Page 14 of Tiny Precious Secrets (The Brothers of Calloway Creek The Montanas #4)

Allie

I’m grateful it’s a Monday and there are no events at work today.

Because I’m not sure I want to leave the warm snuggly feeling of my comfy bed.

Mondays are slow days at the winery for me.

I usually catch up on paperwork and prepare for the week’s tastings.

If we have any parties or weddings scheduled for the upcoming weekend, I’ll make phone calls and make sure everything is on track.

All things I plan on doing from home today. And maybe even from bed.

Besides, I can rely on Natasha, my assistant, to pick up the slack. Something she’s had to do a lot lately.

It’s not lost on me that I’ve felt this way for weeks. Ever since returning from Antigua, to be exact. The desire to work, to exercise, to eat, hell, to even shower, it’s just… gone.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a runner.

It doesn’t matter if it’s snowing or raining outside, or even if it’s a hundred degrees, being out on the trails of Calloway Creek has become a part of my daily routine.

But lately, nothing about my life is routine.

And the lack of running is definitely showing on my waistline.

It’s like there’s this divide in my life. It feels a lot like when Christopher died. Back then, I defined everything in terms of ‘before Christopher’ and ‘after Christopher.’ But today, and for the past month, it’s felt like I’m in the ‘after Asher’ phase of my life.

But the funny thing is, he doesn’t even know we’re in the ‘after.’ I’m the only one privy to that piece of information. He just thinks I was tied up with work obligations when he came to the city last week.

I roll over and pull a pillow tightly against me, squeezing my eyes shut, knowing it’s better this way. A clean break. For him. For me. And definitely for Bug.

Okay, so maybe I should be an adult about it and just tell him it’s over. But every time I pick up my phone, it’s like my stomach lurches up into my throat and I feel sick.

As if my phone is trying to tell me to get on with it, it vibrates. Please don’t be Asher .

Mia: You’re not bailing on me again, are you? I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes.

I lean into the pillow. Right. It’s Monday.

Every Monday morning for the past five years, Mia and I have met at the trailhead behind the Calloway Creek playground to run five miles.

Our schedules differ so much, it’s the one time we could coordinate it.

Mia’s hours are all over the place as she and her brothers take turns manning the tow truck, but she always saves Monday mornings for us.

Which makes me feel guilty for bailing. Again.

But not guilty enough to get out of bed and put on my running clothes. Maybe I’ll just do some yoga later. That will make me feel better.

Me: Sorry. I’m just not feeling up to it.

Mia: You haven’t run with me in weeks. Sulking over him isn’t going to make you feel any better. If it’s that hard to be without him, don’t.

I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the pillow.

Mia is the only one who knows I’m done with him.

Sometimes I regret telling her. Because she brings it up all the time.

And whenever she brings it up, my stomach rolls like it’s telling me what I’m doing is wrong and I’m a terrible person.

But I know deep down, what I’m doing is right.

He deserves better. He deserves more. And I’m really tired of talking about it with her.

Me: Is this you being supportive?

Mia: I’m just saying, you’re a different person now. You never want to go out. You came back from Antigua with an awesome tan, but it’s like you’re pale all the time. It’s strange. And you don’t like to do all the things you love. Allie, I think you’re depressed.

Me: I’m not depressed.

I’m also full of shit from the top of my head to the bottoms of my feet. Because I’m totally depressed. I’m so depressed in fact, that the only other time in my life I’ve ever felt like this was after getting the horrible news about the blood test when I was pregnant with Christopher.

I drop my phone and sit straight up in bed. Oh, holy shit. No, no, no, no, no.

Reality hits me like bricks falling off a skyscraper. I’ve been tired. Cranky. Nauseous at times. And definitely putting on weight. All things I attributed to the abrupt halt of my exercise routine.

I swallow hard, trying to remember my last period.

It’s never come like clockwork due to the progestin-only pills I take.

But since most other birth control pills cause me to have migraines, they are the only ones that work for me.

And those types of pills tend to come with side effects like irregular bleeding, spotting between periods, or no periods at all.

Progestin-only pills also aren’t as reliable as regular pills. It’s why I’ve always insisted on using condoms as well. Together, the two should be a virtual fortress against pregnancy.

My stomach rolls when I remember that time Asher and I got so rough and playful, we actually lost the condom.

As in I had to dig it out from deep inside me.

It was embarrassing and super awkward, but we just laughed about it.

That was… I think back and suddenly feel better when I realize how long ago it was.

Months. Maybe even three. I’d be in the clear.

But… but…

Something inside me just knows I can’t explain away how I’ve been feeling.

