Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
The word that makes the most sense for my current state of absurdity but would be the biggest mindfuck of all.
The word that has me mentally calculating, When’s the last time I had my period? And When’s the last time I had unprotected sex?
Sadly, I can’t even remember the answer to the first, and the second? Well, let’s just say Tad and I haven’t been the best about using condoms. Frankly, I don’t know if we’ve used one since the first time we forgot about one. And that was weeks and a lot of sex ago.
I’m on birth control, but anyone with a brain knows it’s not an ironclad prevention. It’s why they tell you to use condoms too.
“Breezy, are you pregnant?” Norah whispers the word again.
And sadly, I can’t tell her no in this scenario and actually believe it. Instead, I sigh. Hard. “It’s sure looking like a possibility,” I say, and a laugh that’s dangerously close to a wail escapes my lungs. “Though I imagine I can’t know for sure without a test.”
“Okay, but how? With who?”
I gesture toward the group of hoodlums outside, my eyes widening and my hands tossing up with dramatic effect. “Well, it’s not one of my brothers, so I’m pretty sure it’s the third freaking troublemaker, Rocky Balboa himself out there.”
“Farmer Tad?” she shrieks loudly enough that I wave both of my hands aggressively, suggesting she lower her volume by about thirty decibels.
“Norah! Only the screen is closed!”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I just can’t believe you might be pregnant. With child. With Tad Hanson’s child.” She’s whispering again. “I knew you two were spending a lot of time together, and I certainly had my suspicions about you helping out on his farm. I thought maybe you were messing around with him, but I didn’t think you were over there getting pregnant!”
“Yeah, well…” I burst into tears. “You’re not the only one!”
“Oh, Breeze…” Norah’s hand shoots forward, covering mine and squeezing. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
“It doesn’t feel like it’s going to be okay, Norah. I’m lost. Wandering. Completely freaking untethered from everything I’ve ever used to guide me. And now…this. I mean, what if I’m really freaking pregnant with Farmer Tad’s baby?”
Norah snorts. “I just have to know… Do you call him that in bed?”
“Norah!” I chastise, even though the teasing nickname Farm Daddy comes to mind a little too quickly for the grave nature of the situation.
“Okay, okay. You’re right. No sex jokes allowed right now. Instead, we’re going to drive over to Molene, get a pregnancy test, and take it in the supermarket bathroom. After that, we’ll make a plan based on the results.”
“Do we really have to take it in the supermarket bathroom? That seems a little…uncouth.”
“Your city is showing,” Norah says through a laugh, standing from the table and grabbing her purse and keys from the countertop by the fridge. I guess she ditched them there when she walked in on Celebrity Death Match in action. “But we can drive to Josie’s and take it there if you prefer. Clay will be at the bar to open up with Marty, so we’ll have privacy.”
I don’t move, clinging desperately to the table instead. “What if we don’t and say we did?”
“Come on, Breeze, don’t go soft on me now. Time to woman up.”
“I’m scared, Norah.” The words are as quiet as air.
“Oh honey, I know. But I promise…scary as it is—and it is terrifying—being a mother is the best thing that could ever happen to you.”
I nod. “Let me go brush my teeth really quickly.”
Norah nods. “Take your time. We’ll go whenever you’re ready.”
“Funny thing about being ready when it comes to this—I don’t know if I’ll ever be.”
Norah’s wink is comforting in the strangest way. I can’t explain it, but it’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt. “Then, honey…you’re right on schedule.”
33
Tad
Snow still blankets most of Red Bridge, but Bennett Bishop apparently took that as an invitation to start an outdoor bonfire like it’s the Fourth of July.
“We’ve got a problem,” I say, circling the old, rusted barrel he’s using as a burn pit and watching as the flames lick dangerously high. He’s already tossed in a pile of cardboard, a busted chair leg, and—God help us—a splash of gasoline from a red can that may be on the back deck but is still way too close for comfort.
The snow around the barrel is melting fast, revealing patches of muddy grass and steam rising in ghostly curls. I dig my heel into the slush, dragging a line of dirt between the blaze and the nearest pine tree like it might somehow stop Bennett Bishop from burning down half of Red Bridge.
“Yeah,” Logan agrees. “We do, Ted. And it’s your attitude.”
“You don’t call him Ted,” Bennett sings, bouncing Autumn from hip to hip while she laughs. “I call him Ted.”