I crack the window. It’s far too stuffy in here with us breathing the same air.

“I hate this song,” she says and turns off the radio, leaving us in awkward silence.

Her hand is draped over the steering wheel, her mouth a hard set.

“Who’s the father?” she blurts out.

I lean my head against the window, trying not to get sick. The last thing I want to tell her is who the father is. It won’t take her long to figure out seeing as I have no friends and the only place I ever want to be is next door.

“Is it Deacon?” she finally asks.

As much as I want to, it’s too late to deny it. She’ll find out eventually. I just wanted him to be the first to know.

I nod.

watch his kid. Not make a

say. “I’m sorry.” But I’m not actually sorry. I knew what I was getting myself into when Deacon and I hadn’t used protection, and he knew too. This wasn’t an accident like

your childhood crush would come back to haunt me. I’d hoped those feelings had

you know about my crush

him whenever he was around—not that you were any different than the other women in the neighborhood. We were all guilty of ogling him. Me included. It was a happy day for

of gross. My mom crushing on the

knots. Not only because of the morning sickness and my mom and Sam’s judgment, but also because I need to tell

hate it when my

me. It’s difficult raising a child on your own and at such a young

He’ll help me

hit me; if I’m pregnant, Bailey and this child are going to be siblings. The thought makes me unreasonably happy even though I know I shouldn’t get my hopes up. There could be

mom asks. “He

at my hands, braid my fingers

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