Page 100 of Too Late

I roll onto my side and stare down at her. “What is it?” I place my hand on her stomach and inch her shirt up so I can touch skin. I can’t get enough of her. I don’t remember a time in my life that I’ve been with a girl I couldn’t stop touching. Even when we’re just lying here having a simple conversation, I’m either tracing patterns over her stomach or up and down her arms, or touching her lips with my fingers. She seems to like it because she’s the same way and Idefinitelydon’t mind.

“You know how I can cook pretty much anything?”

I nod. She really can.

“I thought about compiling some of my best recipes and making a cookbook.”

“Sloan, that’s a great idea.”

“There are so many cookbooks flooding the market, though, and I want something to stand out. I thought about playing up the fact that I learned to cook so well when I was practically forced to cook every night by Asa. I want the title to be something tragically funny, like,‘Recipes I learned to cook while living with my asshole, controlling ex-boyfriend.’And then I could donate half the proceeds to victims of domestic violence.”

I’m honestly not sure what to think. Part of me wants to laugh, because she’s right, a title like that would be catchy in a strange way. But part of me cringes that Asa is the reason she cooks so well. Because he was controlling, and she had no choice. It reminds me of the first time I took her out to lunch, and she acted like she’d never been to a restaurant before.

“You think it’s stupid,” she says, falling back onto her pillow.

I shake my head. “Sloan, no. I don’t. It’s a catchy title. It would make people look twice, that’s for sure. I just hate that it’s so …accurate. It would be funny to me if it was a joke, but it isn’t. That’s really why you cook so well, and I fucking hate that son of a bitch for it.”

She forces a smile. “Thanks to you, that’s not my life anymore.”

I constantly have to remind her that I didn’t save her. “Thanks toyou, that isn’t your life anymore.”

She smiles again, but since the moment I walked through the front door, her smile has seemed forced. Something bigger is bothering her and I don’t know what it is. It could just be the stress of being locked in an apartment all day. “Are you okay, Sloan?”

She waits a second too long to nod, which lets me know she’s not okay.

“What is it?”

She sits up on the bed and begins scooting off it. “I’m fine, Luke. I need to stir the soup.”

I grab her arm to stop her. She stays at the foot of the bed, but doesn’t turn back to look at me. “Sloan.”

She sighs with her whole body. I release her arm and then join her at the foot of the bed. “Sloan, he can’t leave his house, if that’s what’s bothering you. We’ll know if he does. Not to mention the surveillance outside. You’re safe.”

She shakes her head, letting me know that’s not why she’s upset. She isn’t crying, but I can tell by the small quiver in her lip that she’s about to.

“Is it your brother? We’ll go see him this weekend. We’ll go with an escort to make sure we’re safe, and he’s still got security outside his room.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, wanting her to know that I’m here. She’s safe. Her brother is safe.

She lowers her head even more and somehow folds in on herself, gripping her arms with her hands.

“I think I might be pregnant.”

She didn’t want to be in the bathroom while we waited the two minutes for the results. I stand here, staring down at the stick. Waiting.

As soon as she told me she might be pregnant, it felt like I had failed her. Like all that I’ve done to protect her was for nothing. She sat there with tears streaming down her cheeks, her head lowered and her voice barely above a whisper, and there wasn’t anything I could say to take her fear away. I couldn’t tell her not to worry, because this is definitely something to worry about. We can do the math. She’s been with both Asa and me in the last couple of months. The odds of it being mine are even slimmer than the odds of it being his, so if I were to tell her not to worry, I’d be lying.

She said she takes birth control, so she doesn’t know how this happened, but she lived with Asa. I wouldn’t put it past him to have somehow messed with her birth control, hoping to get her pregnant so he would have yet another way of trapping her into staying with him. He’s insane enough to do something like that.

The last thing she needs right now is the stress of carrying part of that man inside her. Something that would tie her to him for the rest of her life. The last thing she needs right now is the stress of caring for a baby, no matterwhoseit is. The next few months are crucial to her safety. She’s going to be locked up inside this apartment, waiting for the trial. Not to mention once the trial begins—if she’s pregnant—she’ll have to testify on the stand near the time she would be due to give birth.

I inhale slowly as I stare down at the test. It’s the kind that doesn’t show a line. It actually displays the words, “not pregnant” or “pregnant.” I went to the store as soon as she told me. The last thing I want her to do is wonder. The sooner she knows, the quicker she can decide what she wants to do.

I wait, my hands raking through my hair, my feet pacing the small bathroom. I’m facing the other direction when the timer on my phone chimes, indicating the wait time is up.

I blow out a calming breath, and when I turn around and see the wordpregnant, I make a fist, prepared to punch the wall. The door. Anything. Instead, I punch the air and cuss under my breath, because I know I’m going to have to walk out of this bathroom and break that girl’s heart.

I don’t know if I can do it.

I debate staying in here for another few minutes, just until I can shake off the anger. But I know she’s out there, scared and probably even more nervous than I was. I open the door, but she isn’t in the bedroom. I walk into the living room and she’s in the kitchen, stirring the soup again. It’s been simmering for over an hour now, so I know she’s just wasting time. She hears me, but she doesn’t turn around to look at me. I walk into the kitchen, but she doesn’t look up at me. She just continues stirring the soup, waiting for me to break the news to her.

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