“What happened?”
“I chose her and gave them my car keys. I thought walking to work in the heat and missing out on time with my friends would be a small hardship because she would be by my side. As it turned out, not so much. She wasn’t as interested in being with me when I couldn’t take her places. And by August, she’d found someone else and left me brokenhearted. I spent a miserable month wishing I’d taken my parents’ alternative.”
Brea understood. That girl clearly hadn’t loved him at all.
“So I’m going to ask the same of you.”
“Daddy, I’m twenty-two. I paid for my car. I’m not giving it up. Besides, I couldn’t get to work without it.”
He held up a hand. “That’s not what I meant. I’m merely challenging you not to see him for a month so you can figure out how you feel. If he really loves you, he’ll wait.”
But Daddy’s tone made it clear he was convinced Pierce would move on. Brea didn’t know what to say.
“By the way, I met your mother four years later. I knew instantly she was the one. We both agreed to explore the sexual part of our relationship after we were married. My wedding night was one of the best of my life because I knew we’d made the right decision. I won’t lie; that was a long wait, but so worth it.”
Daddy was brilliant at persuading people to look at a situation through his lens. And he often made great points.
“I need to sleep on everything you’ve said.” And she needed to hear what Pierce had to say before she could determine if she needed to fight for him…or let him go.
“Of course. We’ll catch up on Saturday. I’m doing my first full day back in the office tomorrow, so I’m expecting a lot of crazy.”
“Okay. Let’s talk then.”
He kissed her forehead. “No matter what, I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Just promise me you’ll make decisions that add to your happiness before worrying about anyone else’s.”
“I will.”
The following morning, Brea rolled over, stretched, and opened her eyes. Last night when she’d laid her head down, she would have sworn she was far too upset to do anything but toss and turn all night. Instead, the minute her head had hit the pillow, she’d all but fallen into a coma.
She glanced at her bedside clock. Eight thirty? Her first appointment was in an hour. Yikes!
Tossing off her covers, she sat up and bounded out of bed.
Instantly, a crash of nausea dropped her to her knees. She clutched her stomach and barely managed to crawl to the toilet before she lost the contents of her stomach.
Ugh. She must have picked up the stomach flu from one of her clients.
Early in her career as a hairdresser, she’d learned the hard way that the public was germ-filled. She’d been sicker that first year than she’d ever been.
When she’d finished retching, Brea flushed the toilet and lay back on the blessedly cold tile. She was going to have to call into work, darn it. After all the disruptions to her schedule these past few months, she really hated to lose the cash flow—or, potentially, her hard-earned clientele. But it wasn’t like she could coif people while she was vomiting.
Brea took some deep breaths, trying to calm her rolling stomach. But the smell of her citrus-vanilla bath beads on the nearby tub stung her nose and revived her urge to throw up.
Seconds later, nausea forced her to pitch her head over the toilet again.
When she’d finished, she pinched her nose closed and picked up the offending box, dragging it—and herself—to the garage, where she dumped the bath beads in the trash to go out with Monday’s pickup. The second she let herself back in the house, she sagged against the doorway with a groan.
What the heck was going on? She’d loved that scent since one of her middle school friends had given her those bath beads as a birthday gift. She had repurchased them over and over because they always brought her comfort and pleasure. So why had the smell suddenly made her sick? Well, sicker.
Scents had nothing to do with the stomach flu…
Instantly, a more terrifying reason for her smell sensitivity crowded her brain.
She raced across the house and grabbed her phone from its charger. The first thing she saw was a message from Pierce.
Made it to location. No sign of asshole yet. May be here a few days. I’ll call when I can. See you when I get home.
Her relief that he was safe—at least for now—warred with her indecision about their future. But she shoved it aside to launch the app on which she charted her periods.
According to this, she hadn’t had one since early August. November was a week away.
That couldn’t be right. She couldn’t possibly have missed two periods.
But she feared her memory wasn’t faulty.
August, September, and October had been a whirlwind of craziness—Cutter’s hostage standoff, Daddy’s relapse and second surgery, Pierce’s capture and recovery, keeping the church going, her business flowing… She vaguely remembered thinking earlier this month that she’d missed a period, but she hadn’t been shocked, given all the stress she’d been under.
She hadn’t really believed that in one night Pierce had gotten her pregnant.
But it was possible. She was tired all the time. Her breasts were tender. She was weepy. She craved sex. The signs were there; she simply hadn’t put them together.
Brea sagged back to her bed, staring at the ceiling, and gaped. If she was pregnant…what was she going to do? If Daddy had been disappointed last night, he would be crushed by this news. And what would she tell Pierce? He’d asked her to be his live-in
