Page 16

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Kenzie

My hands wrap around the steering wheel and tears well up distorting my view of the road as I drive home.

My chest feels as if it's constricted by an invisible band, each breath catching in my throat, suspended somewhere between panic and the bitter sting of shame.

I barfed on Braden.

All over him at the rink.

Oh fuck!

A wave of heat floods my cheeks, the sharp pain of humiliation twisting my stomach into tighter knots.

My throat still burns with the remnants of acid, the sour taste lingering stubbornly no matter how many times I swallow.

My mouth is parched, but even the mere thought of drinking anything sends a shudder through me, threatening to bring the bile back up.

Mortifying images storm my mind: Braden stepping back, his expression a mixture of shock and disgust as he wipes his shirt.

I’m sure that Reggie and Ambrose laughed when they found out. I can almost hear them deciding in unison that I'm not worth the hassle.

I envision them shaking their heads, whispering in hushed tones: “She's gross, not nearly as fun and sexy as we thought”.

The ache in my heart cuts deeper than any pain in my stomach. I know that they would never feel that way about me, but it’s hard not to imagine the worst.

It’s one of the things I do best.

Sniffling hard, I swipe at the dampness on my cheeks, turning into my apartment complex with shaky hands.

My palms are slick with sweat against the steering wheel, and the unpleasant scent of vomit clings stubbornly to my clothes, a persistent reminder of the recent disaster.

It feels as though I'll never be clean again, inside or out.

The bile threatens to rise once more, but I force it down with sheer willpower.

I just need to get home.

I just need to get home, and take a scalding shower, and somehow erase the memory of how I humiliated myself. I’m worried I disgusted the three men who mean more to me than I’m willing to admit.

Pulling into the driveway, my hands tremble as I fumble through my bag to find my phone. My thumb quivers over the screen as I unlock it, and my heart skips a beat at the myriad of messages that flood in.

Reggie You all right, lass?

Braden Don’t worry about me. Just want to know you’re okay.

Ambrose Please let us know if you need anything. Anything.

They’re not angry. They’re concerned.

A wave of relief crashes over me with such intensity that I almost burst into tears again. My fingers hover uncertainly above the keyboard, unsure of what to type.

Should I say thank you?

Apologize for messing up their day?

In the end, I choose something straightforward and simple.

I type back quickly.

I’m home. Still feeling sick, but I’ll be okay. Thank you.

Their warm concern envelops me like a cozy blanket, yet a cramp in my stomach pulls me back to the harshness of reality. I mentally trace back my day.

What did I eat?

Coffee, a granola bar, half a turkey wrap from the rink’s café. Nothing unusual.

No one else seemed ill.

Food poisoning doesn’t seem likely.

I clutch my abdomen as another sharp pain jolts through me, and the rain begins to drum more insistently on the windshield.

I need to get inside before I end up vomiting anywhere that’s not a toilet or trashcan.

Again.

I barely manage to unlock my apartment door before another relentless wave crashes over me. I sprint to the bathroom, knees striking the cold, unforgiving tile as I hunch over the porcelain rim of the toilet.

The acrid, sour stench assaults my senses, filling my nostrils as my stomach convulses violently. The acidic burn sears my throat, leaving a fiery trail in its wake.

I cling desperately to the toilet seat with one hand, the other pressing against the cool, tiled wall for balance, my fingers trembling with the effort.

When the episode finally subsides, I gasp for air, wiping my mouth with a tissue as a fog of dizziness settles over me like a heavy shroud.

Dragging myself to the kitchen feels like wading through molasses, my limbs weighted down with invisible anchors as I fill a glass with tap water.

The cool liquid offers a fleeting reprieve, soothing the raw feeling in my throat, but its relief is short-lived, and it soon refuses to stay down.

By the time I collapse onto the couch, cocooned beneath a worn throw blanket, my entire body is a symphony of aches and weariness.

The TV plays a mindless sitcom, its laugh track echoing hollowly through the room, a poor salve for the persistent nausea that rises like clockwork, relentless and unyielding.

Each laborious trip to the bathroom feels more daunting than the last. My head throbs with a steady, unrelenting rhythm, my muscles ache intermittently with sharp, spasmodic cramps, and my lips feel parched and cracked.

I clutch my churning stomach as another wave of nausea begins to stir, a tide I am powerless to resist.

Please, let this torment end.

At some point, between another desperate bout of vomiting and the overwhelming haze of exhaustion, I manage to text Ally.

My fingers tremble uncontrollably over the keys, shaky and weak as if each letter weighs a ton.

I might not make it tomorrow. Sick as hell. Sorry.

I place the phone on the couch armrest, allowing my eyes to close for just a moment.

The couch’s fabric feels rough and scratchy against my cheek, but I’m too drained to care. My body feels utterly depleted, as if every ounce of strength has been wrung out, leaving me hollow.