I can’t push it off as sadness over a guy I may or may not secretly be in love with but who I’m trying to spare a life full of regrets.

With my eyes closed tightly, I reach up and grab my breasts, praying they won’t be tender.

They are.

Of course they are.

I roll over and curl up into a ball, ignoring the texts Mia continues to send. Because my life is shit. And this situation is shit. And everything is shit. And I just… can’t.

~ ~ ~

Footsteps echo in the back hallway, on the outside staircase to my apartment over my parents’ garage. Then there’s a banging at the door.

“Allie!”

When I don’t answer, my best friend rips open the unlocked door. Within seconds, I feel the bed shift under her weight. The sound of her shoes hitting the floor prepares me for what comes next, her arms curling around me from behind.

That’s all it takes for me to burst into tears and break down into sobs, my body shaking against hers.

I’m crying so hard, I can’t even tell her why.

Like a sister, a best friend, a protector, she just holds me and lets me get it all out.

She thinks I’m sad over Asher. That I’ve finally reached the point of having a meltdown.

I don’t even know how long she holds me, but I get the idea she’d do it forever if that’s what I need. Mia Cruz is my one true ride-or-die friend. She knows me better than anyone. She knows my heart. My soul. My secrets.

So it makes sense she’s the only one I can tell this to.

“I…” I rub my palms over my eyelids. “I th-think I’m p-pregnant.”

“Oh, Jesus.” She buries her head into my shoulder, squeezing me even tighter.

Her reaction is spot on. Others might say ‘think of this as a second chance’ or ‘everything will be okay.’ Not Mia. Mia knows this will destroy me. Oh, Jesus is right.

“What can I do?” she asks after a few more minutes.

I close my eyes and sigh. Because what can anyone do? It’s a sentence. A punishment. Some sort of twisted karma for breaking up with the most amazing guy who doesn’t even know he’s been broken up with.

“Have you taken a test?”

I shake my head.

“Then maybe you’re not. It could just be the whole Asher thing. Or maybe you picked up some rare exotic disease in Antigua.”

If I weren’t so completely devastated, I might think it’s funny how Mia believes an exotic foreign disease would be preferable to being pregnant.

It would, however. In fact, there isn’t anything in this world I can think of that would be worse.

Not even a terminal disease. Because going through what I did before would kill me.

The only thing running through my head right now is what the doctor told me so long ago. “You can try again. Most Trisomy 18 cases are not inherited genetic mutations.”

Most.

Not all.

It’s strange how powerful one small word can be when it means the difference between life and death. Sanity and madness. Peace and utter turmoil.

I turn around and finally look at her. “I am. I know I am. I can feel it all the way to my soul.”

She pulls me in for another hug. Then she releases me. “I have pregnancy tests in my glove box.”

Any other time, I’d laugh. Because I know the tests she’s referring to. And they’ve been there for like ten years. They’re there because when I was nineteen and missed a period and was afraid to buy one myself, she did it for me. In fact, she bought five. At the time, I only needed one.

“No way are they still good.”

“Do pregnancy tests expire?”

We stare at each other, neither of us knowing the answer.

She hops off the bed. “It’s the best we’ve got.”

Within ninety seconds, she’s back at my side pulling one out of a plastic bag so old it practically crumbles apart. She examines a test and shrugs. “It expired seven years ago.” She shoves it at me.

I push it back at her. While she was gone, I googled it. “Old tests can show false negatives or false positives.”

She empties the bag of the other tests. “Then take all of them. We’ll go with majority rules.”

I glare up at her. “This isn’t a game, Mia.”

Her hands go to her hips. “Do you want to know or not?”

“Actually, not.”

“Ignoring the problem won’t make it go away. And if you’re not pregnant, at least that weight won’t be on your shoulders and you can just go back to being Ms. Lonely Broken Heart.”

I glare some more.

“Oh, come on. Everyone who knows you knows you’re head-over-heels for the guy.”

“Can we stick to one problem at a time please?”

She picks up the four tests. “Just take them. If it’s a tie, I’ll go buy another one. Knowing is going to be better than not knowing.”

I get what she’s saying. But she’s wrong. Not knowing is better.

Not knowing if there is a life inside me that I’ll grow to love.

Not knowing if that life is going to be ripped away so painfully that it will leave a permanent scar.

Another permanent scar. Not knowing if I’d be able to go on living after going through that a second time when the first nearly broke me.

Not knowing if I’d be able to step away from the edge of the bridge this time, but that I might just let myself fall fifty feet into the rocky ravine below.

Instead of telling Mia any of that, I take the tests from her and go into the bathroom, throwing up three times before peeing on them.