Page 7

Lara

Home sweet home.

I inhale a deep breath of the calming scent of my home. The place isn’t as big as we need it to be, but I’ll fix that as soon as I get my business off the ground. Which won’t be long, now.

“Morning, Damon,” I call out. The sun catches the spokes of his wheelchair as he rolls in to meet me. He’s quick to throw his arms around me, and I pat his shoulder.

“I missed you,” he says. “Did you have fun?”

I nod. There’s only three years’ difference between us, but he’s almost childlike some of the time.

“Tea?” I ask, moving toward the kitchen. He grunts as he follows me with an ease that belies the strength it requires. His hands grip the wheels, fingers calloused, his arms more powerful now than they ever were before.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the room, and I decide I’d rather have the hit of caffeine, even though I might regret it later. Who wants mid-afternoon jitters? Me, I guess.

“Sure.” His voice is bright and there's a gleam in his eyes—a spark of that old mischievous brother I know lurks beneath the surface.

I watch him for a moment, the determined set of his jaw as he positions himself by the window. While his attention wanders, I can’t help but feel inspired by him. He’s resilient, not willing to let the past define his future or stop him from living life to the fullest. He's not just sitting; he's claiming his space in the world, refusing to let the chair restrict his life.

“It’s a beautiful day,” he says, and I nod, pouring hot water into one mug and coffee into the other.

“It’s too beautiful to stay cooped up inside.” He knows I like it when he goes out and gets some fresh air and sunshine.

“Got plans?” he asks, thanking me softly as I bring him tea and sit at the table opposite him with my coffee.

“Maybe.” It’s a half-truth. My heart shivers, betraying the secret I'm not ready to share.

“Spill,” he says, without looking at me. It's eerie how he can read my silence.

“Later,” I say, deflecting as I burn my mouth on boiling hot coffee. Inhaling a breath through my mouth to cool the burn, I avoid his gaze as if that’ll make him believe nothing is going on.

We're more than siblings; we're allies in a world that hasn't always been kind to either of us. This is home, this is my family. And nothing will change that—not even the secret I’m afraid to vocalize for fear that’ll make it come true.

We lapse into silence, then I realize things have been quiet for far too long, and I look over at him. Something isn’t right. I recognize that look in his eyes, and it’s one that chills me to the bone.

“Damon,” I whisper. “Talk to me.”

He turns, lips pressed into a thin line. “Just… old ghosts,” he says.

I know what he’s talking about – the boys who ruined his life.

Anger fills his expression. “They got off scot-free while I'm...” He gestures to his legs, a bitter laugh escaping him.

“Hey.” I walk over to him and crouch by his side, taking his hand in mine. “You're so much more than what happened to you.”

A muscle twitches in his jaw. “Am I?” There's defiance there, and pain—poison emotions I can't swallow for him.

“Always,” I say. “You're the bravest person I know. Probably the strongest, too.”

“Bravery didn't keep me on my feet, did it?” His words are sharp, but they don't cut me. They’re not intended to hurt me. They’re his outlet, a way to come to terms with what happened to him and vent the unfairness of it all.

“No.” I know better than to remind him that bravery wouldn’t have saved him anyway. “But it keeps you rolling forward. That counts for a hell of a lot.”

“It doesn't feel like it some days.” He looks away, the pain in his eyes still so fresh and raw.

“Listen to me, Damon.” My tone is steel, unbreakable and strong. “I'm here for you. No matter what. You’re not alone.”

“Even if that means sacrificing your plans for the future and the life you want to live?” He shakes his head, as if doubting he’s worth that.

“Whatever it takes.” My response is immediate. Fear clamps down on my heart, but I push it aside. For him.

“It isn't fair to you,” he says, but I shake my head.

“Life isn’t fair for anyone. But you’re my favorite person in this whole world, and I love you.” I squeeze his hand, willing him to believe it.

He nods, but I sense he’s not convinced. I don’t know what else to say, so I decide to push forward instead of looking back. “Now, how about we tackle the day? Together.” Except one thing I have to do alone.

