Page 16 of Risk (Gods #3)

L o stayed the night at my place, which I appreciated. The last thing I wanted was to be alone. He offered to call in sick for work, but I didn’t want to be the reason he took time off from work and his studies.

He’s currently working at this big, fancy law firm until he passes the bar and can start practicing.

He interned at a law firm in Pennsylvania during his final few years of law school, and I worried for a while that he might stay there.

He might be a pain in my ass at times, but I like my family all being so close.

Fortunately, he missed us all, too, and wanted to come home, so when he graduated, he moved back here to take the bar exam and landed this job, working as a junior associate with the hope of earning a permanent job once he passes the bar.

He crashed on my sofa, which I know is not comfortable at all. But somehow, he was out the minute his head hit the pillow. He has always been able to sleep anywhere and through anything.

Thank God he heard my call yesterday when I woke him from a nap.

I didn’t sleep at all. Spent the whole night flitting between staring at the ceiling and silently crying into my pillow.

It was not a productive night, and I look like absolute shit, like something I just threw up. But I have a class this afternoon, and I am in desperate need of a distraction from thoughts of babies and pregnancy, so I’ve decided to go to class instead of skipping.

But it’s pointless because not one bit of information the lecturer gives to us penetrates my brain.

I have another class in an hour and figure I should get some coffee to help get my brain working.

Leaving the building, I walk in the direction of the coffee shop near campus.

I should probably get something to eat as well because I spent most of the morning throwing up, and the slice of toast I had for lunch came straight back up as well.

The sickness usually abates by now, and my tummy is feeling less nauseous and more like I can keep something down.

I open the door to the coffee shop, immediately soothed by the aroma of coffee and baked goods. I join the end of the short line and wait.

When it’s my turn, I go to order my usual vanilla latte but pause because…isn’t caffeine bad for the baby?

I know I haven’t decided what I’m going to do, but that doesn’t mean I should put the baby at risk by drinking caffeine. And can I have cow milk? I literally have no clue about anything to do with pregnancies and babies.

“Ma’am?”

I blink, coming to, seeing the glaring face of the slightly bored but annoyed-looking barista.

“Sorry. What did you say?”

She sighs. “I asked what I could get you.”

“Oh yeah, um…” I give a quick scan of the board and see nothing appealing. “Do you have decaf?” I ask her.

She gives me a look that clearly says she thinks I’m dumb. “Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll have a black decaf Americano.” I don’t even like coffee without milk or cream, for fuck’s sake.

Maybe I should’ve gotten an iced tea. Or does tea have caffeine? God, I don’t even know. Why am I so clueless about this stuff?!

Maybe because I didn’t expect to need to know this type of thing at this point in my life.

“That all?”

“A…” Shit, I was going to order my usual lemon muffin, but I literally have no idea if lemon is okay to have. I mean, I can’t see why it wouldn’t be.

I lean my head back, staring at the food in the glass cabinet, my eyes landing on a croissant. That’s just bread. That’s not going to hurt the baby, surely.

“Ma’am? Anything else?”

Christ, this chick is impatient.

I give her a look of displeasure, which is so unlike me. I’m usually nice to everyone. Even dickheads.

“I’ll take a croissant as well, please.”

Ugh, why did I use my manners with such a rude woman? She doesn’t deserve politeness. But it’s so ingrained in me that I can’t frigging help it.

“Staying in or to go?” she barks.

I frown. “To go.” No manners used that time. I give myself a mental high five. Which is kind of lame if you think about it, but whatever.

I pay for my coffee and croissant, which she puts in a paper bag and holds out to me in what can only be described as an impatient manner. Can an arm be impatient? Well, whatever. Hers is.

Clutching the paper bag, I go stand in the area to wait for my coffee. Normally, I’d get my phone out and browse social media or watch TikToks, but I don’t this time. I find myself people-watching.

Mainly watching the woman who’s seated in the corner. She has a small child in her lap, who she’s feeding what looks to be a bran muffin.

I feel this tug deep inside of me.

If I decide to have this baby—my and Kaden’s baby—then that will be me one day.

Actually, no, that won’t be me because a guy—I’m assuming the baby’s father—has just sat down next to her, and the child is now clambering out of the mom’s lap and into the father’s. And if I do have this baby, then there’ll be no dad in my picture like that because I’ll be doing it alone.

“Missy,” I hear being called from the counter.

I walk over and pick up my decaf Americano.

I take one last glance at the mother with her young child, and then I push out the door and head back to class.

It’s when I’m seated, waiting for the lecture to start, unable to stop thinking about that woman and her child and replacing her in the image with myself, that I realize I know someone I can talk to about this.

Someone who went through pretty much the same thing that I’m going through right now.

Found herself alone and pregnant when still at college.

I could talk through how I’m feeling to her and get her perspective on things.

It’s just…I’m not sure if I can. Because, well, you see…

The problem is that she’s married to my big brother, and his best friend is the guy who knocked me up.