My chest shakes as I try to fight a laugh. His eyes dance a second, before zoning back in on mine. “I swear.”

He’s genuine. I can hear it in his voice.

“Okay,” I say, climbing into the truck. “But this doesn’t mean I’m giving you my number.”

He chuckles. “Oh. You’re giving me your number.”

“Nope.”

He pops his head in before closing the door. “You’re giving me your number.”

I smile the entire time it takes him to walk around the truck and jump in.

Jack.

I think I might just like him.

~*~*~*~

“Baylee!” Rae shrieks, jerking me awake from my sleep. “Wake up!”

I sit up in bed, rubbing my eyes, trying to get my bearings. The shrieking sounds of Rae continue down the hall. Is something wrong? I leap out of bed, and on wobbly feet, rush to the door. My eyes are blurred, my body is still half asleep, but I manage to push out into the hall to see Rae standing, holding her stomach.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Rae, what’s wrong?”

“My stomach hurts,” she moans.

“Is it the baby?” I cry, rushing over.

“I don’t know,” she snaps, rubbing a hand over the top of her rounded belly. “I think it’s my actual stomach.”

“Have you eaten something bad?”

“I’m always eating, I don’t know,” she groans.

I study her face. Her eyes have dark rings beneath them, and her cheeks are pale. Perhaps she has some kind of bug? I don’t know if that can be dangerous for her while she’s pregnant. I don’t know much about any of this stuff.

“Do you feel like you’re going to throw up?”

“Yes,” she moans, putting a hand out and balancing herself on the wall.

“Go into the bathroom, I’ll get a bucket. Go, Rae.”

She turns and waddles to the bathroom, and I rush into the laundry to get a bucket and a clean washcloth. Then I turn and rush back to the bathroom just in time to hear her lose the contents of her stomach. I stop at the door, take a deep breath, and wonder if I’ve got enough patience for this tonight. Or any night for that matter. Exhaling, I walk into the bathroom, knowing I’ve got no damned choice.

I wet the cloth and squat down, wiping it across Rae’s forehead once she’s flushed the toilet. She slaps my hand away, snatching the cloth and draping the whole thing over her face. I want to beat her sometimes, but I don’t. I don’t because of the bump hanging on for dear life on her body. I glance at it, and my heart aches.

“Are you okay?” I ask her.

“Do I look fucking okay?” she snaps.

Right.

“You woke me up, Rae. If you don’t want help, I’ll go back to bed.”

“I need water,” she demands.

I push to my feet with a sigh and plod out into the kitchen, filling a glass with water and taking it back to her. She’s scooted over to the bath mat on the floor and curled herself onto it, wrapping her small frame around that ever growing bump. She’s trembling, sweating, and she looks like hell. She’s not well.

“Do you need me to take you to the hospital?” I ask her.

“No,” she snaps so quickly and so firmly I’m taken back.

“Rae, you’re pregnant. You could be sick. It could harm the baby.”

“I said no,” she barks. “Now go away.”

One part of me, probably a solid eighty percent, wants to reach over and just slap her. Just slap the cruel out of her. Just slap her back to the soft girl I once knew. But the twenty percent of me—the twenty percent that seems to hold me here—knows that I’ll never do that, even if I should. Because I do remember the soft girl. I also remember how that soft girl was crushed and destroyed.

So, I do what I always do and say in a quiet voice, “I’m going to keep my door open, and listen out for you. Be angry at me, Rae, hate me if you will, but if you need me, please, come and get me.”

I don’t give her the chance to answer, I turn and walk out the door, trying to fight back the anxiety building in my chest. Trying to fight the tingly, trembling sensation in my hands, and the heaviness in my chest. It can’t get any worse from here, right? It can only get better.

I climb back into my bed with a sigh and roll over, lifting my phone. I glance down and see there’s a message on the screen. I had it on silent, and haven’t checked it, so I quickly unlock it, hoping everything is okay with Shania and nothing is wrong anywhere else. I can’t take anymore tonight. I don’t recognize the number, so I click into it and read the message.

Unknown - My stalking skills are improving. I bet you can’t even guess who it is.

I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips, lightening my mood instantly. I save Jack’s number in my phone and then respond, only realizing the time after I hit send.

B – I have no idea who it is. I really couldn’t guess. I mean, who else would stalk me? Hmmmm.

B – Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize the time.

A moment later my phone buzzes and a message flashes on the screen.

J – Now who’s the stalker?

J – What are you doing awake so late?

B – Sick pregnant lady.

J – Oh, that sucks.

B – Yep. She’s making it fun, too. I’m sorry if I woke you.

J – I don’t mind being woken by you. Although, I am a bit pissed you haven’t rejected me yet. I feel like our friendship can’t handle it if you’re being nice.

I laugh softly.

B – Of course. How dare you text me. Stalker. Go harass someone else.

J – Finally. I thought you were going soft.

B – I don’t like you, Jack.

J – But you will, Baylee. I’m going to annoy you until you’re my friend.

B – I can’t wait. Insert eye roll

J – The fact that you just wrote Insert eye roll makes me question this entire friendship and I think we should see other people. Hashtag weirdo.

I’m laughing now. I can’t help it.

B- Did you just write the word hashtag?

J – Hashtag yes. Hashtag awesome. Hashtag epic.

I’m laughing so hard tears run down my cheeks.

B – I’m concerned for you.

J – Hashtag you love it.