Page 21 of Certified Pressure 2

Trill-Land, Jungle Estate

L ooking into Pressure’s eyes, I could tell something was off.

He had just come back through the door after being gone overnight, and even though his face stayed calm, I felt the distance in him.

He didn’t raise his voice or throw his hands, but I could see it in his eyes—whatever I had just dropped on him was something heavy that he most likely wouldn’t open up to me about.

My stomach turned, not just from the cramps that had been rolling through me for days, but from the way he was looking at me.

I knew my body, and missing a cycle wasn’t normal.

I had never been late before, not once, and that was why I couldn’t shake the thought that something had changed.

It made me nervous, but at the same time a strange, quiet joy flickered inside me.

I thought about the nights we shared, the way he would talk to me when we were tangled up, asking me if I wanted his babies like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I thought about the way he kissed me while saying it, how it didn’t sound like a joke or just dirty talk, but like he was already planting the idea in my head.

And I thought about how, at the time, I brushed it off, not realizing that the more he said it, the more I started wanting it.

Now here I was, standing in front of him with the words already out in the air, and even though his face stayed unreadable, I could tell deep down that he had a lot on his mind. It looked like fear and hope all at the same time.

I couldn’t help the way my heart leapt at the possibility.

A baby by Pressure wasn’t a mistake in my eyes.

It felt like a win, like proof that what we had wasn’t just another fling under his roof.

If I was pregnant, that sealed my place.

That would make me the one, no matter who else was still here.

I wanted to know where his head was at, so I swallowed and finally asked the question that had been sitting in my mind since I noticed my calendar was off. “What happens if I am pregnant?”

His eyes stayed locked on mine, and I swear the whole room slowed down.

He didn’t answer right away. His stare wasn’t blank, it wasn’t cold—it was something else, like I had touched a part of him he didn’t let nobody see.

He let out a low sigh, not angry, or frustrated, but like he’d been holding a weight in his heart for years.

When he finally spoke, his voice was calm but stripped of its usual edge. “If you pregnant, then that’s mine to protect. Ain’t no other option.”

The words landed somewhere between comfort and weight.

He wasn’t pushing me away, but he wasn’t pulling me close either.

Something about the way he said it, the way his eyes didn’t soften or harden, told me there was more behind it than he’d ever admit out loud.

And yet, the fact that he didn’t dismiss me, didn’t laugh it off, didn’t call me crazy or reckless—that was enough for me to cling to.

I nodded and bit the inside of my cheek, trying to keep my face from showing too much.

My head was spinning with questions I wanted to ask him.

Did he want this? Was he scared? Did he think I was lying?

Did he regret the way he had been with me?

But I remembered what his mama told me. She told me sometimes a woman’s power was in her calm.

That letting emotions run wild could drown the whole moment.

And right now, the last thing I wanted was to push him further away, so I held it all in.

I just stood there, close enough to breathe him in, waiting for him to move.

“Come on,” he finally said, his voice low, but it wasn’t his usual low. It carried something else, something that made me slow down inside myself.

We walked down the hall together, side by side.

His steps was steady but heavier than normal, like each one had its own thought attached.

I matched his pace without trying to do too much.

The whole way up, my mind bounced between nerves and excitement.

I imagined holding his child, imagined what people would say if I really was the first woman in this mansion to give him an heir.

I imagined how different things would feel once my stomach started to grow and he couldn’t deny that I was the one carrying his future.

And underneath all that imagining, I wondered what it would mean for us.

When we stepped into his room, he slid the straps of his black duffel bag from his shoulders and set it down by the dresser. The sound of it hitting the floor felt louder than it should have, like it broke the silence we’d been walking in.

He pulled his phone out, his tone sharp and direct when he made the call. “I need you to go pick up a pregnancy test and bring it to my room. It don’t matter what kind it is. Just get one.”

He hung up, tossed the phone onto the nightstand, and then sat down beside me on the bed.

The silence came back thick. Not awkward, not even tense, just thick…

like there was words trapped in the air he couldn’t bring himself to say.

I sat there with my palms on my thighs, staring at the floor, then at his hands, then back at the floor.

A thousand words wanted to climb out of me.

I wanted to ask him if he was upset, if he thought less of me now, if he was going to tell me I needed to leave if the test came back positive, if he wanted me to get rid of it… But I swallowed all of it.

Instead, I slid a little closer, slowly enough that he would have time to pull away if he wanted. When he didn’t, I slipped my fingers into his and laced them tight. He didn’t grip me back hard, but he didn’t let go either, and that was enough for me.

I leaned over until my head rested on his shoulder.

His shirt smelled like cologne and smoke, and I closed my eyes, letting it calm me even though my heart was still racing.

He didn’t say anything, and I didn’t push him to.

But I could feel that there was something buried in him I couldn’t reach, something he wouldn’t let come to the surface.

We just sat there together, letting the moment stretch out, both of us knowing that in a moment, we would find out the truth.

Today, I would find out if I was pregnant with Pressure’s baby.

