Page 54 of The Fake Play

The word knocks the air out of my lungs. My eyes widen and heat floods my cheeks. Pregnant? No. Absolutely not. Butthe idea plants itself in my mind, spreading like wildfire. I had missed my period, but I’d chalked it up to stress. This is a huge, life-changing event. Everything is riding on it. There has been some unexpected fatigue and nausea, but stress does that to you, right?

Right?

Oh God. Tears well up, and I shake my head, trying desperately to keep my composure. Darkness circles the edge of my vision but I somehow force myself to breathe. “Whitney, I, no, I can’t be. That’s impossible.”

Whitney’s expression softens even more as she takes my hands in hers, squeezing gently. “Hey, it’s okay?—”

“It’s not!” I bark between crying spurts. “It’s not!”

“But it is possible, right? You and Luke?”

I don’t want to admit it. I can’t. I’ll lose everything. But I need to say the words aloud, if for no other reason other than to acknowledge the reality. I rasp out, “Yes. How did you know?”

“You just told me.”

I heave a breath, trying to stave off passing out. “I tried, Whitney. I tried to stay professional, I’m so sorry?—”

She wraps me in her arms and holds me, letting me cry it out. Finally, she asks, “Before you completely lose your shit, maybe we should find out for certain.”

I nod and swallow hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. Before I can process what’s happening, Whitney is already moving, grabbing her purse and speaking in a tone that brooks no argument. “I’m going to run out and get a test. Sit tight, and don’t worry about the paddles or anything else. I’ll be back in ten.”

“Whitney, you don’t have to?—”

She’s out the door before I can finish.

The room feels emptier after she leaves, the noise from the ballroom seeping through the walls and making my head pound.I pace back and forth in the tiny room, my mind racing with too many questions and no answers. Luke’s name on the auction list, the way he looked at me the last time we were together… why does everything suddenly feel so fragile, so different?

Whitney returns quicker than I expect, the small bag in her hand making my stomach flip in nervous anticipation. Her face is unreadable as she hands it to me. My heart pounds in my chest as I take it, the weight of her gaze heavy on me.

This is the same woman who’d made the fake dating rules clear from the start. Keep things professional. No emotions and definitely no crossing the line. Fake dating was supposed to be just that—fake. And yet here I am, holding the one thing that could prove I’d broken every rule.

She gives me a reassuring nod then guides me to a private restroom. I’m grateful for the privacy. As soon as the bathroom door clicks shut, I sag against it, trying to catch my breath.

The room spins around me, and I grip the edge of the sink for support. The test feels like a burning coal in my hand. If it comes back positive, everything will change, everything. Not just my life, but Luke’s, my career, and all the work I’ve been building with Whitney, not to mention the careful walls I’ve constructed around myself. I need those walls. They’ve been the only thing that’s kept my heart safe after my ex shredded it.

My thoughts turn to Luke. Will he crack a joke to diffuse the tension like he always does? Or will he just stare at me, wide-eyed and wordless? The same way I’m staring at myself in the mirror right now.

The next few minutes pass in a blur as I lean against the counter waiting for the results. My thoughts smack into each other, ricocheting in all directions, none of them making sense. When the thin blue line materializes, the world seems to tip on its axis.

Positive.

My hands shake as I press the test against my chest, a sob escaping my lips. This can’t be happening. Not now, not with everything so uncertain.

I’m supposed to be Luke’s fixer, to eliminate problems from his life, not create new ones. How is he going to look at this? As another complication, another mess that I need to clean up, or will he be happy?

The knock at the door is gentle, and I don’t have to ask to know that it’s Whitney. “Keke?”

My heart clenches as panic surges through me. I have to tell her the truth, hell, she already knows anyway. The lines I’d so carefully drawn between personal and professional have been smeared into oblivion by my own recklessness.

I have no excuses for what I’ve done. There are no explanations I can use to worm my way out of this. I’ve screwed everything up, and it’s my own fault.

I open the door, eyes swollen, body shaking. She walks in, closes the door, and pulls me into a hug without a word. That’s all it takes for me to crumble into her, needing her support more than I want to admit. Why isn’t she screaming at me, shouting about how disappointed she is? Where is my reprimand? My firing?

“I’m here,” she says, gently rubbing my back. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

Whitney takes a long, measured breath, and I can almost hear her weighing her options of how to respond. When she finally speaks, it isn’t the clipped, no-nonsense tone I’m used to hearing from her.

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