Page 6 of Reluctantly Ever After (The Oops Baby Club #2)

I've puked three times this morning. Three. And I’m blaming it on bad sushi… that I ate last week.

Yeah.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and stare at my reflection in the Cascade office bathroom mirror.

Holy hell, I look like death warmed over—pale and clammy, with circles under my eyes so dark they could be mistaken for actual bruises.

Even my pink hair looks sad, the rose gold fading to a washed-out shade that perfectly matches how I feel.

"Get your shit together, Wren," I mutter, splashing cold water on my face.

It's been six weeks since Vegas. Six weeks since I woke up naked with Kasen James's ring on my finger. Six weeks since we slept together, and I have zero idea if we used protection. My gut says no just based on the sheer level of stupid involved in that night.

I'm guessing my gut's right, because it's been eight weeks since my last period.

Nope. Absolutely not going there.

It's stress, obviously. I’ve been dealing with the MacIntyre deal, expanding distribution routes into uncharted territory, and dodging Kasen's increasingly persistent texts about fixing our "situation.” Who wouldn't skip a cycle with all that?

I dry my hands and straighten my blazer, doing a quick scan to make sure I didn't miss the toilet this time because it was close. Yep, I'm definitely not falling apart at all.

This is fine (she says in a voice like Ross from Friends).

Totally fine.

When I push open the bathroom door, Kieran is waiting in the hallway, leaning back against the wall with one ankle crossed over the other. He narrows his eyes, daring me to bullshit him.

"That's the third time today."

“Yep.”

He sighs and holds out a cup. "It’s peppermint tea. It’ll help."

I take it, grateful despite my irritation at being so transparently mothered. "I'm fine. It's just something I ate."

"For the past week?" Kieran falls into step beside me as we head back toward my office. "You've been 'something I ate'-ing for seven straight days, Wren."

"I've also been closing the Henderson deal while juggling three new breweries and keeping the Johnson route from imploding." I take a cautious sip of the tea. It's perfect—not too hot with just the right amount of honey. "I'm allowed to be a little under the weather."

"A little under the weather," Kieran repeats flatly. "You nearly passed out during the inventory meeting yesterday."

"The warehouse was hot."

"It was sixty-two degrees."

I shoot him a glare, but there's no real heat behind it. He knows me too well. "Don't you have actual work to do instead of monitoring my bathroom habits?"

"Apparently that's part of my job now, especially after yesterday." His expression softens slightly. "Seriously. What's going on with you? And as someone who’s spent a lot of energy focused on not knocking anyone up, I’m getting a bad feeling. I’m gonna need you to be straight with me."

We reach my office, the glass-walled corner space that overlooks the warehouse floor.

Through the windows, I watch our team loading trucks with kegs and cases.

A massive distribution map of the Pacific Northwest dominates one wall, colored pins marking our territory—red for exclusive contracts, blue for shared, yellow for pending negotiations.

There are a lot more red pins than there were six months ago.

I sit behind my desk, setting the tea down carefully. "Nothing's going on except the usual end-of-quarter chaos."

Kieran doesn't buy it for a second. He closes the office door and takes the seat across from me, his expression deadly serious.

"Is this about the airport deal? Because I heard through the industry grapevine that Kasen James is still furious. Apparently he's been trying to convince the airport to allow direct sales from local breweries instead of going exclusively through distributors."

My heart does a stupid little stutter at Kasen's name, and I focus on keeping my expression neutral. Seriously? Get it together, heart. That sounds exactly like something Kasen would do. He’s like me in that way, and we both refuse to accept defeat.

And that flutter in my stomach? Totally just irritation.

Obviously.

"Let him waste his time," I say, reaching for a file folder to give my hands something to do. "That contract is ironclad. And it's not like we haven't earned it. Half the craft beer sampled at PDX already comes through our warehouse."

Kieran studies me for a long moment. "There's something you're not telling me."

