Page 72 of Resilient Rhythms
“You okay?” Mckenna calls out.
“Yep,” I bite out, flipping on the faucet and jamming my hand beneath the cool, rushing water.
I need to get a grip. I’m losing it over…what? I don’t even know what I’m losing it over.
I pull in another breath, hold it in my lungs, close my eyes, and…count. It’s an old trick I learned in therapy. Or rehab. And as I visualize the sandy beaches of Costa Rica, the rolling waves, and the changing tide, I start to relax. My heart rate levels out, my breathing steadies, and the nerves hopping through my veins dissipate.
This is me and Mckenna. Whatever it is, we can handle it. We’ve been through fucking hell together and are still…here. Fighting. Trying. Loving.
Whatever she needs, I’ve got her.
Resolved to not freak the fuck out, I pour two mugs of peach tea, clasp the handles, and move toward the living room.
I pass a mug to Mckenna. She shifts, tucking her legs underneath her body, before placing the mug on the side table.
I frown.She doesn’t want tea?
“Okay,” she breathes out, clasping her hands.
“Okay,” I repeat, placing my mug down too. I don’t want it anymore either.
“Maverick.”
“Mckenna.”
“I have to tell you something.”
“Hit me.”
She frowns. “What?”
I motion with my fingers for her to give me whatever she’s got. “I’m ready. Give it to me.”
“Okay,” she exhales. Cracks her knuckles.
Fuck. There goes my blood pressure.
“I’m pregnant,” Mckenna says.
My heart skips a beat.
“I—what?” I must’ve misheard her.
“I’m pregnant,” she repeats, her expression severe. She watches me carefully, as if clocking every emotion flitting across my face.
But it’s fucking relief that rocks through me.
Relief that she’s okay and Bran didn’t hurt her.
Followed by…fucking agony.
Bran didn’t hurt her, did he?
“Mckenna, did Bran?—”
“No!” She holds up a hand. “Mav, it’s yours.”
“Oh, thank fuck!” I cry out, my relief flooding back so strongly, swiftly, it makes me dizzy.
