Page 278 of The American

“About what?”

“About having nothing to tell me.”

“What’s going . . . on?” I ask, getting agitated, shifting on the bed and regretting it. “God . . . damn . . .”

“Keep still.”

“Fine.” I’m out of bloody breath already. Useless. “Tell me what’s . . . going on.”

His lips roll, his forehead becoming heavy. I don’t like that look. “You’re pregnant.”

I still, staring at him as he obviously watches for my reaction. “Pardon . . . me?” Is he trying to be funny? Because I haven’t the capacity to laugh.

“You’re pregnant.”

“I heard you . . . the first . . . time.”

He laughs. “Then don’t ask me to repeat myself.”

“I can’t be preg . . . pregnant,” I grate, straining with the effort to remain still. “This is a really stupid”—Breathe—“joke.”

“I’m not joking.” He smiles softly, taking my hand. “You’re going to be a mom.”

“I’m too . . . young to be a . . . mum.”

“And I’m old enough to be a dad?”

“Maybe too . . . old,” I wheeze.

“Thanks.”

“Pregnant?”

He nods, very slowly, very seriously. I turn my wide-eyed stare up to the ceiling. Frown. Wait. “And the baby’s . . . okay?”

“The baby is fine, but you’re on strict bed rest and watch.”

“Sounds fun,” I mumble. Fucking pregnant? “Can’t”—I wince—“wait.”

“If I had access to your ass, I’d spank it.”

“Oh . . . Brad,” I say, breathless. “Stop with the . . . daddy talk.”

“Jesus, Pearl.”

I laugh, it hurts, so I stop.

Oh my God.

Pregnant?

Brad seems so together. Accepting. He’s okay with this? “Are you . . . here out of duty?”

His face. Oh, his face. “Shut the hell up, Pearl.”

“Okay.” I bite at my lip, sorry, and Brad sighs. I’m bloody pregnant. And he’s okay. But me? Am I? I sag into the bed, even more exhausted, without the ability to truly process this news. I’m not sure how I should feel. Shocked? Happy? Scared? “How’s . . . Nolan?”

“In a better state than you.”

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