Page 29 of Forsaken Trail (Runaway 4)

And I’d forget about it soon enough anyway.

Chapter Six

Aria

I hate Brody Carmichael.

“Oh, God.” I slid to my butt on the bathroom floor, letting the cold from the tile seep into my jeans. My stomach churned and I rose up just in time to retch into the toilet. Again.

How much puking could a woman do when she hadn’t eaten anything in twelve hours?

Apparently, a lot. This was the fourth time I’d had to rush to the bathroom this morning.

I wiped my mouth dry and waited, hovering beside the porcelain to make sure I was done. Then I glanced at my watch. Eleven o’clock. That was usually when the vomiting stopped.

Why? Why had I been so foolish? Why had I had so much champagne? Why had I let Clara talk me into going to that wedding two months ago?

And why had I slept with Brody?

That son of a bitch Carmichael got me pregnant.

Pregnant.

That word had been bouncing around in my brain for two days, ever since I’d held the positive test in my hand. Pregnant. Only reading the result a thousand times had helped it sink in.

When I’d missed my period, I’d fooled myself into thinking it was an anomaly. I’d chalked it up to exercise. After my trip to Arizona, I’d started working out hard at the gym in Heron Beach. They’d started a pre-holiday workout challenge, and after jumping and squatting and crunching, most nights I’d walked home like a limp noodle.

The class was a killer, but I had more muscle definition at thirty than I’d had at twenty. Women lost their periods from body fat changes all the time, right?

Denial was an evil bitch. She’d trick you into false securities. She’d duped me into ignoring the real reason I hadn’t bought my monthly supply of tampons. Then, after weeks of being my constant companion, she’d abandoned me.

My exhaustion hadn’t faded, even after cutting time at the gym. My breasts were tender. My mind sluggish. And my stomach in a constant knot.

One week of morning sickness and the signs were all there, screaming at me to stop ignoring the truth.

Pregnant. I was going to become a mother.

And I had no idea what to do.

When Clara had realized she was pregnant with August, she’d called me crying from the bathroom in her Las Vegas apartment. She’d been hysterical. Her sobs had bounced off the walls.

What am I going to do? What am I going to do?

She’d asked me that question over and over. Once she’d calmed down, we’d spent hours talking it through. Her biggest fear had been telling Devan. Maybe because she’d known how he’d react.

Though handsome, Devan hadn’t been the most loving of boyfriends. He was a narcissist. A child, even his own, would be competition for attention. There were times when he worshiped Clara, enough to make her stay. But a baby? Clara knew he was going to flip that her birth control hadn’t worked. He proved predictable.

After breaking the news, she called me again, from the same bathroom, this time livid because Devan had accused her of doing it on purpose.

Would Brody do the same?

From what I could remember, he’d used condoms. Multiple condoms. One of them must have broken. And since I wasn’t one to bring men to my bed, or sleep in theirs, I hadn’t bothered with birth control. Sex for me was as rare as the steak tartare served at the wedding reception.

Stupid, Aria. Don’t think about food.

My stomach rolled again, but being empty, nothing came up. That would change tomorrow morning when I’d repeat this blessed cycle again.

I shoved myself off the floor and out of the bathroom stall, then went to the sink to splash water on my face. The bottle of mouthwash in my purse was nearly empty but I had enough for a swish and spit.