Page 11 of Gunner

“What? No.”

“Yeah, two lines, darlin’.” I close my eyes and try to hold the tears and sobs back, but it does no good. They come anyway as I drop to the floor and wrap my arms around my knees.

“I can’t do this. There’s no way,” I cry when Gunner kneels in front of me. He pulls my hands away from my legs and shoves them down so he can look at me.

“You didn’t do this, I did. I’ll take care of it.”

“How?”

“Are you against abortions?” he asks. I don’t know. Am I? I shrug my shoulders, not knowing what the hell to think right now.

“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”

“Well, we’ll deal with it, Nat. Whatever you decide, I’ll help you.”

“You will?”

“I did this to you. I should have used somethin’, but I didn’t.”

“It’s not just you. I was there, too. I could have stopped you.”

“We got this. You just tell me what you want to do.”

“I don’t know, Gunner. What do I do?” I ask him. I have no idea what the hell to do.

“I don’t know either, darlin’. It’s your body.”

“I can’t be pregnant and homeless. How would I take care of the baby?”

“You wanna keep it?” he asks.

“I don’t know what I want! I didn’t want a kid to begin with, Gunner.”

“Okay. Let’s just get out of here, and we’ll talk, yeah?” I nod my head as he helps me off the floor, his eyes lingering on my stomach. Then he cleans up the mess on the counter, throwing everything away except the test, which he slides into his pocket. He grabs my hand and leads me out of the bathroom and back to the bike.

Chapter 5

Gunner

What the fuck did I do? How could I have been so fucking careless with her? I shake my head as I think about this. I’m too fucking old to have another kid. Hell, both of mine are grown.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers once more. That’s all she’s been saying since we left the pharmacy.

“Stop sayin’ sorry. It’s not your fault.”

“It is, though. I should have stopped you. I shouldn’t have slept with you to begin with.”

“Nat, just stop. Please.” She nods her head, but I can see it in her eyes. She’s scared to death. She doesn’t know what to do, and frankly, neither do I.

“How long you been homeless?”

“A year. Maybe a little more.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” she tells me, which is fair. She doesn’t have to tell me her life’s details if she doesn’t want to.

“I have two grown kids. You met Kiki, and the other is Hodge.”

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