I struggle to breathe through the relentless waves of nausea, concentrating on the soothing scent of my apple candle somewhere on the coffee table.

Just as I begin to drift into a dazed half-sleep, the phone vibrates once more. The sudden sound slices through the background hum of the TV, jolting me awake.

I groan, trying to shift and reach for it when my stomach violently protests again.

“Oh no…not again!”

I scramble up, stumbling toward the bathroom, but don’t make it in time. Grabbing the wastebasket just in time, I retch, the hot, bitter bile burning my throat once more.

Shaking when it’s finally over, my entire body is coated in a cold, clammy sweat.

Panting heavily, I hear the phone ringing, its tinny chime muffled by the couch cushions. I crawl back toward the living room, wiping my mouth and feeling my heart race with anxiety and hope.

With trembling fingers, I swipe the screen of my phone.

“Hello?” My voice emerges hoarse, my throat raw from the relentless bouts of vomiting.

“Kenzie? It’s Ally,” her familiar voice fills my ear, a comforting warmth and concern woven through her words. “I got your text. Are you okay? What’s going on?”

I exhale a breath that’s half a weary laugh, half a groan of despair. “Ugh. I don’t even know where to start…I threw up. On Braden. Like…all over him. It was mortifying.”

For a moment, silence hangs between us before Ally bursts into laughter, loud, unrestrained, and echoing through the speaker with a contagious energy that I can’t resist.

I join in, though my laughter is weak and strained.

“Oh my God…I’m sorry, but that’s…” she gasps, still caught in the throes of laughter, “that’s legendary. He’s never going to forget that.”

“Gee, thanks,” I mumble, a reluctant smile stretching across my face despite my embarrassment.

Her tone softens, enveloping me in a gentle concern. “Seriously though, what else is going on? You sound awful.”

I start listing my symptoms: the relentless vomiting, the bone-deep exhaustion, the pervasive soreness, and a throbbing headache.

“Hmmm…honestly, it sounds a lot like what happened to me before I found out I was pregnant with the triplets.”

I freeze, my mind going blank. The air seems to thin around me, each breath more difficult to draw. “What?”

“You know,” she says lightly, as if discussing the weather, “I thought it was a bug or food poisoning. Turns out I was pregnant with the babies.”

“Oh my God.” My heart lurches violently, my stomach twisting, not from nausea this time, but pure, unadulterated panic.

Silence swells between us, heavy and charged with unspoken fears and possibilities.

I whisper, barely audible, “Do you think…? Oh my God, Ally.” My hand clamps over my mouth as reality starts sinking in.

“Hold tight. I’m coming over. We’ll figure this out together, but…oh, you need to tell me, though, what’s been going on with you and the boys?” Her voice sharpens, but not in judgment.

She’s my friend. She’s worried. She’s in a harem. I can trust her.

I inhale deeply, though it catches in my chest. “We’ll, it’s kinda like what you have going on except with different guys, obviously. Ambrose, Braden, Reggie…I’ve kind of… been with all of them.” My voice cracks. “Together…and separately.”

I feel my face hot, which means I must be raspberry-red at this point.

Ally’s quiet for a beat, then lets out a delighted cackle. “Damn, girl. Well done, can’t blame you.”

I bury my face in my hands, concealing a strained, embarrassed smile. “I wasn’t trying to! It just…happened. And now…what if I’m pregnant? And I don’t know which one’s the father?”

“Oh, Kenz,” Her voice softens, understanding seeping into every syllable. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. You’re not alone. I’ve been in your shoes.”

I clutch the phone tighter. My throat tightens with the threat of tears. “But my parents…if they knew…”

“Stop,” Ally interrupts. “We’ll cross that bridge later. This is about you right now.”

Tears spill over. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” she says gently. “But you’ve got me. You’ve got them. You’re not doing this alone.”

I nod even though she can’t see me. Her words anchor me, just barely.

“I’m bringing tests. Sit tight.”

“Okay.” My voice is small.

The line goes dead, and I’m left in the quiet waiting for her knock. Sleep overtakes me as I rest my head on the arm of the couch.

Ally’s knock on the door jolts me awake.

I stumble across the room, my feet dragging slightly, and pull the door open. There stands Ally, clutching a pharmacy bag tightly against her chest, her eyes brimming with warmth and concern.

Without uttering a single word, she steps into the room and envelops me in a comforting embrace.

“Oh, sweetie,” she murmurs tenderly, her fingers gently stroking my hair. “I’ve got you.”

Tears spill silently down my cheeks as I clutch her back, sinking deeply into her warmth. Her hug feels like a lifeline.

She pulls back slightly, her eyes scanning my face with a careful, attentive gaze. “You okay?” she asks softly.

