Page 35 of Accidentally Hitched (Unintentionally Yours #1)

Amanda

“ S urprise.”

Sometimes, in a moment of panic and shock we say the dumbest thing imaginable in the worst situation possible.

And that’s what I did just now.

As I walk into the penthouse, hoping and praying that Callum is working in his office or maybe working out or even cooking up another four-star meal, I find him standing in the kitchen, looking like a puffer fish, with my two peed-on pregnancy tests screaming the thing I was still trying to figure out how to tell him about.

The sonogram photo in my hand doesn’t help.

And between that and the heartbeat of said baby still thumping in my head like a record stuck on repeat, I am not a sane person right now.

“So, it’s true?” Callum asks but it comes out more like a statement than a question.

“If two lines means yes and one line means no then…yes. Those are in fact positive tests.”

I just keep making this better and better, I tell you what.

“They’re yours?” he asks.

“Of course they’re mine. Who else would they belong to?”

“I don’t know,” he rounds the counter. “I thought maybe they were a friend’s or your sister’s or–”

“They’re mine. I am pregnant.” I hold the photo out to him. I also hold my breath.

But Callum doesn’t take it. His eyes flicker down to it for the slightest, uncaring moment before fully focusing on me again.

“You’re pregnant. You suspected it and didn’t say anything.

You bought pregnancy tests and didn’t say anything.

You took those tests and they’re positive…

and you didn’t say anything. And you went to the doctor to confirm those tests and still didn’t say anything. ”

My eyes widen and anger creeps up my spine. “I just found out.”

“But you knew,” he cuts me off.

“I had suspicions.”

“And you didn’t say anything.”

“Why would I say something if I wasn’t sure?” I ask, my voice raising with each word. “There’s no reason to freak us both out if I’m not sure. So, I tested. And then you insisted I go to the doctor, and I did. And they confirmed it when they did blood and urine tests.”

“And you kept it from me,” he nods, sucking his teeth and starts to walk away.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to take a shower,” Callum says. “I need a minute to think.” He walks to the stairs, and I follow him.

“Hang on a second. You can’t just blow up at me and walk away. I was going to tell you.”

Callum reaches the top of the stairs and spins around. “Oh, were you? When?”

“Now,” I say, and he rolls his eyes mockingly with a smirk and a head nod.

“Sure. The same way you were going to tell me that you are seeing other men?”

With that, I go cold. I stop halfway up the stairs. “What are you talking about?”

“The dating app? Your profile is active, Amanda. You are searchable on a public fucking dating app. Do you have any idea how that looks?!”

“I never made a profile on a dating app! Not now or ever.”

I think about it and then it hits me. Kate. Fucking hell. “It was my sister. She made the profile before she knew about us.”

“It’s still active.”

“So, I’ll get rid of it. Or make her get rid of it. Whatever.”

But Callum isn’t satisfied. He keeps walking and I continue to follow him.

“It doesn’t matter now. The damage is already done. Anyone who has been looking into us can see it. Along with the photos of you buying the tests.”

My heart drops into my stomach. “People took photos of me at CVS?”

“You’re in the music industry, sweetheart,” he says but the word is anything but sweet as he spits it out of his mouth.

“Not to mention, you’re associated with Hardin now.

Associated with me . And that means that people are going to be taking photos of you everywhere you go.

Even if you are laying low. Even if you are wearing a hoodie and sunglasses. ”

My chest rises and falls as I think about his words. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“You wanted to be a famous songwriter,” he says, tearing at his tie and pulling it off before tossing it on the bed.

“I never wanted to be famous. I just wanted to make a living. To write for the best. To stop working in coffee shops and relying on freelance platforms and make my name real.”

“Yeah well, that’s not really the world we live in. The world we live in watches everything we do and scrapes around our windows and breaks down our doors until they find something about us that will sell stories. And you being pregnant is a story.”

I think about that for a moment and the tears surface in my eyes.

Just an hour ago I was hearing for certain that I was pregnant.

That I am pregnant. Before the words had even solidified in my mind, they materialized on a black and white screen in the form of a little beating heart.

And then, I heard that beating heart. Loud and clear and very, very real.

The entire drive home, I sat in silence trying to wrap my brain around the idea of that beating heart. And for all of two seconds, I felt something other than disbelief and fear.

I felt joy.

I felt love.

And now? Seeing his reaction, it’s hard to feel anything but anger and hurt and resentment.

“Is it mine?” he asks.

My mouth pops open. “What do you mean is it yours?”

“You have an active dating app profile. I’m 48. Let’s do the math here.”

My eyes fill with tears, but I am still able to glare through them. “How fucking dare, you.”

“How do I know the baby is mine? How do I know you haven’t known for a while and planted everything to make it look different? How do I know you didn’t plan the whole thing?”

“What whole thing?”

“For all I know, you saw me on that stage. You saw money. You waved your paddle, you played cute on the date, and you got what you wanted. For all I know, you knew who I was the entire time because look how that worked out for you. And the entire time, you were with someone else, falling in love, getting pregnant…”

“Are you accusing me of using you and cheating on you?” I spit out.

Callum shrugs.

I let out a laugh. “How in the hell could I cheat on you? We aren't really together.”

His brow lowers and his eyes narrow into slits. He shoves his hands in his pocket, turning something over in his hand and swallows. “We’re married.”

“Not on purpose.”

The words come out strangled and jagged, like barbed wire wrapped around my throat. They might be true. We never intended to be married. We were drunk. Yet I thought, I truly believed, there was more to it than that.

He made me believe there was more to it than that.

Clearly, I was wrong.

Without another word, I walk out of his room and head down the stairs.

I leave my things, from my clothes to my makeup bag.

The only thing I grab is my purse and my phone.

And the sonogram photo. With my head high and my steps determined and my jaw tight and my eyes holding onto the tears, I get in my car and head back to my own apartment.

It isn’t until I am on the main road putting distance between us that I let the tear spill.

Because how dare he?

How fucking dare, he?

My phone buzzes with a text from Iris.

Iris: Did you tell him?

The sob escapes and the light turns green. I can’t talk about this right now. I can’t even process it right now. Because I don’t know what the fuck just happened.

Amanda: I did. I’ll call you about it later.

Iris responds but I don’t check the phone again. Instead, I turn on Carly Simon. She is my go-to when life feels untethered. My car fills with old timey music and her feathery voice and I just let myself drown in it while I drive. Because I don’t know what to do.

Everything I felt, everything I allowed myself to believe, has been ripped away from me. And as I pull up to my apartment, a world that feels like an empty yesterday, I don’t feel comfort. I don’t feel at home.

I feel alone.