Brutal Game (Flynn and Laurel #2)(14)

Then he thought of the cross, that symbol that had dominated his childhood and bullied his psyche, and somehow it made perfect sense.

Fuck you, lines.

At least these lines would bring answers. The other kind had done nothing but torment and confuse and contradict.

Right. Now, to survive the longest three minutes of his entire life.





5





Laurel crept out of the bathroom practically on tiptoes, paranoid any sudden movement might somehow queer the test.

Flynn was planted at the edge of the mattress, hands clasped between his knees. “Well?”

“I just did it. Two minutes to go, probably.” She wished she hadn’t done the dishes already. A chore would be a welcome distraction.

“That took ages.”

“I know.” She flopped down beside him, splaying her hands on her belly and staring up at the ceiling. “I read the instructions, like, eight times. If we only had the one test, I wasn’t looking to send you back out in the snow.”

“How hard can it be? ‘Step one, pee on stick.’”

She let her arm fall back behind her, smacking his side. “It’s trickier than that. You have to angle it and stuff, and pee for just the right amount of time.”

“Good thing you’re an engineer.”

She shot him a look. “Are you being mean to me?”

“No, sorry. Not on purpose. Fuck, I’m f*cking nervous.”

Laurel softened. “Me too.” She sat up and circled a hand over his back. “Have you ever done this before?”

“No.”

“I swear I’ve been taking the pills correctly.”

“I believe you. You won’t even let the toilet paper hang facing the wall—no way you’d get sloppy about that sort of thing.”

“It’ll probably be negative. The chances are really low.”

“Maybe I have, like, stealthy-ass f*ckin’ Jason Bourne sperm that snuck by your defenses.”

She snorted. “My uterus isn’t a Swiss bank. It doesn’t work like that, anyhow. It suppresses eggs from being released.”

“My sperm are so powerful your eggs couldn’t resist them.”

“My God, if it’s positive you’re going to be insufferable, aren’t you?”

“Maybe. After I regain consciousness. Think it’s been three minutes?”

Her hand stilled. “Yeah. But I’m too scared to check.”

“I could. One line is negative and a plus sign is knocked up, right?”

“No, no. I’ll go.” She sat up, looked at him long and hard.

He must have sensed the time for joking was over; he took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I can go with you.”

She pursed her lips. It all felt so insanely intimate, this moment. Whatever the verdict might be, she didn’t yet know what she’d feel about it. Though she did know one thing. “I’ll go by myself. I’d prefer you hear the news from me, rather than from staring at a stick I peed on.”

“Whatever you need.”

She took a deep breath, blew it out slow and noisy and didn’t feel a jot calmer.

Flynn offered another squeeze and nodded toward the bathroom.

“Right. Okay. Here I go.” Her hand fell from his and she crossed the small apartment, the journey at once endless and way, way too short. When she hit the switch, the light was so bright, the fan so loud. The tub so white and the tile so cold. The plastic wand sat on the sink’s edge, so innocuous. She crept up on it, squinting so she couldn’t make out its little window. When she had it in hand, she shut her eyes, took a breath, another, another. Opened them.

It took a moment to make sense of it. A blue line. Another blue line, fainter, crisscrossing the first, the point where they met darkest of all, like stripes intersecting on a field of gingham.

“Plus sign,” she muttered. That means pregnant. Doesn’t it? She set the wand down with a trembling hand and fished the instructions from the trash can. The illustration left no room for doubt.

Holy f*ck. I’m pregnant. She snatched up the stick and stared at the window, expecting the second line to be lighter, maybe negligible, maybe inconclusive. But no, there was no denying it.

“Fuck.” She glanced down at her belly, eased up the hem of her shirt. Same pasty white skin as always, same navel with the same single freckle beside it. How could this landscape look so normal, and yet something so monumental be taking place just an inch or two below the surface?

“Laurel?”

She looked to the door. “Be right out.” Staring in the mirror, she found herself only wide-eyed, looking drunk or high or dazed. At a loss, she sputtered her lips in a raspberry and finger-combed her hair.

Time to change a man’s life forever.

She left the bathroom. Flynn was sitting in the same spot on the bed, eyes nailed to her as she emerged. His brows rose but he said nothing.

She didn’t know what to say herself. It wasn’t as though they’d been trying for this. She couldn’t rush him, pee-stick in hand, tossing herself into his arms and making his dreams come true.

Her silence seemed to speak for her.

“It’s positive, isn’t it?” he asked, voice soft and serious. Not grave, but somber, she thought.