Page 92 of Play the Last Track
And now I’m fucking pregnant and we’re still just playing house, skirting any mentions of a ring or a wedding. I try to drop hints, but either they’re not obvious enough or he’s ignoring me.
Maybe I should just tell him I want to get married?
I groan, dropping my head to the kitchen bench and shifting on the stool. I should’ve just told him I wanted to get married a year and a half ago. If I had, I wouldn’t be having anxiety about what my very Italian mother and very Irish father are going to say about me having a baby out of wedlock.
They’ll be over the moon for a grandchild, but I can just see the flash of disappointment my mother will throw my way when we tell them.
“Urgh, what am I going to do?” I ask myself.
A deep chuckle echoes down the hallway, and a shiver runs down my spine. I sit up, glancing over my shoulder to see Flynn coming through the front door. He’s wearing a deep red polo shirt and black running pants. He toes off his sneakers and drops the BMU backpack he takes to work by the staircase.
“What have you done now?” he says, a smile painting his lips as he pads toward me.
I swipe the white sticks still lying on the counter into a pile and stand from the stool. I keep them bundled in my hands, hidden behind my back. Flynn approaches me, looking a little tired but still smiling. His eyes are bright, the mix of blue and green swirling as he takes me in. He smirks, gaze dropping down my body as he checks me out. God, he’s so sexy it makes my stomach clench and my heart skip multiple beats.
When he nears me, he bends, dropping a lingering kiss to my lips. Instantly, his hand reaches for my ponytail and pulls at the elastic wrapped around my hair. The curls fall free, and he sinks his hands into the strands, gently massaging my head as I look up at him. I try to smile, but looking at him, having his hands in my hair, makes me feel like I’m going to cry.
Fucking hormones.
“Hey,” he murmurs, noticing what I can only guess is the glassy look in my eyes as the sting of impending tears overwhelms me. “What’s wrong? Did you have a bad day?”
He steps closer as I shake my head, my lip quivering. Fucking hell, I think I might lose it.
What if he doesn’t want to marry me anymore? What if I made him wait too long, and now he’s bored? What if he’s changed his mind and doesn’t even want kids?
“I—” I gulp in some air, trying to get the words out without completely allowing my internal, irrational meltdown to take over. It doesn’t work, and a fat tear drops down my cheek.
Flynn immediately wipes it away.
I revel in the feel of his hands on me and use the calming strokes of his thumb across my cheek to even out my breathing. I take a step away from him, pull my hands from behind my back, and show him the numerous white sticks I’m holding.
His expression goes from concern, to amusement, to confused, to downright shock.
“Is that—” he stammers.
“Yes.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.” I nod, my heart pounding in my chest as I watch him take in what they mean.
He takes one of them from my hand and turns it over, eyes gazing down at the clear as day, double blue lines. “When?”
“I felt off last week.” I shrug, turning to place the remaining tests back on the kitchen bench. “And I’m late. Very late.”
“How late?”
“A month, maybe six weeks.”
Flynn blows out a breath and shakes his head. “How did you not notice?”
“I … haven’t really been tracking. We’ve been busy getting ready for Italy, and you’re in the middle of recruiting. I just … didn’t notice that I missed a period.” I wring my hands in front of me, twisting my fingers. I wish he would touch me. Or tell me that he’s excited. Logically, I know he loves me, but today’s been one hell of a rollercoaster, and I don’t have the energy to play mediator with my own emotions.
“What made you think about it?”
“Ivy’s pregnant again. She told me this morning.” Flynn’s eyes snap to mine, widening.
“She is?” I nod and he laughs. “Fuck, yeah.”