My fingers tighten on the folder. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Something happened in Vegas. You came back different."

I force a laugh that sounds wrong even to my own ears. "Different how?"

"Distracted. And now you're sick all the time. You're a mess, boss. And you lose your shit whenever Timber or Kasen James comes up."

I resist the urge to play with the ring still hanging around my neck. "I don’t lose my shit."

Kieran scoffs. "I was at that supplier meeting yesterday and overheard the Eastside Ales guys talking about you and Kasen having some kind of confrontation at the convention.

Then this morning, that rep from Evergreen Hops with the porn star mustache asked me if you two were 'still at each other's throats.' Deny it all you want, but people aren’t stupid.”

Meaning he’s not stupid. Heat floods my face. “People need to mind their own damn business. Nothing happened. Nothing worth talking about, anyway.”

"So something did happen."

Fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

"Nothing happened." The lie tastes like bile. Oh, wait. I think that’s actual vomit climbing back up my throat.

Kieran doesn't look convinced, but he mercifully drops the subject when my phone buzzes with a text. I glance down at the screen.

Out of the frying pan, into the freaking fire…

Kasen: Can we talk about Vegas?

Kasen: C'mon, Pink. You know we can't keep ignoring it

I grit my teeth at the nickname but take a deep breath to rein in my irritation so Kieran doesn’t notice.

Pink. Only Kasen calls me that, and somehow he manages to make those four letters sound both condescending and way too intimate at the same time. I don’t even know what to do with it other than get pissed off.

There might be the tiniest bit of me that likes the stupid name, but that part of me can fuck right off.

He's been trying to get me to meet for weeks now, sending texts I've been strategically ignoring. Clearly he's not taking the hint.

I switch off the screen without responding. Dealing with Kasen needs to be future me’s problem because right now I simply cannot.

"So," Kieran says, blessedly moving on, "we still on for Henderson this afternoon? I've got the numbers prepped, and those custom tap handles just came in."

I could kiss him for changing the subject. This is safe territory. I can handle work.

"Yes, we—" I choke a little as a wave of nausea hits me again and I’m not prepared for it. I swallow hard because if I don’t, I’m going to throw up.

I breathe through my nose, willing it to pass.

It does not, but I get my shit together enough to finish my earlier sentence.

"We should lead with the seasonal rotation plan.

Henderson wants flexibility with their limited releases. "

Kieran narrows his eyes. "You look like shit again. You just got all pale and sweaty."

"Wow, thanks."

He grins, but then it drops off his face. "Maybe you should go home. I can handle Henderson."

"I'm fine," I insist, even as my stomach rumbles out a warning and minty acid climbs up the back of my throat. Turns out that peppermint tea was a bad idea. "I just need a minute."

And about twenty-five Tums and maybe some Dramamine.

Or a nap. Yeah, I could really go for a nap.

Though it’s looking more and more like I’ll get to take it on the floor in front of the toilet.

He opens his mouth to argue, but I’ve already lost the battle and I jump up, shoving my chair out of the way and making a desperate dash for the bathroom. This time, I do puke on my shoes.

Ugh.

When I finally stumble from the stall, my assistant is waiting with a paper towel and an expression that says he's reached his limit on my bullshit for the day.

"Yeah," he says, handing me the towel. "You're going home. Now."

I start to protest, but another wave of dizziness sweeps over me, and I have to grab the sink to stay upright. Kieran grabs my arm, holding me steady while I rinse out my mouth.

"I’m not asking, boss," he says firmly. "Either you take yourself home, or I’ll take you. Better yet, take your ass straight to the doctor."

For once, I don't have the energy to fight, but I give it my best shot anyway. "The Henderson meeting?—"

"I already told you I'd handle it."

I nod, hating how weak I feel. This isn't me. I don't get sick. I don't take days off. I don't let anything interfere with the business I've built from nothing.

"Fine," I give in because really I don’t have any other choice. "But I'll be back tomorrow."