“That sounds like a plan,” he says, and there's a spark of something that wasn't there before; hope or trust. Either way, I’ll take it.

*

I’m in the bathroom, trying to keep from throwing up. My hands tremble as I tear open the package, the crinkle of paper loud in the silence.

“Come on,” I whisper to myself, willing my heart to settle down. “It's just a test.”

A test that could redefine everything and alter the course of my life forever.

I follow the instructions, feeling numb and refusing to let myself to think beyond each step. The seconds drag into minutes. My heart clenches, my hands shake, and I can’t control the urge to bounce a leg as I sit and wait.

And then, there they are—two little blue lines in the white test window.

“Damn it.” The words are a whisper, and tears blur my vision, but I blink them back. This changes nothing. Alex needs me, and I've got plans, big plans that don't include diapers, midnight feedings, and sleep deprivation.

Twin tears slip down my cheeks. We don’t need this. Damon needs my attention, even though he’s very capable on his own. But neither of us can handle a baby in the mix.

But the truth is, it's not just about Alex. It's about Lark—the only man I’ve slept with in the last six months, and therefore the only man who could be the father of the baby growing within me.

I squeeze my eyes closed and see his face; the bad boy with a smirk that could melt steel and a reputation that could freeze hell over. Lark, the man who knew my body better than I knew myself and made me feel incredible in ways no one else before him could.

But I can’t tell him. The man is dangerous. Chaos, personified. Fun for a fling, but not someone I can let into my life for good. Just tying myself to him as the father of my child is too much. He has the power to ruin my plans, my future, my life. I can’t let that happen. For Damon. For me.

My hand touches my belly low between my hips, as if I’ll be able to feel something there. But the area is flat. Still, I know there’s something there, a baby.

What do I do now?

“Trouble follows you, Lark,” I whisper, into the empty room, my mind struggling to solve this riddle I’m facing. “I won't let it follow my child.”

And just like that, everything falls into place. I’ll figure things out, just like I always have. I wipe the last tear away, toss the evidence of my new reality into the trash, and square my shoulders. Life might have just thrown a curveball, but I've got my eye on the ball, and I'm not striking out.

“Whatever it takes,” I whisper, the memory of my earlier promise to my brother mixing with a new vow made in my heart.

“Whatever it takes.”

I pull out my phone and call Shana. I want to ask her to come over so I can share the news.

“Shana,” I blurt out before she can even say hello, “I'm pregnant.”

A heartbeat passes, then another, then she speaks so softly I wonder if I’ve made up her response. “Oh, Lara, that's—wow.”

“Yeah, wow doesn't quite cover it.” I still haven’t come to terms with the turn my life has taken.

“Have you… Who…” She doesn't finish the questions, but I know what she's asking.

“Only Lark,” I say, his name slipping over my lips like a secret I shouldn't tell. “He can't know, Shana. He just can't.”

“Understood,” she says in her ride-or-die tone, and I breathe a sigh of relief that she’s firmly in my corner. What would I do without her? “What do you need?”

“Everything. Nothing. I don't know.” My laugh is a puff of breath, disbelief still clinging to my thoughts and mind. This can’t be real. This isn’t reality. It’s a dream I’ll wake from. And then I’ll shake my head and go about my life as usual.

“Girl, I got you,” Shana says, a laugh in her voice. “Need me to be your baby's daddy?”

The laugh that bursts from me is real this time, and loud. “You'd look terrible with a beard.”

“Oh, please. I'd rock a beard,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Thanks, Shana,” I say, the weight on my shoulders easing an ounce. “For making me laugh when I feel like crying.”

“Anytime, Lara. Anytime.” Her promise wraps around me like a hug I so desperately need right now, and I’m grateful for her. I hang up, and my laughter fades, replaced by a quiet strength. I can do this.

“Whatever it takes,” I whisper to myself.

And I believe it.

I’ve got this.