Page 79 of Karma's Kiss

It doesn’t help that my desk is littered with the baby stuff Sawyer’s been sending over, not just the milestone book. The huge pregnancy pillow winds behind my laptop like a snake. The half-eaten box of morning sickness cookies taunts me from beside my jar of pens.

I stay at the office long after Marge and Queenie go home. I can’t bear to leave, though I’m not even being productiveanymore. At first, I was organizing a box of linen samples, but now I’m just sitting at my desk. I need dinner. I need sleep. I need to put my phone away and stop googling questions about pregnancy that feel like I’m pressing on a fresh bruise.

I’m not all that surprised when Sawyer arrives at the office sometime after eight PM. The front door opens, and when I look up to see him, the first feeling that washes over me is guilt. His expression is closed off and reserved, making me wonder if Queenie called him. She must have if he knew to come here instead of going to her house.

I don’t say anything as he walks over, his gaze dropping to all the gifts I no longer have use for. My eyes sting. Emotion feels like a weight on my chest, tightening around my neck.

I rip the Band-Aid right off, wanting him to know everything immediately. I can’t keep this secret for one more second.

“I’m not pregnant. So whatever we’ve been playing at, all this pretend family stuff, we can forget about it. You don’t have to keep being nice to me.”

His brown eyes flare with the shock of what I said; he looks as if I just slapped him. Slowly, he comprehends the news, and his gaze scans down my body—what little of it he can see behind my desk—like he’s looking to see for himself if there’s any evidence of what I’ve told him. “How do you know?” he asks gently.

I squeeze my eyes closed, annoyed that he doesn’t just accept the news at face value. I don’t want to keep talking about it.

“I know because I took a few tests. All negative. No faint line, nothing. So yeah, it’s done.”

“I’m sor—”

I cut him off immediately. “You don’t have to say anything. We don’t have to do this.” I open my eyes and shake my head. “In fact, let’s not. I’m going to box up this pregnancy stuff and give it to Queenie. She’ll know someone who needs it, unless you want to take it all?”

He looks at all the items, seemingly at a loss for what to say or do. “Whatever you think is best.”

Sawyer is absolutely shell-shocked, even more out of sorts than the day I sprung my potential pregnancy announcement on him.Go figure.

My words and my tone are hurting him. I see how they’re affecting him, and yet I can’t bring myself to soften. It’d do me in. I can’t hold his hand and support him through this and make it out alive myself. I’m white-knuckling our encounter, willing it to end quickly and efficiently by any means necessary.

“Matthew came by today,” I volunteer blandly.

His face screws up in confusion. “Matthew?Your ex-fiancé Matthew?”

“Yes. Came all the way to Texas. Begged me to take him back.”

My tone is so cold I barely recognize it.

Understanding dawns on Sawyer’s face—hurt turns to anger as his eyes darken—and I don’t correct the wrong assumptions swirling in his head. This is easier than I was expecting, a perfect axe.

“Yeah, anyway.Big day.” I shrug evasively.

He snorts. “Sounds like it.”

“I won’t keep you.”

“Right.”

His jaw tightens as he looks down at all the silly junk he’s purchased for me over the last few days. The little stuffed bear, a perfect gender-neutral yellow. I wonder if he feels duped by me and my body. Not pregnant. Maybe I wasn’t even close.

Tears are coming. I can feel them creeping in even as I blink them away. I should apologize for bringing him into this mess, for overreacting about the chances of an unplanned pregnancy. I can’t bring the words up though. Emotion is lodged in my throat.My nose burns. I’m going to cry; it’s only a matter of time. I’ve been holding it in all day.

I double-click, waking up my computer as a way of dismissing him. “I have some stuff I still need to get done.”

“I think we need to discuss all of this,” Sawyer says, not catching a hint. “Don’t you?” When I don’t reply, he presses on. “Madison…”

I stare at my inbox, the safety of it, how none of these emails have anything to do with me or Sawyer or our baby. “Not tonight.”

Please go.

“Then when?”

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