"We’ll see," Kieran says, already pulling out his phone to order the car.

I want to argue but I can’t, so I guess that’s tomorrow’s problem. Hopefully by then this food poisoning or whatever will finally be out of my system.

The ride home is a blur. I curl up in the back seat of the rideshare, trying to ignore the bubbling, gurgling mess of my stomach and the thoughts racing through my head. It's just a stomach bug. Or food poisoning. Or stress. Maybe a disgusting trifecta of all three.

It has to be.

But as the car pulls up to my apartment building, a different explanation—one I've been refusing to acknowledge in any way—pushes its way to the forefront of my mind.

I haven’t had my period since before Vegas.

It’s been… two months-ish?

What if this is something far, far worse than bad sushi?

"Fuck," I whisper, fumbling with my keys at the door. I drop them twice before I finally manage to unlock it.

Inside my apartment, I drop my bag on the counter and head straight for the bathroom. I dig through the cabinet under the sink, searching for the emergency pregnancy test I bought last year after a condom broke with a guy I met off an app for a hookup. I never needed to use it.

Not until today.

My hands shake as I read the instructions. Pee on the stick. Wait three minutes. Try not to freak out.

That last one’s not actually in the instructions, but it should be. And I’m failing at it.

Three minutes feels like three years. I pace my small bathroom, checking my phone every five seconds. I just let my mind run away with all sorts of calculations and scenarios, but none of it helps.

All my thoughts end up right back in one place: Vegas.

We used protection… I think. Most of the night is still a blur, but I remember bits and pieces of what happened. Mostly things like Kasen's hands on my hips, my fingers in his hair, his mouth hot against my neck.

I know we used a condom the first time. I think I remember that much.

But did we for round two? Round three?

My head falls back and I close my eyes, praying to anyone who’ll listen and begging to not let this be what I think it is.

The timer on my phone chimes, and I freeze. I can't look.

I can’t.

If I don't look, it’s not real. Nothing changes.

"Woman up, Wren. You can handle this," I mutter, forcing myself to pick up the plastic stick.

And look at that. Two lines. Clear as fucking day.

"No." The word comes out strangled because I absolutely cannot handle this . "No, no, no."

It could be a false positive, right? Those happen. The test is probably expired or faulty or?—

I need a second opinion. A professional one.

My hands are still shaking as I call the number for Dr. Reed Walker, one of the top-rated OB/GYNs in Portland.

I met him once at the re-opening of Timber after the fire last year, though we barely spoke.

Yeah, he’s good friends with Kasen and this could totally bite me in the ass, but if I’m going to do this, I want the best, and that’s Dr. Walker.

I just have to pray doctor-patient confidentiality is really a thing.

"Portland OBGYN," a cheerful voice answers. "How can I help you?"

"I need to see Dr. Walker," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "Today, if possible. It's an emergency."

"I'm sorry, but Dr. Walker doesn’t have anything available until?—"

"Tell him it's Wren Callan. I'm friends with Clover Priestly. Please tell him it's an emergency." I hate using connections, especially Kasen's sister, who I'm not exactly friends with, but desperate times and all that.

I'm friends-ish with Clover's best friend Navy, and also married to her brother even if she doesn't know it, so what the hell.

There's a pause, then, "One moment, please."

While I wait, I chew on my thumbnail, something I haven’t done in years.

"Ms. Callan?" the receptionist’s voice is just as cheery when she comes back on the line. "Dr. Walker says he can fit you in at four o'clock."

The rush of relief I feel is insane, followed right up with another dose of anxiety because now I have to face this for real. "I'll be there."

I hang up and sink onto the edge of the bathtub, letting my head fall into my hands and my phone drop to the floor. This cannot be happening. I have a five-year plan, a distribution empire to build, and absolutely zero room for a baby.

Especially not Kasen James's baby.

What the hell am I going to do?