“Look, this doesn’t have to be difficult, Gabby. I was young when I did that, and now I’m curious to meet him.”

“How do you know it’s a him?”

“Because I’m not an idiot. I’ve kept tabs over the years. He should know his father.”

“No. He shouldn’t. His father wanted to have him killed before he was born.”

“We were children, Gabby.” He’s raising his voice now, and I’m simply seeing red.

“We were old enough to have sex, Colby. I was adult enough to get pregnant and raise that baby by myself for seven years. Sam doesn’t ask about you. He’s fine, and you have no legal right.”

“I’m going to see him.”

“No. You’re not.”

I end the call and drop my phone on the bed, cover my face with my shaking hands, and take a long, deep breath.

What I said is true; Colby has no legal right. My father’s lawyers made damn sure that the documents he signed were airtight. He can’t hurt me, and he can’t get to Sam.

But damn it, I haven’t heard his voice since that day in the garden. Back then I couldn’t get enough of his voice.

Today it makes me ill.

In fact, I think I’m going to be sick.

I run for the bathroom and lose last night’s dinner, and then dry heave for long minutes. My eyes are watering, and my stomach muscles are screaming when it’s finally over.

It’s just a combination of the adrenaline from the phone call and this bug that Sam had, and it attacks once more. Jesus, there’s nothing left in me, but I keep heaving uncontrollably.

I lean against the toilet seat, and my boobs cry in protest. Holy hell, they are sore.

When the heaving stops, I drop back on my haunches, breathing hard, and feel the sides of my breasts. Oh my God, they hurt. I must be about to start my period. It’s surely due, I haven’t had a period in…

Holy fucking hell.

That can’t be right.

I stand, rinse my mouth out, splash cool water on my face and stare at my reflection as I mentally count back again. I don’t think I had a period last month.

How in the hell did I miss that?

My phone. I need my phone. It’s still on the bed. So I run out and grab it, then run back into the bathroom, lock the door and call Van’s number.

But it goes straight to voice mail.

Shit.

So I call Charly.

“Hey, sugar.”

“I know you’re probably super busy, but I already called Van and I got her voice mail.”

“Gabby?”

I glower at the phone. “Of course this is Gabby.”

“Why are we whispering?” she asks in a loud whisper, matching my tone.

“Because I need help.”

“Are you in danger?” she screeches.

“No. I need a pregnancy test, and I don’t have one, and I need you to go get one and bring it here. But don’t tell anyone.”

“Gabby, are you kidding me?”

“Shhh!” It’s too damn hot in here. I’m starting to sweat. “If you’re too busy, I understand.”

“Fuck that, I’ll be there in one hour.”

She’s here in thirty minutes.

“It’s Charly,” she calls through the door. “Open up.”

I unlock the door, let her in, then close and lock it behind her and take the white plastic bag out of her hand. “Are you going to watch me pee?” I ask as she perches herself on the edge of the tub.

“I did the first time,” she reminds me with a shrug. “Might as well this time too.”

“It’s weird to have you watch me pee.”

“Sugar, I’ve seen everything on you there is to see. Just pee on the fucking stick.”

I open the box and smirk. “You got the fancy kind that actually says pregnant or not pregnant.”

“I don’t want there to be any doubt of the outcome,” she replies and crosses her legs, as though we’re talking about the weather.

When I’m finished, I snap the cap back on the end and set it on the countertop to let it do its thing.

“Now talk to me,” Charly says. “We have, like, three minutes to waste.”

“My boobs hurt, I threw up this morning, and when I did the math, I haven’t had a period in about six weeks.”

Her jaw drops. “Gabby, you know how this happens.”

“Clearly,” I reply dryly. “This isn’t planned.”

“You know, you’ve always been a planner. Why didn’t that flow over into the pregnancy arena as well?”

“I guess I like to keep things interesting,” I reply and pick the stick up, stunned when I see Pregnant.

“Charlotte Boudreaux!” I exclaim and throw the stick in the sink, as if it’s a snake and it’s going to bite me any second.

“I guess that means it’s positive? And I’d just like to clarify, I’m not the one who got you pregnant, despite the way you just yelled my name, as though it’s all my fault.”

“What in the hell am I going to do?” I sit on the toilet and hang my head in my hands, and I’m suddenly nauseous again, but I don’t even have time to turn around and get it in the toilet. I grab the trash can and heave in it for what seems like forever. “I’m dying.”

“Not today,” Charly replies with too much cheer in her voice. “But you are going to be a mommy again.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Tell me you’ve been using protection.”

“Of course we do,” I reply and wrinkle my forehead as I try to remember back. “I’m not an idiot. There was one time that we forgot, but he pulled out.”