Page 47 of The Surrender (Arlington Hall #2)

The front door swings open and Lloyd’s face drops. “Oh fuck, what’s happened?” he breathes. “Charley!”

I thought I’d got a hold of myself, but the second Charley appears, the dam cracks again and emotion pours out of me rapidly. It might be the familiar face. I don’t know.

“I’ll leave you three to it,” Lloyd says, claiming the kids and making a sharp exit, just as Abbie appears. That makes me cry harder. Charley hauls me into her chest, squeezing me, and Abbie’s hand pats at my back. My sobs accelerate, becoming louder, my body more out of control.

“Amelia?” Abbie says gently, as Charley guides me to the kitchen and puts me on a stool. Abbie runs to the fridge, pours wine for everyone, and when she slides it across the island to me, I cry harder.

“Oh fucking hell.” Abbie leans back on her stool, swigging her own wine with wide eyes, bracing herself.

A tissue is pushed into my hand, and I use the other to pull out the box from my bag and put it on the island.

Both women stare down at it for much longer than they really need to.

Both of their reactions are delayed. Both their round eyes shoot up.

Both their gasps fill the kitchen. And then both of them slap palms over their mouths.

Shocked.

So shocked.

“Who?” Charley asks.

I can’t even say his name, more tears coming, my throat getting thicker. “J—”

“Oh my fuck.” Charley drops to a stool heavily and fills her glass. “And you’re sure?”

I shake my head, pushing the box farther forward. “I didn’t want to be alone when it’s confirmed beyond all doubt that I’m a reckless dickhead.”

Abbie coughs over an inappropriate huff of laughter, and Charley smiles softly. “Come on,” she says, sliding the box off the marble and taking my hand. Abbie takes the other, and my two best friends walk me to the bathroom to do the dreaded test.

“Have you thought about what you’ll do?” Abbie asks as Charley gets a test out of the box.

I shake my head, my eyes lasers on Charley’s working hands.

I can’t think past the fact that I have been so fucking dumb, on every level.

And as if to remind me exactly how dumb, my mobile rings in my hand.

I look down at the screen. My insides twist.

“Fuck off,” I whisper, throwing my iPhone into the sink, needing rid of it.

Taking a deep breath, I hold my hand out. “Let’s get it over with.”

They sit on the edge of the tub while I pull my dress up, my knickers down, and lower, holding the stick between my legs as I pee.

Pee and pray.

Pee and pray.

Please, please, please.

I place the stick on the edge of the sink and sort myself out, washing my hands and starting to pace the small bathroom, up and down, up and down.

“I need a drink,” Abbie says, taking the stick. “Come on. We’ll be more comfortable in the kitchen.”

Following her out after collecting my phone, I continue to pray. The girls work their way through another glass as I pace some more, around and around the island, looking at Charley every few seconds as she keeps an eye on the time. She eventually nods.

“Who’s looking?” Abbie asks, keeping her distance, all of us staring at the small stick on the island that could potentially change my life forever.

“I can’t,” I admit, stepping farther away.

“Me either.” Abbie looks at Charley, who visibly takes a breath and some bravery before walking determinedly to the island and swiping it up.

My heart thuds relentlessly. She turns it over.

I hold my breath, feeling Abbie’s hand wrap around mine and squeeze.

Charley swallows. I think I’m on the verge of a heart attack, my gaze searching her face for any clue as to what she’s thinking.

I can’t read her. It’s driving me wild.

“Charley?” I whisper.

She turns it towards me, not that I can see the result from this far away. “Positive,” she says quietly. Reluctantly. “You’re pregnant.”

I exhale, my torso folding, and my legs turn to jelly in an instant.

“Sit down,” Abbie says, ushering me to a stool, where I flop onto the seat.

I stare forward, my mind now deciding to give me a little refresher on the past few weeks, when I’ve been wrapped up in a whirlwind of passion and feelings.

Jude’s face relentlessly flashes through my mind.

All his expressions, his charm, his smirks, his heat.

