Page 86 of All's Fair In Love & War

She folded her arms across her chest, jaw tight, and I could see the wall going up, brick by brick. She was ready to fight me on this, and I was ready to push back.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you’ve been sick for weeks, and I’m not about to sit here and keep pretending I don’t see what’s happening.”

“You don’t know shit,” she snapped, backing a step away.

“You’re right,” I said calmly. “I don’t. That’s why I brought the tests.”

She tilted her head like she didn’t believe what she was hearing. “So, what? You think you can force me to do something I don’t want to do?”

“I don’t think anything,” I sneered. “You’re gonna take the tests, by choice or by force. That part’s up to you.”

She stared at me, her jaw tensed, and her breathing ragged as she debated whether to slap the bag out of my hand or storm out of the room.

“Now’s not the time to act brand new,” I added. “You know how I move, and I don’t repeat myself. So, go in that bathroom and handle it, or I’ll walk you in there myself.”

A beat passed. Then another.

Tatum’s eyes dropped to the bag, she snatched it from my hand, and turned on her heel, her mouth set in a tight line as the bathroom door slammed shut behind her.

I opened it right back up. “You’re not doing that without me.”

She didn’t move from where she stood, back to the sink, knuckles tight around the bag. I flipped on the light and stepped inside, closing the door behind me.

“I don’t trust you to be honest right now,” I said as I took the sack from her hands, calm as ever. “So I’m taking the guesswork out.”

Tatum narrowed her eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, she watched in silence as I emptied the bag onto the counter. I opened all six boxes, lined the sticks up on a clean towel, and unwrapped each one as if I were handling evidence.

“You plan on holding my hand, too?” she asked dryly.

“No,” I said, picking up the first test. “I’m holding this. Let’s go.”

She blinked. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” I said. “Now sit.”

“I swear I hate you right now,” Tatum spat with tears rolling down her face as she pulled her leggings down and sat on the toilet, turning her face away from me.

“Keep on, and the baby’s gonna look just like me.” I grinned while holding the first test steady beneath her. “Piss.”

Tatum huffed with defiance, but the stream hit the stick. When she finished, I laid it on the counter and picked up the next.

“Five more,” I said.

“You don’t think this is a little extreme?” she asked, still not looking at me.

“No,” I said. “It’s necessary.”

One by one, she peed on every test, and I stood there, holding each stick.

We stared at the counter, both of us silent as though the tests were ticking bombs. Tatum pressed her wrist to her eyes and breathed hard, scrubbing away tears. I leaned back on the wall and counted out the slowest fucking three minutes of my life.

At the end, I lined up the sticks in a neat row. Each one bloomed the same bold result, screaming positive in bright, idiot-proof color. I didn't feel relief. No joy. Not even anger, by then. I felt numb, and the silence in the room pressed so hard my chest ached.

I turned to her. She didn't say anything, just braced her arms on her knees and glared at the tile between her sneakers. Her whole body shook from the rage of holding herself together.

“Congratulations,” I said, because neither of us knew what came next. “You’re definitely pregnant, babe. You want to tell me why you tried to keep this shit from me?”

---