Page 109 of Rebel Hawke

Her normally pale skin has taken on an almost deathly pallor.

Nana notices, too, narrowing her gaze. “Wren, dear. Are you all right?”

I drape my arm over the back of her chair and lean in. “What’s wrong?”

She swallows thickly, a gulp like she’s trying to keep something down. Her hand drops over her stomach. “I’m not feeling very well. Excuse me.”

The sharp shove of her chair back from the table knocks my arm from it, and she turns and bolts for the back hallway before I can even get up.

I dart my gaze to Aunt Nora and Pope.

They both give me pointed looks, and Pope’s dark eyes drift to the Pack ‘N Play set up in the corner of the room where the babies sleep.

Oh…

My gut lurches, and I shove back my chair and rush down the corridor that leads to the closest bathroom. And a closed door.

I try the handle, but it won’t turn.

She locked me out.

Pounding my fist against the wood, I press my ear to it, listening for anything. “Wren, are you all right?”

She doesn’t answer, but the retching sound from inside finally reaches me.

Fuck.

It’s a good thing I’ve been picking locks at Nana’s house for years and have mastered the art.

I head back out into the kitchen and grab a butter knife from the silverware drawer.

Mom darts in from the dining room and grabs my wrist to stop me from ducking back out. “Where are you going with that?”

“To get into the bathroom.”

Her lips press together firmly, and she gives me a reproachful look I’ve received far too many times in life. “Give her a minute. She would’ve left it unlocked if she wanted you there.”

“But—”

Firm fingers tighten around my wrist. “Is she pregnant?”

I squeeze my eyes closed.

This isn’t the conversation I want to be having right now.

Not with her.

Not with anyone.

Not when I don’t even know.

I open my eyes and stare down at the woman who gave birth to me, who sacrificed over and over again for Astrid and me, who is the best mother I ever could have asked for. And I can’t lie to her and deny it. “I don’t know. It’s possible.”

More than possible.

She gives me a sympathetic look. “When I was pregnant with you and Astrid, my morning sickness started early, like two weeks after conception date because of how strongly my body reacted to the hormones.”

Images of taking her during the fundraiser up in the choir loft flit through my head.

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