And finally, his desperation.

And the tears come again.

I bury my face in my palms and cry like a child, loud, body-shaking, desperate sobs. How could I have let this happen? How could I have been so completely irresponsible?

I’m quickly engulfed in my friends’ arms, their soothing whispers and hushes quietly detectable past my sobs.

This changes everything. I can’t run and hide from Jude Harrison now.

My vow to never see him again has been dashed, and it’s my own stupid fault.

Staying away was my saving grace. Not having to see him.

I could move on, try to find myself again, work hard to put him behind me.

Except I never really lost myself.

If anything, I loved myself more when he was a part of my life. A part of me .

Which made forgetting him impossible even before this new bombshell.

“What am I going to do?” I whisper for the sake of it.

I’m not asking what I’m actually going to do; that’s a non-question.

More how I will cope. And I don’t mean with a baby.

I mean now I can’t eliminate Jude Harrison from my future.

Maybe I’m jumping the gun. He might run for the hills.

Sounds disgusting.

“Fuck.” I roughly wipe my face and slam my fist down on the island.

“Fuck!” My hand screams in pain, and I turn it over, seeing more spots of blood on the dressing.

I’ve had enough of this fucking dressing.

I take the edge and yank it off, gritting my teeth as I do.

The wound is jagged and ugly. Weeping. It needs air. And definitely a doctor to look at it.

Tossing the bloodied bandage aside, I stand up and march to the patio doors, pulling them open and standing outside, flexing my hand.

I need air. I can’t breathe. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I grab my hair and yank, punishing myself, then march back into the kitchen.

Abbie and Charley haven’t moved, their faces alarmed.

“Fuck,” I say over a choked sob, crumbling again, the anger and helplessness getting all mixed up and confused. I’m not sure what I should feel.

“Sit down,” Abbie says, pushing me to a stool. “Christ, Amelia.”

“Are you going to tell him?” Charley asks, refilling her glass again.

Am I? I can’t think. I don’t know what to do. “I need to get my own head around this,” I say quietly, wondering if I ever will. “I can’t even think about what comes next.”

“Well, a baby comes next, so you’d better think fast.” Abbie laughs lightly, but it fades when Charley and I look at her tiredly. “Sorry.”

We’re disturbed when the front door closes, and Lloyd appears in the kitchen doorway, seeming a little wary. “Someone for you,” he says, looking at me.

“Who?” I ask, dread creeping in, my body becoming hard, ready to take him on.

Lloyd moves aside and reveals Clark. Oh God. I deflate, so fucking relieved. “What are you doing here?”

“To check you’re actually here and not lying to me.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious. You were weird on the phone. And you’ve been crying.”

“I’m hot off the back of a breakup, Clark.”

He looks between Charley and Abbie, who are both unusually quiet and awkward. And Clark doesn’t miss it. “What’s going on?”

He really doesn’t want to know. But it turns out I don’t need to tell him. He spots the test on the island and reaches for it, and his gaze slowly moves from the positive window to me. “Fuck,” he breathes.

And I cry again, confirming what he doesn’t need confirming. Clark finds it in himself to come to me, clumsily rubbing my shoulders. “It’s a mess,” I say.

“Does he know?”

“I only just found out myself.”

“Are you going to tell him?” All eyes fall to my phone when it starts dancing around the island, Jude’s name illuminating the screen. I laugh at the irony, hitting the reject button. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“I need to think,” I say, wedging my elbows on the marble and resting my head in my hands, carrying the weight. I can’t think. My head is all over the place, nothing making sense.

“Come to my place,” Clark says, turning me on the stool to face him.

“I’ll tell Mum and Dad that Rach isn’t feeling good.

Have some dinner with us. Rach is sorting through some of the photos people have sent from the wedding.

You can help. It’ll take your mind off things.

” He gives me a sad face and wipes my eyes for me, and I nod, although I doubt there is anything in the world with the power to take my mind off this.

And I can’t very well bury my head in the sand forever.