I nod, though my lower lip trembles slightly. “I just…I’m so scared. And embarrassed. And…everything.”

“I get it,” she responds with a gentle assurance. “But whatever happens, you’ve got a village behind you. Me, those boys…hell, I’ll bring my triplets over to babysit if we need to.”

A weak laugh escapes me, a small release of the tension coiled inside.

We move together to the couch, where she sets the pharmacy bag down with a soft crinkle, its contents shifting.

With a flourish, she pulls out five different pregnancy test boxes, fanning them out like a deck of playing cards.

“Five? Really?” I arch an eyebrow in mild disbelief.

“We’re getting answers,” she declares with mock authority, her tone playful yet determined. “Pee on one of each. We’ll use all fifteen if we have to, but I think we’ll know by the first couple.”

A nervous feeling bubbles up from within me. I gather the tests in my hands, heading toward the bathroom with Ally’s reassuring presence at my back.

This is real.

My heart pounds loudly in my chest, but I know I won’t have to face this alone.

We sit cross-legged on my cozy, overstuffed couch, staring intently at the coffee table as if it holds the secrets of the universe.

Five white plastic tests are meticulously lined up, their results developing with an excruciating slowness. My stomach twists in tight knots and not from nausea, but from the sheer, overwhelming nerves within me.

Ally squeezes my hand, her touch warm and grounding like a lifeline in a turbulent sea. “Whatever happens, you’ll be okay.”

I try to believe her words, though doubt weighs heavily on me. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I’m pregnant. My parents will…God, Ally, you don’t understand. They’re Ohio conservative. They still call jeans ‘worldly’,” I say, the irony laced with a hint of despair.

She snorts, a sound that’s both amused and incredulous. “Well, they’re gonna love hearing about your three boyfriends, then.”

I groan, a sound caught between laughter and the urge to throw up again. “I can’t tell them. Ever. They’ll disown me.”

“Maybe that’s not the worst thing,” she says gently, her words laced with understanding.

Tears well in my eyes, threatening to spill over. “They’re still my family. Even if they’re,” I pause, searching for the right word, “suffocating.”

Ally nods, her expression one of empathetic resolve. “But this is your life. And if you want this baby, or these babies, if you end up pulling an Ally , then it’s your choice.”

My chest tightens with a mix of fear and uncertainty. I wipe my damp palms on my leggings, the fabric cool against my skin. “I don’t even know what I want. I just…I don’t want to lose the guys. They make me happy.”

She smiles, her eyes filled with warmth and encouragement. “Then hold onto that.”

I stare at the tests laid out before me. One line. Two lines. Each one, unmistakably positive.

My breath quickens, and the world around me tilts off its axis, reducing sounds to a distant, indistinct hum.

My pulse pounds fiercely in my ears, an insistent drumbeat echoing as if underwater.

My chest constricts painfully, and my vision narrows into a tunnel.

“Oh God,” I whisper hoarsely, my throat parched and scratchy like sandpaper.

“Kenzie, hey, look at me.” Ally’s voice slices through the fog enveloping me.

She holds my shoulders firmly, grounding me in the present moment. Her hands are warm and reassuring, a solid anchor in the storm. “Breathe with me. In. And out.”

I struggle to comply, drawing in shallow, trembling breaths. She looks at me, our eyes connecting as she works with me to slow my breathing.

I clutch her hand desperately, my fingernails digging into her palm as if she’s my only lifeline.

“I can’t, Ally…what am I…what if they leave? What if I have to do this alone?” My words spill out in a frantic, jumbled torrent, broken only by my sudden gasps for air between my sobs.

“You won’t be alone,” she replies with unwavering certainty. Her eyes meet mine, steady and reassuring. “You have me. And I have a feeling you’ll have them, too. But right now, you don’t need to think about any of that. You just need to decide what you want.”

Tears overflow, spilling down my cheeks in hot, stinging rivulets. I nod, though my mind continues to race chaotically.

Ally exhales softly, a calming presence amidst the chaos. “You’re okay. We’re gonna figure this out.”

I grasp her hand tighter, my heart still a wild, relentless thunder in my chest.

Perhaps I’m not okay.

But with her by my side, I’m not drowning.

Ally shifts closer, enveloping me in her arms with the tenderness of a protective big sister.

Her fingers weave through my hair, nails gently scraping my scalp with a soothing rhythm. The sensation is a balm, slowly calming my erratic breaths.

“It’s all going to be okay,” she murmurs, her voice soft and gentle, like a lullaby. Her fingers continue their gentle dance, unraveling knots I hadn't realized were there.

The soft rasp of her nails against my scalp eases away some of the tension that had coiled tightly within me.

I exhale slowly, yet the bitter metallic taste of panic still clings stubbornly to my tongue.

