Page 21 of The Bodyguard Situation

His gaze never leaves me as I pee on the stick. My face burns hot with discomfort, and I don’t like how he’s staring at me. However, I need to maintain this fragile peace we have even if the tension is thick and suffocating me.

“How long until we know?” I ask. My voice is much quieter than I intended as he rips it from my hand.

“Three minutes,” he says flatly, eyes glued to the test.

He leaves the bathroom, and I hear his footsteps echoing down the hallway. When I know I’m alone, my trembling fingers reach into my pocket, unfolding the crumpled note the cashier handed me at the store.

The scratchy handwriting screams at me.

That man almost murdered my daughter. Leave him now!

My heart rate increases, and panic nearly chokes me. Instinctively, I throw the paper into the toilet, flushing away the evidence. I watch it swirl around the porcelain bowl, vanishing from sight, though the words are seared into my memory. This is more evidence.

“He almost murdered her daughter?” My whispered voice almost echoes in the small space, filling me with a new wave of dread.

I rush to the sink and scrub my hands under hot water until they’re nearly raw, trying to calm my racing pulse. I suck in deep, shaky breaths, then join Micah in the kitchen.

He calmly places the to-go boxes into the refrigerator as he whistles. The pregnancy test rests innocently on the counter. The casualness of this feels sinister, and I try not to get in my head about hypotheticals. As I pass him, I slide my hand lightly across his lower back. While it’s a familiar gesture, I do it so he thinks I’m still caught in his web of deceit.

I quickly reach into a cabinet, pull out a glass, and fill it with water. My throat is suddenly dry. As the cool liquid hits my tongue and slides down my throat, my mind races. That woman’s frantic handwriting flashes in my mind.

Micah moves beside me, washing his hands in the sink. “Are you feeling any better?”

I nod quickly, downing another gulp of water. “Yes, thank you.”

The alarm on his phone sounds. It’s a cheerful tune that only aggravates me. He picks up the pregnancy test, his eyes lighting up with anticipation. His smile widens dramatically, but mine vanishes when he turns it around, revealing the result.

Pregnant.

“No. That can’t be correct,” I whisper, my voice quivering. “I refuse to believe this.”

Micah holds the test firmly. “Refuse it all you want. It says pregnant.”

“I don’t care. It’s wrong,” I say firmly, panic tightening my throat. I frantically try to remember the timing of my last period—it was last month.

This isn’t possible. This can’t be happening.

He has me questioning everything.

His brows pinch together, confusion clouding his face. “You’re supposed to be happy. Ecstatic.”

“Micah,” I say, softening my voice despite the storm raging inside me. “We’ve talked about this ad nauseam. Do you have another test? It could be a false positive,” I suggest, rushing back into the bathroom and grabbing the empty box. There was only one test inside.

His jaw clenches as he steps into the doorway, blocking me inside. “This isn’t the reaction I expected from my soon-to-be wife.”

I inhale, my eyes squeezed shut as I seek control. Could I be pregnant with his baby?No.

“I need a few minutes to process this, please. This is a very big step, and I’m in shock.”

“It’s a miracle,” he offers, roughly slamming the test on the counter. The harsh noise echoes between us. Without looking at me again, he leaves me to myself.

I pick up the stick, praying it’ll somehow read differently, but the wordPregnantglares back at me, mocking me.

“This is wrong,” I mutter. “Right?Right?!”

The next few minutes stretch out painfully, and I’m trapped inside my own head. I’m completely isolated, and I need Billie or my big brother, Zane—someone who knows me and someone I trust. I force myself to leave the bathroom and find Micah waiting in the hallway, his head lowered—a perfect picture of vulnerability. Wet tracks of tears glisten on his cheeks, and I feel a chill ripple through me, knowing it’s an act, a manipulation tactic.

“I will always be by your side,” he says, sincerity coating his words, yet my instincts scream danger.