Page 64 of Accidental Irish Daddy

“You sure don’t act like good friends anymore.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I say. “Good friends don’t keep secrets from one another…right?”

Her eyes get big again. I’d hit on something I’m not supposed to know, apparently. She starts walking backward.

“You just better make it right, Mr. Duncan. Or…or I’ll be back here and kick your shins in!”

With that, she runs off. I stand there for a moment.

Colored sticks?

Drugs. That has to be it. Aisling’s doing drugs.

I knew allowing her to continue working at the club was a mistake. Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later.

Dammit.

I take off up the stairs.

I told her I couldn’t abide drugs in this house. On the first damn day she was here,I told her.

“Aisling!” I call out as I get to the first floor. “Aisling!”

A door opens upstairs, and Aisling appears on the landing upstairs. “What? What’s going on?”

“I told you the first day you were here,” I say. “I told you that I couldnotabide drugs in this house. YouknowI’m in recovery, and still you decide to get high—”

“I’m not doing drugs,” she says, clearly appalled. “I barely even drink. What are you talking about?”

“The little colored sticks? In your bathroom? What was it? Ecstasy? Something to keep you going while you’re fucking me, is it??”

“First of all,” she says, coming down the stairs, “keep your voice down. You want the whole neighborhood to hear you?”

“Aisling—”

“And second of all, I am not doing drugs. I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re ranting about with colored sticks—”

“Why was Bridget throwing away your trash the other day? You can do that fine yourself. What was that about?”

She stops and stares at me, her face blanching.

Ha!

She looks away from me for a moment, then sits down on the steps.

“Of all the things,” I say to her. “I don’t understand why you would do this, Aisling. You know how hard it’s been for me to stay sober. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?’

She looks up at me, and all of a sudden, she looks like she’s exhausted. Her eyes take on a sort of sorrowful downturn.

“The sticks weren’t drugs, Grant,” she says. “They were pregnancy tests.”

Everything in me goes cold.

“What…what did you say?”

“I’m pregnant,” she says softly.

I can’t speak. My mind goes blank, and my mouth dries up.

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