Page 74 of I Choose You

After my sob session ends, I ask Nelly to run to the pharmacy to pick up multiple pregnancy tests. Though all signs point to it, I want to make sure I’m correct in saying that this is what’s going on with my body. She brings me back a variety and tells me it’s better to wait until the morning to test, which is fine by me because I’d rather take them alone.

It’s after midnight when she leaves. After two in the morning, it dawns on me that I’m never going to get sleep unless I get up and take one of the tests staring me down from the nightstand. I pad down the hallway quietly and decide to take one now and another in the morning.

I flick the lock on the door, remove the test from the packaging, and read the instructions three times to ensure I’m following each step correctly before grabbing a Dixie cup from the cabinet. I hover over the toilet to collect my pee. Then, I’m using the dropper to fill the sample circle.

I wash my hands and wait. In fact, I force myself not to look sooner than what the instructions say, even though I’m desperate for the results. As I pace, memories of Mason and me come. I think about the times we shared growing up, our best and worst moments, and the last few weeks. I remember the dread that filled me when he shared his news in Jimmy’s Wings. A similar feeling fills me now.

What am I going to do if these results are positive? How the hell am I going to face Mason if this is his baby growing inside of me?

Naturally, my hand moves to my belly and rubs a circle over it. It’s strange, but I can imagine it. I can see a baby girl with my deep brown hair and his smile, and I can sense the love that consumes me at the thought.

I should have listened to Luke’s advice before we went further. I decide now that I’ll never disregard his guidance again. If Luke ever comes to me with his opinion, I’ll do exactly that.

I inhale a deep breath to stop the trembling in my hands. My stomach is in my throat as I turn and make it back to the toilet. I lean over it to make out the results, going as far as to grab the instructions laid out over the sink to double-check what the result markers mean. Then, I compare. I glance back and forth. The control window looks exactly like it should. And the result window matches the positive result indicator.

Air leaves my lungs. I drop the instructions and walk backward until my back hits the bathroom wall. I slide down, my head and lungs screaming for air.

How the hell am I going to tell Mason I’m pregnant, and he’s the father?

34

Mason

I left.

Three days ago, I left behind my twin brother and my best damn friend of my entire life.

It’s eating me alive that I didn’t say goodbye, but I couldn’t face her. Not after she clawed my heart from my chest and squeezed the life out of it. How the hell was I supposed to knock on her door and give her a farewell hug after that?

I didn’t have it in me.

I’ve been dragging since we left Austin that weekend.

My thought process isn’t as clear. I’m antsy all the fucking time. Last night, I went for a ten-mile run at the gym. My body felt totaled afterward, but it was enough to get sleep. And now here I am on my first day of work, in Mane Social Media’s corporate office, getting ready to meet the team who will work side by side with me on projects that will help businesses earn hundreds of thousands of dollars in revenue a year.

It’s bitter fucking sweet giving up so much to get this. I would trade these people in for Mackenzie if it were possible. Hell, I would work on my own for the next fifty years if I could have one more taste of her, one more glimpse at the splatter of freckles hidden beneath her clothes.

What does it matter, though?

I wasn’t worth it to her.

I wasn’t fucking worth her putting her time and energy toward. It’s surreal that this is Mackenzie Jones I’m talking about, the girl who lent me the last pencil in her pencil case in the fourth grade. Things got distorted somewhere along the way, and I don’t know how to make sense of them.

I’m a walking, talking robot who can’t seem to get his shit together but who doesn’t have a choice. I need to pull my head out of my ass if I want this move to work. Luke will kick my ass if I mess this up, and I can’t have him holding that over my head for the rest of my life.

“Mason, this is Trisha,” the head of the social media department, Bill, says. The ginger hairs on his head are shaved down short, making it hard to see that really—he’s half bald. With an upturned nose and handlebar mustache, he extends a hand to a classy middle-aged woman who looks ten years younger than she probably is with white-blonde hair cut in a bob and not a wrinkle on her face.

I only know this because Bill shares how long she’s been working for MSM, and it’s been over two decades. Two decades of reaping the rewards I’ll have access to now but couldn’t care less about.

“It’s nice to meet you, Trisha.” I’m firm when I shake her hand, not at all surprised when her grip ends up being firmer than mine.

When she smiles, it doesn’t stop at her pink glossed lips but travels to her bright blue eyes. The diamond studs in her ears sparkle in the sunlight coming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and it’s another reminder of the benefits of a job like this. “Likewise, Mason. I’m looking forward to working with you. Bill tells me marvelous things.”

I force out my own smile and step back, pushing my hands into the pockets of my suit pants.

“Trisha, here, will help get you all set up. It’s going to be an adjustment having you in the office. You two will work side by side.”

I shift on my feet. “I was under the impression I’d have a group of social media experts assisting me?” My gaze moves from Trisha to Bill.

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