Page 101 of A Little Secret
She might not be okay. The baby might not be okay. And I don’t care how fucking strong Finley is. There's no way a word of caution like that can’t affect her or mess with her psyche.
Glancing at her in the passenger seat, I find Finley chewing on the edge of her lip, her eyes as glazed as they were during her appointment while she stares out the windshield. It’s snowing. Hell, it’s a blizzard. As if the dark clouds and thick blanket of white falling from the sky are an accurate depiction of the situation and the mood we’re both drowning in.
Without bothering to look at me, she asks, “Do you know what sucks?”
“What?”
“Your first game,” she murmurs. “My brother’s first game.”
“What about them?”
“Unless they’re against the Lions, I’m going to have to miss them.” A divot forms between her brows. “There’s no way I’m going to be able to travel with a newborn. And the playoffs this year? I might as well kiss attending them goodbye right now, if the whole high-risk label sticks.”
My chest caves, and I squeeze the steering wheel, caught between confusion and flattery that hockey is where her head’s at as her comment washes over me.
“We’ll figure it out,” I promise.
“Yeah.” She nods absently and sighs. “Do you think I’ll have to move in with my parents once they find a place?” Her frown deepens before a pathetic laugh slips out of her. “Talk about backsliding, am I right?”
Reaching toward her, I squeeze her knee. “We’ll figure it out.”
“There’s that we again.” She gives me the side eye.
“Is that a problem?”
With another sigh, she places her elbow on the passenger window and rests her head against her hand. “I haven’t decided yet.”
I want to ask what she means, but I stop myself. Now isn’t the time. She needs my reassurance, not the other way around. “We’ll figure it out, Fin.”
Her lips press together. “Yeah. Of coursewewill.”
She doesn’t believe me, and honestly, a small part of me doesn’t believe it, either. Not entirely. Things are precarious at best, and with so many unknowns, it’s hard to predict the future, let alone affect it or control it the way I’m itching to.
“You ready to tell your parents?” I prod.
“And upturn their life more than I already have by being their daughter?” A pathetic laugh escapes her. “And that’s if it’s even necessary, right?” She wipes beneath her eyes, her armor finally cracking. “The baby might not even make it in the first place, so?—”
“Don’t talk like that, Fin.”
“How can I not, Griff?” Her lower lip wobbles. “The doctor said so himself. I’m high-risk.”
Snow crunches beneath the tires as I find a secluded spot, pull over, and grab her face, forcing her to look at me. “High-risk doesn’t mean shit.”
A ghost of a smile teases her lips. “It actually kind of does. Literally. It means…shit. This is a shit pregnancy, and?—”
“Stop spiraling,” I order. “This isn’t you.”
She shakes her head. “Maybe it is, Griff. Maybe this iswho I really am when I can’t pretend to be strong anymore.”
“Stop.”
“I can’t.” Her voice cracks. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop blaming my stupid brain?—”
Slamming my mouth to hers, I kiss her. To shut her up. To force her to stop belittling herself and voicing aloud her ugly thoughts when they couldn’t be further from the truth. Her muscles freeze for a moment, then her teeth clash with mine, and she bites my bottom lip, kissing me back. Fighting me. Forcing all her pent-up frustration and anxiety into the kiss until I can fucking taste it.
Ripping my mouth from hers, I growl, “Don’t you dare blame yourself.”
“Then, distract me,” she demands. “Because I am so caught up in my own head and all the what-ifs that could absolutely destroy me, I’m not sure what else to do. Griffin, I’m begging?—”