“You don’t need to think about your parents, or the guys, or anything else. What do you want?” she asks, her words a gentle nudge towards self-reflection.

I close my eyes, nestling my cheek against her shoulder. “I…I don’t know…I think I want this baby, but…” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “But I’m so scared.”

“That’s okay. Being scared doesn’t mean you’re not strong,” she reassures me, her words a lifeline in the sea of uncertainty.

We order Chinese food, comfort disguised as takeout. Steam curls lazily from my plastic container of steamed chicken and broccoli with no sauce, its blandness a perfect match for my unsettled stomach.

Each bite grounding me with its simplicity.

We put on a rom-com, the soft laughter drifting from the screen as two impossibly attractive people fumble their way into love.

It’s an easy distraction, a temporary escape from my worries.

When Ally gets up to leave, she wraps me in a tight embrace. “Listen, rest, hydrate, eat whatever you can but try to make it nutritious and not just junk food, and look into vitamins. Come back to work next Monday. Doctor’s orders,” she finishes with a playful wink. “I’ll cover for you. As of now, you have a very nasty stomach bug.”

I hold on to her a little longer than necessary, reluctant to let go, not yet ready to face solitude.

“Thank you, really,” I choke out before letting her go. She gives me a smile and promises to call tomorrow before turning away and heading outside.

The door clicks shut behind Ally. I sink onto the couch, clutching my stomach as if trying to hold myself together.

The quiet sound of the TV show’s credits fades into oblivion, leaving only the low, steady hum of the fridge and the sporadic creaks of the old wooden floorboards beneath me.

The air feels thicker, heavier, like a tangible force pressing down on me, suffocating in its intensity.

This place doesn’t feel like home anymore.

Not after spending so many nights intertwined with the guys, laughter echoing around their dining table, or waking up nestled in a tangle of limbs in their oversized bed, the scent of them lingering in the sheets.

I stare at the TV screen, my reflection a ghostly silhouette in the darkened glass. “What the hell am I doing?” I whisper into the void, my voice barely a tremor in the oppressive silence.

I rub my temples with trembling fingers. The nausea has subsided for now, but a persistent, dull ache gnaws at my gut. I try to piece together my cycle, but it’s all a chaotic blur.

I’d been so consumed by them, by the thrill of their presence, the comfort of their touch, I hadn’t noticed the days slipping away like sand through my fingers.

Leaning back, I press my palms into my eyes, as if that will block out the overwhelming weight of it all, the baby, the guys, my parents, the impending storm of consequences.

Would they leave? Would they want to know whose it is? Would it even matter to them? These questions swirl like a storm in my mind.

I exhale shakily, the breath leaving me like a deflated balloon. I know what my parents would say, their voices a haunting echo in my mind. “You’ve ruined your life.”

Tears threaten to spill over, burning hot in my eyes, but I push them back with sheer force of will.

My hand rests gently over my uterus as I lay across the couch.

It feels flat, still “normal”, but there’s a subtle difference.

It’s firmer, almost taut beneath my fingers, where once it was softer.

Slowly, I trace delicate circles over the spot just below my navel, the thought silently creeping in. There’s a life in there.

A rush of warmth floods my chest, melting with a wave of fear. I didn’t know what I expected to feel, but this…it’s more intense than anything I could have imagined.

I picture Braden’s wide grin, the way his eyes light up when he teases me.

I think of Reggie’s easy, infectious laugh, his playful flirting like a gentle breeze on a summer day.

I imagine Ambrose’s steady, grounding presence, the way his hand lingers on the small of my back when no one’s looking, a silent promise of support and care.

Then, the thought of them leaving lingers like a shadow over my heart, making it ache with a dull, persistent pain.

All three losses at once, three people who make me feel wanted, seen and adored.

Would they really stay if this all got serious?

I close my eyes, imagining their reactions, the vivid scenes playing out in my mind.

Braden, his jade eyes wide with surprise, running a hand through his inky hair. “Whoa, that’s way more than I signed up for…”

Reggie, all charm but with a new flicker of nervous detachment beneath his rippling surface. “ Lass , no…nothing about me is father material...”

Then, Ambrose, steady, calm, but his eyes would darken with a shadow of worry and doubt. “You know I already have a son…I can’t afford another child and estranged mother…”

The thoughts bring me to shuddering sobs.

They’d all raise their hands in surrender, back away, deciding I wasn’t worth the trouble any longer, I’m sure of it.

Tears blind my vision, hot and unwelcome.

I clutch my stomach, whispering softly, “I want you…but I’m so scared. So scared they won’t…”

The exhaustion finally wins, pulling me under like a gentle tide.

I curl into the couch, blanket pulled tight around me like a cocoon.

The room blurs as I drift into uneasy sleep, my hand still resting protectively over my belly.