean says. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah,” Dean snorts. “I’ve known you since we were kids, and you’ve always had a complex. Always thinking you were the problem when things went south. It’s just a coincidence that D & J Hauling found some success once you left.”

“Okay, Dean,” I say shortly. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

“Don’t be an ass. I’ll see you tomorrow. Late afternoon.”

I hang up, and head home. I have work to do.

HARPER

After my father slaps me, I retreat. I try to go back to before, before Jaxon, before Luke left. I try to go back to being the girl my parents require of me.

It mostly feels impossible.

So with each week that passes, I feel small in ways I never thought I could be.

I’m past the first trimester of this pregnancy—and it’s getting near impossible to hide it. I remember my mother staying quite small throughout the nine months, but I feel so large already.

I put on the loosest clothing I can find and hope it conceals things. Thankfully the morning sickness has faded, but the fear in my chest is still here, pressing in on me with each step I take. With each dish I wash, with each math problem I help my younger siblings solve, with each lie I tell myself.

Lies about why I’m here ... lies about why I left Jaxon ... lies about how I am going to do this by myself when I don’t even have my own checking account ... lies about how long I’m going to be able to hide this from my family. Eventually they’re going to find out I’m having a baby.

But I can’t face that now. Not yet.

I’m hollow in a way I’ve never been before. Like, I keep trying to hold myself together, but the more this secret weighs down on me, the more shame I feel. It’s a vicious cycle. I need someone to confide in.

So I make a call to the clinic—the clinic that offers free support. The clinic I never thought I would need to enter, but I do. It breaks my heart because I always thought the church would be the place I would turn to when times were hard.

But the place my father runs is not a safe haven, not now. Maybe it never was. I press my hand to the cheek he slapped, wondering when his hitting me became love? How does his slap across my face equal care?

And I don’t know how to be brave, be honest. Because the thing I need to tell my father—the thing I am still trying to hide—is going to change his shallow view of me into something nonexistent.

I’m not ready to lose my family, not when I have nothing to replace them with.

“I’m headed to Jana’s house now,” I tell my mother. We’re standing in the kitchen. Breakfast dishes are cleared away, and my siblings are set up on their schoolwork in the basement. I’ve planned my appointment this morning with precision.

A big baking day is planned at Jana’s house for most of the day. She’s a member of our congregation and about my age. We grew up together. Of course she’s married now, with a ten-month-old little girl.

When I told my parents I planned on attending, they were actually glad. I’ve avoided church activities as much as possible, but they keep encouraging me to make my way back into the fold. I figure I’ll go to the appointment, then head over to Jana’s, and no one will realize I’m an hour late.

“Alright, Harper,” Mom says, her voice as meek as ever. “Drive safe.”

Her long braid is over her shoulder, and I am hit with how young she is. She had me when she was eighteen years old; she married my father ten months before I was born. She’s not even forty, and it shows. Her face is as fresh and young as ever. I wonder if she regrets giving her life away before she even knew what it was to be a woman?

On impulse, I wrap my arms around her and give her a hug. We aren’t affectionate in general, and it’s been worse since the night at Jaxon’s, but part of me wants my relationship with her restored. I know I’ll need her help, once I have my child.

“I love you, Mom,” I say, kissing her cheek.

* * *

The clinic isn’t cold or sterile at all. There are couches in the waiting room, and the receptionist smiles brightly. I don’t know what I expected. Something harsh. Fluorescent lights, or a curt woman at the front desk.

I take the clipboard she hands me and sit with my legs crossed, trying to fill it out as vaguely as possible. I go so far as to lie about my last name. I write Harper Free in the blank space, instead of my actual last name, Baker.

Age: 21

Weight: I don’t even want to know .... Literally nothing can button over my waist.

Medical history: n/a

I don’t add that my siblings and I never had vaccinations, that we never had a pediatrician. That birth control is against our beliefs. I don’t mention the fact that I don’t take prescriptions or Tylenol because I’ve been taught to believe that God will cure my ailments, and if I’m sick it’s because I am in sin.

I don’t say any of that. Not here, not on this sheet of paper.

Instead, I wait in silence.

“Harper?” A nurse calls me back, and I follow her down the corridor. She takes my weight ... okay, not too insane. Still, I’ve gained sixteen pounds, which seems high. She takes my blood pressure, has me pee in a cup.

I do what she asks, then she gives me a gown and directs me to my room.

I change quickly, sit on the paper-lined examination bed. A few minutes later, there’s a light tap on the door, and a woman doctor steps in.

“Hello, Harper, I’m Doctor Vance.”

“Hi,” I say nervously.

“So, I understand you’re pregnant, but haven’t seen any care provider yet?”

“Not yet. I don’t really have a doctor, and I can’t tell my parents ... so I don’t know.”

She nods, then flips through the file she brought in with her.

“You are twenty-one though, correct?” she asks.

“I am. I just, I live at home and don’t really have a means to support myself ... exactly.”

“But you intend to carry this pregnancy to term?”

“I do.”

“Okay, Harper, here’s what we’ll do. After we perform an ultrasound, we can determine the due date, and then I am going to have you make an appointment with one of our counselors on site. They’re experienced helping women in situations like yours make a plan that is most sustainable for both you and the baby.”

“Okay.” I nod, blinking back tears. I don’t know what I was hoping for. Her to become my confidante or something? Which is unrealistic; I get that. I just can’t wait for another appointment to tell someone how stressed out I am. If my parents kick me out, where will I go? I have no support beyond my church family. And how much longer can I hide this pregnancy? I’ve already outgrown every piece of clothing I own.

Doctor Vance has me lie back, and a nurse comes in with an ultrasound machine.

She puts cool gel on my tummy and asks me to confirm the date of conception.

There is absolutely zero doubt in my mind when that occurred, so I answer with confidence.

Soon there is at the soft pitter-patter of a heartbeat.

But then Doctor Vance pauses. Tilts her head.

“Oh, Harper,” she says in shock, looking at the screen, transfixed by the image before us.

“Oh, my God,” I say, not at all taking the Lord’s name in vain.

This cannot be happening. Not to me.