Page 55 of Ride Me Reckless

That night, I’d doubled over in the hotel bathroom, the cramps so sharp they stole my breath. Blood. Silence. Tears Inever let anyone see. I cleaned up the mess, flushed the toilet, and told myself the pregnancy wasn’t meant to be.

And I never told Colt.

Not then. Not ever.

Because I was moving on. Because I thought I had something to prove to the world. Because the guilt of never telling him was easier to carry than the weight of his disappointment.

I pressed the towel tighter around me and whispered, “God, don’t let this be another goodbye.”

This time—if it was true—I wouldn’t just ignore it.

I stood slowly, staring at my blurry reflection in the mirror above the tiny sink. My cheeks were pale. My eyes were wide and cautious. But somewhere in the middle of all that fear… was something else.

Something that felt a lot like hope.

The drive into town was short, but my fingers clenched the steering wheel like I was navigating black ice instead of two clean lanes and a speed limit that barely broke forty.

Main Street looked the same as always—Cooper’s Hardware with its faded red awning, the little bakery that still put out cinnamon rolls at ten, and the pharmacy tucked between the bank and the diner like it was afraid to take up too much space.

I parked around back and cut the engine. For a second, I just sat there.

Breathe in. Breathe out. You’ve done harder things.

As I pushed open the pharmacy door, it creaked loudly. The fluorescent lights emitted an overly loud hum, reflecting off the linoleum floor and giving the place a stark, clinical vibe.

I moved quickly, head down, not making eye contact with the cashier at the front. The box was right where I thought it would be—same blue branding, same whisper of a promise in cursive font:Know for sure.

God.

I snatched it off the shelf and turned down the pain relief aisle, pretending to browse, waiting for a clear path to the checkout.

And that’s when I heard it.

“Tessa Walker? That you?”

My stomach dropped.

I turned slowly, forcing a smile. “Hey, Laney.”

Laney Fisher—now Laney Givens, if the ring on her finger meant anything. We’d graduated together. She always had a quick smile and quicker gossip, the kind of girl who could braid your hair in homeroom and turn your breakup into lunchtime entertainment.

“I thought that was you. Haven’t seen you since…” she trailed off, eyes flicking to the box in my hand before bouncing back to my face with polite interest.

“Just picking something up for Callie,” I said quickly, lifting the box and offering a shrug that felt too practiced.

“Ah,” Laney said, dragging the word out. “Tell her I said hi. Y’all staying with Rhett, right?”

I nodded. “Just for now. Taking things one day at a time.”

“Well, good to see you,” she said, smiling like she wasn’t already mentally filing this moment away for later. “Take care of yourself, Tess.”

“You too.”

I paid in cash and left fast, my cheeks burning.

Back at the trailer, I locked the door behind me and pulled the shades without thinking. The walls felt too thin, the silence too loud. I sat on the closed toilet lid and peeled the box open with fingers that didn’t feel like mine.

The instructions were familiar. Too familiar. I didn’t need to read them. But I did.