Page 56 of The Boy Who Cried Bear
“I’m worried,” she says. “I’m sorry, Eric. I didn’t mean to blame anyone.”
“Can you leave us alone, please, April?” I say.
“You really need to take that—”
“Leave us alone, please, April.”
My tone tells her not to argue, and for once, she backs down. She murmurs something and leaves.
Dalton is standing right next to the wall, as if he’d been casually leaning against it while asking for the test, and then he’d straightened in his shock and confusion.
“I’m sorry,” I say. And I burst into tears.
I feel his arms go around me as I blindly wipe away the tears, angry with myself for the outburst that keeps me from saying what I need to say.
I step away from him, swiping at my tears, but they just keep coming, and when I catch a glimpse of his face through the wash of them, his panic is palpable, as if I’m bleeding uncontrollably.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, though I’m not sure how clear my words are. “I—I didn’t want to tell you about the missed pills. It was already too late, and I just wanted to forget it and do better, and now I might be pregnant, and I know you’re not ready, and if I’m pregnant, it’s my fault.”
Before I can protest, his arms are around me again, and this time, I don’t have the will to protest. I just sink into him as he moves us to a chair and sits with me on his lap.
“Not sure how it’s your fault, Butler,” he says. “Pretty sure it takes two to make a baby.”
I know he’s trying to make light, but I start blubbering uncontrollably.
His lips go to my ear. “You said you know I’m not ready. Did I say that recently?”
“I heard you. When April said she thinks I’m pregnant. I heard your tone.”
A moment’s pause. Then his arms tighten around me. “Did I sound like she’d just punched me in the gut?”
I nod against his chest.
“Well,” he drawls, “that could be because she said she thinks you’re pregnant and reminded me that we aren’t sure you can carry a baby. I sounded like that because not being able to carry a baby to term might mean a miscarriage. Or it might mean you’d be in danger, and that was an answer—as April said—that I should have gotten before now.”
“It wasn’t your responsibility.”
“Yeah, it was, Casey.” He pulls back a bit to look down at me. “It was like me dealing with my past. I didn’t want to. It hurt, and I wasn’t sure I wanted answers. You gently pushed me to get them, and I needed that, but not as much as you needed these answers. If there’s a chance that having a baby could be dangerous to you, then we should have been discussing long-term solutions, not taking temporary birth control.”
“I might not be pregnant,” I say quietly. “If I’m not then we’ll double up on protection or whatever we need to do until I can get answers.”
He says nothing.
“You think April’s right,” I say. “Between the missed pills and the late period and the morning nausea and the bursting into uncontrollable tears … there’s not much chance that test is coming back negative.”
“Take it,” he says. “Let’s get our answer.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, I’m sitting in our living room, holding the test strip with its double lines. Dalton is across from me, scratching his beard stubble, his gaze down, and I want to cry again. Not for those double lines, but for the look on his face, the way he can’t even meet my eyes.
“Eric?” I say. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
He nods, still not looking up.
“If it’s not what you want, then it doesn’t have to happen. Regardless of whether it can happen. If we aren’t ready, then … this can all go away.”
He drops his head and runs his hands through his hair.
