Page 80 of Living for Truth
“Hell yeah! Sneaky sex for the win.” He holds his hand up for a high-five, but I give him an unimpressed look.
“Don’t be gross, dude.”
“Sorry.”
“Whatever. I think you should take the apartment with the other guys to get out of Mom and Dad’s, then when Hannah moves out, the place can be yours.”
“I’ll figure something out. Now, tell me more about Hannah.”
Chapter 37
Hannah
Istare at the calendar, then at my birth control packet, counting the days again. I’ve done the calculations four times, and I get the same answer.
My period is two weeks late.
It’s been a month since Morgan and I had sex for the first time, but I swear I’ve been taking my birth control at the same time every day and haven’t missed a pill since I started it six months ago.
This cannot be happening.
We’ve had the most amazing month. In the beginning, I only slept over on the weekends because Aly was in school, but now that she’s not, I sleep over a few nights a week. She comes to Morgan’s flower classes at the library every Thursday, and sometimes I bring her to work with me when I think she’ll like the activity for the day.
Morgan and I have gotten really good at being quiet during sex, and on the nights Aly wants to spend with someone else when we have the house to ourselves, we’re insatiable.
And now that’s all going to change because I might be pregnant.
He’s going to think I lied to him about wanting kids. He’s going to think I’m trying to baby-trap him, and he’s going to hate me.
I don’t want Morgan to go through the heartbreak of losing a baby, and if my body has proven anything, it’s that babies are not safe inside it.
I take a sick day from work and rush to the nearest drugstore to get three different types of pregnancy tests.
When I get back to my apartment, I follow the instructions to a T, like I have so many times before, and anxiously wait for the results.
It feels like hours when my timer finally goes off, but before I can go back into the bathroom and see the results, there’s a knock on my door.
Dread bleeds from every pore on my body, my stomach falling to the floor because I know who’s there before I open it.
I open the door just a crack to find a concerned Morgan. “Hi, Butterfly. You feeling okay? Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“Sick day. Don’t want you to get sick,” I say, my voice hoarse from crying.
“Can I come in and check on you, please? I don’t care about getting sick. I care about you.”
He sounds so earnest, so concerned, I can’t say no. I step back and let him come in the door, and he rushes around me, looking for signs of illness. He places a hand on my forehead to check my temperature, then on my cheeks.
“You don’t seem to have a fever. What’s going on?”
Tears well in my eyes, anxiety crawling up my spine. I don’t want to tell him. I don’t want him to be mad at me.
But I have to.
Wordlessly, I walk to the bathroom and pick up the three tests I took and pad back to where he’s still standing right inside the door. I don’t even look at them, just hand them to him and step back, wrapping my arms around my midsection like that will protect me.
He blinks at me a few times before looking at the tests.
“You’re pregnant.” He doesn’t say it as a question. He takes a big breath, “We’repregnant?” This time itisa question.
