Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Mason wants to ask questions—what those would be, I don’t know—but there must be something he sees in my gaze, as in the next moment, he steps back.
In the blink of an eye, the tension tightening his features falls away, and a wide smile spreads across his lips. “My bad. Thought you were some dick touching her, then I saw her crying and, you know. Game over.”
“Thanks?” Deaton frowns but accepts Mason’s hand when he offers up one of those bro handshakes. “I’m Deaton, but it seems you already know that.” He looks to me expectantly.
I reach out, taking Deaton’s hand and entwining our fingers as I move to his side.
“These are Mason and Chase, friends of my brother.” I pause, thinking better of it. “Actually, Mason is Kenra’s cousin,” I mention, because Kenra was seeing Deaton’s asshole older brother, so he knows her.
“Hey, sorry, man,” Chase apologizes, though he doesn’t look all that sorry, not that he’s the one who tackled Deaton to the ground. He does look annoyed, though. “We didn’t know you were here.”
“It’s fine.” Deaton looks to me and back. “Thanks for looking out for her.”
I offer a small smile, my free hand pressing into his chest as I glance toward the others. “Can you guys leave us alone, please?”
The boys hesitate but then nod, heading up the deck we just came down.
Sighing, I step in to Deaton, resting my cheek against his chest. We’re nearly the same height, so when his arms come around me, lifting me a tiny bit, my toes still dig into the sand.
“Well, this has been a lot more eventful of a reunion than I anticipated,” he muses, rubbing my back.
I grin into his neck, a light chuckle escaping. “Yeah, they’re kind of a lot. And there’s more of them.”
It’s Deaton’s turn to chuckle. “Well, I’m glad to know there are other people you can depend on.”
I close my eyes. “I missed you, and I know I should have told you where I was going so you didn’t worry, but I knew you’d ask questions, and I just…didn’t want to answer them.”
I pull back, looking at him.
“Why?” he asks softly.
“Because I know you, Deaton. I can see it in your eyes right now. You’ve already accepted this, and you’re rearranging puzzle pieces in your mind, and I’m—” I swallow, biting on the inside of my cheek.
He clasps my shoulders with soft hands, and I force my eyes to stay on his when I want to look away. “It’s okay to be afraid, Payton. Or even a little sad. We have, what?” he smiles softly. “Eight months to figure it out, at least?”
Wrong. How do I tell him I’ve known for over a month now, having suspected even longer but was too afraid to find out for sure? Because of the extensive workout plan and stress of my day-to-day life, both thanks to my mother, it was normal for me to skip a month or two of my cycle. I thought nothing of it until that third month rolled around and the box of tampons I’d restocked still sat unopened under the sink. He couldn’t have guessed any of this, though, as my body hasn’t changed much, so it’s been nothing a sweater or flowy sundress couldn’t hide. And I did hide it.
Swallowing, I pull back, putting a little space between us but keeping our hands connected.
This is the hardest part.
The real part I was afraid of and the reason that I was avoiding him. That I ran.
I meet his gaze and speak the words I’ve been desperate to hide, maybe even from myself.
“That’s the thing,” I whisper shakily. “I don’t know if I want to figure it out, Deaton. I…don’t know if I’m keeping the baby.”
CHAPTER SIX
Payton
Now, July 4
It’s late, the visitors have gone, and Deaton is fast asleep in his crib.
For the last couple of hours, the rest of us have shuffled between huddling around the firepit and squeezing in at the patio picnic table turned game table. Stacked quarters sit in front of us, a small cup full resting in the middle, as we close out our third round of left, right, center, and my right knee’s bouncing spreads to my left.
Tension tugs at my chest, anxiety building at a slow yet steady place, only this time it doesn’t break when I finally give in and tap the screen of my phone for the hundredth time. With the end of every game, the night closes in, the digital clock reading five after ten.
The day is almost over. Gone.
How are things here and then gone in the blink of an eye? In the pass of a single second? Poof. No more.
I swallow, trying not to draw attention to myself as I attempt to breath through my nose and out through my mouth, but it doesn’t help.