I sat on the edge of Pressure’s bed for thirty minutes, fidgeting with my fingers and staring at the floor, unable to face how I was truly feeling.

My stomach felt twisted, and my heart was beating so hard it didn’t even feel like mine anymore.

I kept pressing my palms together and pulling them apart, rubbing at the lines in my skin, anything to distract myself from the way the silence was closing in on me.

Every few seconds I glanced toward the door, waiting for that knock, and when it finally came, I damn near jumped out of my skin.

Pressure didn’t move the way I did. He didn’t even blink.

He got up with that same calm he always carried, opened the door, spoke low to whoever was outside, and came back in with a small pharmacy bag dangling from his hand.

He didn’t toss it on the bed or move quick.

He set it down carefully like it weighed something heavy, then sat back beside me.

I couldn’t stop watching him. He peeled it open slow, slid the tray out, and unfolded the instructions like he wanted to be sure.

The test came with two sticks. I could tell it was a test that cost more than a couple dollars.

I couldn’t sit still after that. I stood up too fast, walked to his bar, and opened the little fridge.

I grabbed a Core water, twisted the cap off, and drank half of it without taking a breath.

My throat still felt dry when I finished, and the bottle crinkled in my hand as I put it down.

I leaned on the counter and stared at him while he sat there, quiet, scanning the paper.

His head was tilted, his tattoos flexing on his arm as he moved, and his face stayed unreadable.

That was the part that made me the most nervous.

If he would’ve shown me anything—if I could’ve read relief, or hope, or fear—I would’ve known where he stood.

But with him sitting there calm, it left me drowning in my own thoughts.

The minutes dragged. I shifted from one side of the room to the other, pacing and popping my knuckles just to keep my hands busy.

The water finally caught up to me after twenty minutes, and my body told me it was time whether I wanted it to be or not.

I stood, and before I even said anything, Pressure stood too.

It wasn’t a question. He followed me toward the bathroom.

The lights were too bright when I flicked them on. I held the test, and my hands felt clumsy. Pressure pulled the cap off for me and passed it over with a look that wasn’t nervous.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low.

I nodded even though my voice probably wouldn’t have come out right if I tried to answer.

I pee’d on the stick and when I finished, Pressure was still right there, slipping the cap back on and handing the test back to me like it was something we both owned now.

My hands were trembling, and I hated how obvious it was, but he didn’t call me on it.

He didn’t tell me to relax, and he didn’t crack a joke to lighten the moment.

He leaned back against the counter, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes locked on the test.

The seconds crawled, and my stomach hurt. I kept my eyes on the test because I didn’t want to see him first. If I saw any flicker of disappointment or relief in his face before the screen told me, I knew it would break me.

And then the word showed clear, simple and cruel…

Not pregnant.

The breath left my lungs in one sharp exhale.

I stared at the screen like it might change if I gave it time, but it didn’t.

My throat burned, and I swallowed it down, refusing to let it spill.

I told myself to keep my face together, to keep my back straight.

I stood, hit the handle, and flushed the toilet.

I turned the faucet on and washed my hands longer than I needed to, my eyes on the sink so I didn’t have to meet Pressure’s yet.

When I finally turned, I was ready to walk out and act like I was fine, but he caught my arm before I could make it to the door.

He pulled me in close, his arms wrapping around me with a force that made my knees weak.

His chest was warm against my cheek, and I gave in.

I pressed my face there, breathing him in, because I didn’t know what else to do.

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to.

The way he held me told me he knew I was feeling a way.

We stood there in silence, just holding each other.

I felt his hand rub slow circles against my back, and that small movement broke something open in me.

I didn’t cry loud, but my eyes burned until a few tears slid out, and I let them.

I thought about the way I had convinced myself I was pregnant, and how I started to picture a life with Pressure I didn’t even know I wanted before now.

I thought about what it would’ve meant to have a piece of him inside me for real, forever.

And now it was gone with two words on a screen.

When I finally stepped back, I didn’t look at him for long because I couldn’t. I still couldn’t read him. I didn’t know if he was feeling relief, disappointment or something else. His face didn’t give me the answers I needed, and I wasn’t brave enough to ask.

Back in his room, I sat on the bed and let my body sink into the mattress.

My chest still felt heavy, but at least my legs weren’t shaking anymore.

Pressure came back in a minute later, set the pregnancy box on the dresser, and then sat beside me.

He didn’t grab his phone or do anything to try to distract himself.

He just sat there like he had all night.

Later, when we finally laid down, I stared at the ceiling and told myself I would take the second test in the morning, just to be sure.

I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep even though my thoughts kept running.

Every little detail replayed in my mind—the knock at the door, the sound of the water bottle cracking in my grip and the second Pressure’s arms went around me.

And in the morning, when the sunlight broke through the curtains, I kept my promise. I went into the bathroom, unwrapped the second test, and waited all over again. I had the same nerves, and same weight pressing on me. And the result came just as clear as the first.

It was negative…