Page 49 of Barbed Wire Fences
I stop there, unwilling to dive deeper. Molly and Regan don’t know the full story—at least, I don’t think Rhett ever told them or anyone else what happened when we split up ten years ago.
Sure, I knew that Owen had run his mouth around town that summer our senior year about taking my virginity, even though he didn’t, and people definitely talked about Rhett punching him in the locker room and breaking his nose. But no one knows the real reason why Rhett and I lost touch.
The reason that I’ve been trying to bury for years.
The reason that coming back to Whitewood Creek seems determined to expose and drag into the light.
???
This can’t be happening.
I was so careful.
I look down and confirm that this is in fact, happening.
I’m only three weeks into my new life in Virginia and for the first time in what feels like years, I’ve felt like life might finally be giving me a break. I landed a job faster than I ever imagined, working as a Certified Nurse Assistant at the local hospital.
It’s grunt work mostly. Cleaning up patient messes, handling the tasks that the registered nurses don’t want to. But I love it. I feel alive and like I have purpose. It’s like I’m building a life of my own. Earning my own money. Money that my parents can’t take away from me.
And of course, that’s when life decides to kick me until I'm on the floor of the dirty, hospital bathroom, gasping for air.
I stare at the pregnancy test that’s perched on the back of the toilet again and audibly groan.
Why did I even take it? Maybe because it’s July now, and I’ve been feeling off. That gnawing little voice in the back of every woman’s mind had started whispering, 'Are you sure you’re not pregnant?'
So, I stopped by the convenience store on my way into work tonight and, well, here we are. Two very, but clearly there, faint lines.
I blow out a slow, shaky breath, trying to steady my nerves.
I don’t know what this means yet. I don’t know how far along I might be. Hell, I don’t even know who the father is. It could only be one of two people: Owen, which happened once and only once before I ended things with him after graduation. Or Rhett, which happened more times and, in more places, than I could ever count. But I was careful with both and used protection every single time.
Grabbing the test, I toss it into the tiny trashcan beside the toilet. This isn’t something I can deal with right now. I'm at work and need to focus on my patients.
I smooth down my light blue scrubs, step out of the stall, wash my hands, and head back toward the hospital floor. But before I can shove it all to the back of my mind, my phone lights up with another text message from Rhett.
I’ve been ignoring Rhett. Not because ofthis, of course, but because the anger around the way things ended is still sitting in my chest like a splinter I can’t dig out.
I’m furious that he believed I told Owen I was a virgin before sleeping with him. Owen never asked; he just assumed. And I’m even angrier that Rhett thought I’d be ashamed of sleeping withhim, as if that could ever be true.
The truth is the shame that I was feeling was never about Rhett at all. It was always about Owen. I’m mortified that I ever let Owen into my life, let alone my body. Embarrassed that I gave him something he never deserved. And frustrated with myself for not recognizing I deserved better, plus angry that I didn’t put a stop to it before it happened after I’d been shown by Rhett what real love and tenderness looks like.
And underneath it all, what hurts the most is knowing Rhett thought so little of me and us that he could toss our friendshipand everything we were building away like it was nothing, when for me it was everything.
He didn’t trust me, and he didn’t believe me when he asked.
Rhett: Please talk to me. I’m so sorry, Jael. I was projecting my own insecurities about Owen and your past relationship with him onto you. I believe you. Please call me back.
Rhett: Fuck, I miss you, baby.
I work the rest of my shift distracted. When I finally get back to my temporary housing until I can move into the on-campus dorms, I strip out of my scrubs, take a long, hot shower, and sit on my bed, staring at my phone.
How much longer am I going to be able to live here with a baby? Will anyone want to room with me? How will I afford things like diapers, wipes and bottles?
All these questions run through my mind as I look at Rhett’s last text messages pleading for me to call him.
I know what I need to do.
Rhett answers on the first ring. “Jael, fuck, I’m so glad you called.”
