Chapter 1

chapter

one

Audrey

Just when I thought I couldn't be more awkward around Jared—AKA my boss, AKA my secret crush, AKA my one and done—here I am reaching new lows of awkward. Talking about my inconsistent periods in front of him.

"So you're saying you haven't had a cycle in nearly three months?" the nurse asks. She squints at her tablet screen, then glances back to me. Her eyes briefly flick to the beast of a man standing at my side.

He hasn't said any words since barking orders at the emergency room staff that I needed to be seen immediately. So, since they brought me back to a curtained off room for an examination I keep saying I don't actually need, Jared has stood like a great sentinel, big beefy arms crossed over his impossibly broad chest, scowl daring anyone to go against his wishes.

I'm not gonna lie, I'm kinda eating up the attention. He's not pouring it directly on me. Not like the night that shall not be discussed. Half the time I'm convinced that night was a complete figment of my filthy, depraved imagination.

"We can't do an X-Ray then until we can confirm that you aren't pregnant."

The giant beside me shifts, but says nothing.

"It's super unlikely," I say. I mean, I've gone as long as seven months before without having a period. My hormones are wonky.

"Are you sexually active, Ms. Briggs?" the nurse asks. Again, her eyes flick to Jared.

"Uh, sort of."

The nurse nods like that confirms everything. "We'll do a blood test. It's faster and more conclusive." She disappears from the room for a few minutes, presumably to get the supplies she needs.

Because of course I have to have my very first pregnancy test in front of the only man who's actually seen me naked. I release a shaky breath. I want to say something to him. I want him to say something to me. Or reach out and grab my hand.

I mean the odds are really low that I'm pregnant. First off, who gets pregnant the very first time they have sex? Yeah, that statistic is probably really low. Also, I have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome which means my lady hormones are usually out of whack, resulting in random periods, lackluster egg quality and obnoxious chin hairs I have to pluck in my car in the daytime because it has a mirror and good lighting. There are a handful of other bothersome traits that go along with my condition, but doctors have been telling me since I was a teenager that my ovaries don't look good and so, yeah, it seems really unlikely I'm pregnant.

But I still have to go through this with Jared at my side. The only man who could have knocked me up. Yet, neither of us has said a single word about that night nearly two and a half months ago. We've talked about other things: the new restaurant being built just outside of town, our favorite football teams, the grossest flavor of ice cream at Sprinkles (apricot), not to mention the day-to-day minutia of our jobs.

We've covered a lot of ground, but not a word has been said about our one night together. It's like it never happened.

He hasn't touched me again or kissed me. There've been no dirty words growled in my ear while he slams into?—

"Here we are," the nurse says as she sweeps into the room.

Thankfully she interrupts my disastrous train of thought. Not before my pussy flooded with arousal though. Please God, don't let them have to do a pelvic exam.

I squeeze my eyes shut as the nurse pokes the needle into my arm. "The doctor wants to go ahead and do a full blood panel to check on all the things while you're here."

"That doesn't seem necessary," I say. Paying for an expensive blood test is not in my budget right now. Could my parents or brother help? Sure, but I hate to ask. "I'm perfectly healthy, aside from the PCOS."

"Yes, which can lead to hypertension and Type II Diabetes, not to mention elevated cholesterol levels."

"I've got it," Jared says, his voice low and deep.

I glance up at him, and those honey-colored eyes of his search my face. "That's not your responsibility."

"You got hurt on the job. I'm your boss. That's my shop. I pay. End of discussion."

The nurse hums but doesn't say anything and then she's slapping on a cotton ball and medical tape. "I'll be back as soon as we have the more pressing test result. If you want to be alone or want us to call someone for you, let me know." Again, the older woman looks up at Jared.

"I'm good. We're friends. Work together," my words peter out because I'm tired of explaining who Jared is to me. People ask me that question on the regular.

Y'all are so funny together.

You sound like an old married couple.

I just have to grin through my heartbreak and reiterate that we just work together, that we're not a couple. I've often wondered if townspeople ask him when they see him alone like they do me. But I've never dared to ask.

"How's your knee?" Jared asks.

I shrug. "It still hurts, but it's fine. All of this seems like overkill for just a small tumble. It's not the first time I've fallen, probably won't be?—"

The door opens and someone pushes in some sort of fancy looking laptop on a rolling cart. A guy wearing pale green scrubs appears. He looks like he's barely eighteen with reddish hair and face full of freckles. He rolls the machine right next to my bed.

"I'm Quinton and I'll be your ultrasound technician today," he says. "Can you pull up your shirt and lower your pants and underwear enough to expose your stomach?"

Jared growls.

The tech takes a nervous step back, looking like he's swallowed his tongue.

Again the door opens and the nurse reappears. "Well, Ms. Briggs, it appears as if you are pregnant." She nods to the ultrasound tech. "Quinton, you can begin."

I hear the nurse's words, but this just can't be happening. Wait. I need everything to slow down. I can't be pregnant. Doctors have told me since I started puberty that my odds were low. The man-boy looks up at Jared as if waiting for permission.

"I'm sorry, can we go back a step, please. You said I'm pregnant?" I ask.

Jared hasn't moved or made a sound. He's just staring at my stomach. Considering I don't recall a time in my life when my belly has been flat and not squishy with rolls, I don't particularly relish attention in that area.

"Here, let me help." The nurse comes over, holding something that looks like a hospital gown, but unfolds like a thin blanket.

My heart is beating so loud and fast that I think maybe they can all hear it too.

The nurse lifts my shirt to just below my bra and then using the blanket, tucks my leggings and panties down below the bottom curve of my stomach.

Awesome. So now it's like accentuating my fat. I exhale slowly.

Yeah, now is probably not the time to be worried about how my belly looks, because … um … how the hell am I supposed to process all of this?

Part of me wants to jump up and down, waving my hands like a referee calling a time out. Because what in the name of cookies and cream ice cream is happening here?

I'm … what now?

Pregnant?

But I don't have time to rewind the conversation or even pause it, because the nurse is looking at Quinton and me as she asks, "Are you sure you don't want to call anyone else? The father, perhaps?"

But by now, Quinton has the jellied-up wand pressed to my stomach and he's poking around.

I can't even catch my breath to ask all the questions that are reeling through my mind. All I can do is stare at the blurry grey screen. Flashes of red and blue appear in random splotches. He clicks a few times with his other hand and then there's the rapid whoosh-whoosh-whoosh sound echoing in the room.

"That's the baby's heartbeat," he says.

Tears roll from one eye to the next with the angle of my head. My vision blurs.

Quinton says more words about measurements and weeks, but it's like he's speaking a foreign language.

The thought that keeps running through my mind is that this has to be the very worst way to find out you're pregnant.