And what kind of father would he, a man who took lives, make?
Don’t get ahead of yourself. One thing at a time.
First, she had to find out what she was dealing with.
Thanking goodness Daddy was already at the church, she brushed her teeth and called in sick to work. The receptionist, bless her, promised to contact all her clients and reschedule. Then Brea dragged on some sweatpants and a hoodie, mustered up her courage, shoved down more nausea, and drove to the drugstore.
As she sat in the parking lot at the little pharmacy around the corner, Mrs. Simmons, her first-grade teacher, walked out of the sliding double doors and waved her way. She watched Mr. Laiusta, one of her dad’s parishioners, hop out of his car two spots down. Two guys she’d gone to high school with emerged, sodas and chips in hand, and eyed her through her windshield.
She couldn’t possibly walk into that store and buy a pregnancy test. Someone would see her. And everyone in town would know her secret by the end of the day.
Swallowing down another wave of sickness, she backed out and drove to Lafayette. She was familiar with the drugstore near the hospital; she’d had some of Daddy’s medicines filled there after he’d been discharged. No one at that location would know her. No one would care.
Even so, when she arrived, she braided her long hair, wound it on top of her head, then plucked one of Daddy’s discarded ball caps from her backseat and pulled it low over her eyes.
It took her less than five minutes to purchase a pregnancy test. The bored forty-something woman behind the register didn’t blink, just counted out her change and looked to the next customer in line.
Bag in hand, Brea froze in indecision near the door. Drive the twenty minutes home to take the test? What if Daddy’s first day back at the church had proven overwhelming and he cut his day short to come home? Or what if she messed this test up and needed another one?
She couldn’t risk it. Besides, she didn’t want to wait any longer than necessary to learn the truth.
Head down, she slinked to the back of the store and found the ladies’ room. Thankfully, it was a restroom for one. She shut and locked the door, then tore into the box and scanned the instructions.
As she washed her hands, they shook. Then she sat on the toilet with the test strip.
A wave of nausea swamped her again—a combination of her nerves and the sharp scent of the antiseptic cleanser. She swallowed back another urge to vomit as she finished administering the test. Then she set the strip on her plastic bag strewn across the counter and bent to wash her hands again.
She had to wait three minutes. It would be the longest one hundred eighty seconds of her life.
But as soon as she rinsed the soap and dried her hands, she glanced at the test strip.
Less than a minute had passed, and the result window was already displaying two solid pink lines.
Pregnant.
On a gut level, Brea had expected it, but she still found herself stunned. She looked at herself in the drugstore’s grimy, water-splotched mirror. “What am I going to do?”
Her reflection had no reply.
She broke down and sobbed.
Everything in her life was about to change.
Why hadn’t she insisted on a condom? Why hadn’t he ever used one?
Maybe he just hadn’t cared. After all, he wasn’t the one pregnant now… He didn’t have to pick up the pieces or face his community or raise his child alone.
The handle jiggled, then a light tap sounded at the door. “Someone in there?”
“Just a minute,” she answered automatically, then gathered up the bag, box, and test before throwing them all in the garbage. Then she swiped away her tears, tried to plaster on a fake smile, and opened the door.
As she walked out, a woman with a baby on her shoulder and a diaper bag in hand gave her a little smile. “Thanks.”
Then the door closed. Brea was alone, with the rest of her life stretching out, endless and terrifying, in front of her.
What was she going to do?
She slid her hand over her still-flat belly and exhaled. Apparently, she was going to have a baby.
But without hurting her father, jeopardizing her career, and tearing apart her community, how? And how would Pierce feel about this?
Mechanically, Brea eased into her car and headed back to Sunset. Traffic was light. She didn’t remember the drive.
When she reached home, she parked and ran into the house. She tore off her clothes and slid back into her pajamas. The house was so quiet. She felt utterly alone—shocked and scared. Eventually, she’d have to get up and face her problems like an adult, and she knew her tears were pointless. But right now she needed to shed them, just like she needed reassurance that somehow, someway, everything would be all right.
She needed Cutter.
He was in Dallas, working. Normally, she would never call while he was on the job. But he would hear and understand her like no one else.
Brea grabbed her phone from the purse she’d discarded at the foot of her bed and dialed her best friend. Before he even answered, more tears sprang to her eyes.
“Hey, Bre-bee.”
“C-Cutter, hi. I hate to call you…but I could use an ear.”
“What’s wrong?”
“This is probably a bad time, and I’m sorry. Really. But I don’t know where else to turn.”
“Slow down. It’s okay. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I woke up this morning and I felt horrible. I didn’t know what was wrong and then I… Ugh. I’m talking too much. But I’m afraid to just blurt everything. You’re going to be mad. Everyone will be shocked. Daddy will be disappointed. I just”—her breaths came so quick and shallow that she feared hyperventilating—“don’t know how to say this but…I think I’m pregnant.”
“What?” he growled. “Have you seen a doctor?”
“No. I bought a test at a drugstore in
