Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“Bye,” I say and then disconnect the call.
Tapping my phone against my chin, I contemplate the holidays. Maybe I should go for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. I just need to let Kynan know soon so he can make sure to have my absence covered. In fact, I could take several weeks off and just stay there the entire time. I make good bank with The Jameson Group, and I can easily afford not to work for a month or two.
A soft knocking on my door startles me, and I turn to look at it. It’s solid wood with three small panes of glass set at a diagonal, but I can’t see who it is.
I walk around my couch to the door. When I get nearer to the glass, I can see Rachel standing on my front porch.
An electric zap of adrenaline hits me, because I know she’s here to tell me something important. It’s something that’s going to change my life, one way or the other.
When she told me she was pregnant last night, there wasn’t an ounce of hesitation when I said I wanted that kid. Even after a night of sleep and ruminating about it incessantly, that feeling hasn’t changed. It would be hell to make it work, but I’d fucking do it.
I take a deep breath, let it out in a rush, and then open the door. She’d been looking out toward the road and spins around to face me. “Hey,” she says as if she’s surprised to see me standing in my own house. I chalk that up to nervousness.
“Hey,” I say and then step back, sweeping with my arm to silently invite her in.
She crosses the threshold, her eyes roaming the small interior of my house. “You really live out in the boonies, don’t you?” she asks as she turns to face me.
“Not a city boy,” I tell her. “Like the quiet and solitude.”
Which is why I bought this little Pueblo-style ranch house that sits without another neighbor in sight. Nothing but scrubby desert as far as the eye can see with the Spring Mountains in the distance.
“Because you were raised on a farm?” she asks.
“Yeah, probably,” I say with a shrug, never having given it much thought. I just know I prefer open spaces and natural scenery to concrete, glass, and steel. I like the sound of bugs at night versus honking cars.
Rachel doesn’t have a purse, and nervously jangles her car keys in her hand. She looks around my living room again, craning her neck a bit to see past the half wall that separates it from my kitchen. My house is barely twelve-hundred square feet with only two bedrooms, but it’s enough for me. I’m saving my money for something bigger and better one day. I always thought that meant when I was ready to settle down and start a family, but my life got a little messy in the last twenty-four hours, so who knows what the fuck it means now.
“Do you want something to drink?” I ask, and her head snaps back to me.
She gives a hard shake of her head. “No, I’m good.”
“Want to sit down?” I motion her to the couch.
Rachel tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. She’s worn it loose and shaggy today, doesn’t have a speck of makeup on. Personally, it’s when she’s prettiest in my opinion.
With a tight smile, she walks over to the couch, sitting stiffly on the edge of the cushion. Her back is straight, head held confidently high. I think it’s an act because she still nervously jangles her keys.
I take a seat on the other end of the couch, angling my body to her and planting my elbows on my thighs, which causes me to lean slightly into her space. I don’t say a word, only look at her with what I imagine is unmitigated hope. At least, that’s what the emotions swirling through my body indicate.
Please don’t crush me, Rachel.
Rachel gives me another smile, this one a little pained. Her eyes go down to the keys. As if she’s just realizing she’s making noise with them, she grips them tighter in her palm.
“Um… I went and talked to Kynan a little bit ago, and got his advice,” she says before slowly raising her face to mine. Her eyes are determined with an underlying layer of fear deep inside. “And… I’ll carry the baby. Please don’t think badly of me, but I don’t want to raise it. I’m not ready for that.”
There’s no stopping the huge gush of pent-up air inside of me, my lungs burning from the force of it.
“Thank you, Rachel,” I say with so much gratitude. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this thankful for anything in my life. I’m swamped with utter fear now, yet I’m grateful to have it. “And no… I’d never think badly of you for that type of personal decision.”