Page 14 of A Little Secret

FINLEY

“Don’t freak out, don’t freak out, don’t freak out,” I whisper. The test wobbles against the edge of the porcelain sink as I set it down and push my hair away from my face.

I’m late.

It isn’t entirely out of the ordinary, thanks to my medication, but I can still feel it. Like some weird sixth sense. I feel…different. And maybe it’s some strange mother’s intuition or something, but I feel like I already know…I already know the truth. It makes me want to puke.

“Don’t freak out, don’t freak out, don’t freak,” I repeat. It’s been my mantra since I realized my period was late, but I haven’t had the ovaries to buy a test until today. After my friendship breakup…thingwith Griffin, I bought a ticket and flew out to see Drew. I wanted to reconnect, and I’d say it was great if I wasn’t currently hiding in my bathroom, trying not to have a nervous breakdown.

I can’t be pregnant.

I can’t be.

Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I lift my head towardthe ceiling and shake my hands in front of me, trying not to have an absolute meltdown in the middle of my bathroom. Er, my brother’s bathroom. Hell, it’s not even his. Technically, I’m pretty sure this is Reeves’ bathroom since he’s the one who lives across the hall with Dylan, but who needs labels anyway?

My kitchen caught fire a few months ago. It practically burned the entire main area to a crisp, forcing me and my roommates to find a new place to stay until renovations are finished. My roommates are Dylan and Ophelia. Well, kind of. Initially, they were my roommates. Then Ophelia fell in love with Mav, and Dylan fell in love with Reeves, and blah, blah, blah. One thing led to another, and I’m pretty sure they still would’ve moved next door to be with their boyfriends even if our kitchen hadn’t burned to a crisp.

Now here we are, all scrunched on one side of the duplex. Dylan and Ophelia don’t mind, though. Not when they can sleep in their boyfriend’s rooms and practice making babies like a bunch of jackrabbits. It doesn’t make me feel like the fifth wheel at all, especially when my own boyfriend is thousands of miles away.

Yeah. Not gonna lie. Even if things are pretty good on the boyfriend front lately, long-distance relationships suck. Even the term “sucks” doesn’t carry enough weight, but I’m too anxious to think of a better metaphor. I wipe beneath my eyes and let out a slow breath.

Especially now.

Now, my long-distance relationshipreallysucks.

As I reach for the pregnancy test, a loud knock on the door makes me jump, and the stupid thing clatters into the sink.

“Shit.”

“Ev?” someone calls. Griffin, I think.

“It’s Finley,” I correct him. “I’ll be right out!”

He doesn’t answer, but I hear his fading footsteps as he leaves me alone.

We haven’t talked since that night at the bar, and to say things are strained would be a massive understatement.

He hates me.

I can’t even blame him for hating me.

A small part of me hates me too.

Another knock shakes the wooden door. “Fin?” Dylan calls.

Without looking at the result, I shove the test into my back pocket and cover the stick with my thick gray sweater. “Be right out!”

“Hurry! I want to say goodbye before we leave.”

They’re flying to Cancun. All of them are. Everyone but me. It’s lame and disheartening, but I’ve tried not to dwell on it as I rinse my hands under the faucet, wipe them on the towel, and open the door.

Dylan’s blonde hair is pulled into a high ponytail, her glasses propped on her cute little nose, as she grins back at me. “That was fast.”

“I don’t want you to miss your flight.” Pulling her in for a hug, I squeeze her tight. “Don’t have too much fun without me, okay?”

“On one condition,” she replies. “Promise you won’t kill Frankie.”

My shoulders hunch, and I let her go.

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