I checked again. Even though I'd already taken two damn tests. Still the same result. Two lines. Bold. Pink. Screaming at me like they knew exactly what kind of disaster they were about to cause.
Pregnant.
How the hell was I pregnant? It was just one night. I was drunk. It wasn't supposed to mean anything. Hell, I barely even remembered parts of it—I just wanted to forget him.
Two weeks ago, I got wasted out of my mind because Ambrose Marshall—yes, that Ambrose—was getting engaged. Not to me. To my sister. So yeah, I got a little reckless. I wanted one night to feel wanted. To let go. I thought I hooked up with some random guy.
Except… he wasn't random.
It was him.
Ambrose.
Now I'm standing in a bathroom stall, practically sweating through my clothes, holding a stick that might as well be a grenade.
And outside?
He's on stage. Putting a ring on my sister's finger.
I'm carrying the child of the man I've loved in secret for years.
A lump clogged my throat as I crouched down onto the bathroom floor, the pregnancy test still clutched in my trembling hand. "What the hell just happened…" I whispered, barely able to hear myself over the ringing in my ears. My heart was pounding so loudly it felt like it might crack open my chest.
Two weeks. It hit me like a punch.
The memory came flooding back, ugly and hot and disjointed like a scene from a bad movie. My dress ripped and half off. The room is spinning. Ambrose above me, drunk, his mouth hot against my skin, his hands gripping my waist like he was afraid I'd disappear. My voice, God, my voice moaning for him like I'd imagined doing a thousand times in my head, except it wasn't a fantasy anymore.
It was real.
I slapped a hand over my mouth, trying not to choke on my breath. My stomach flipped. My entire body felt wrong, out of place, like I'd woken up in someone else's nightmare.
"How the hell did that happen?" I croaked, barely able to get the words out. "What the hell am I supposed to do now? If grandpa finds out, he is gonna kill me."