Page 20 of Truck Up

Instead of answering me, she buries her face in my chest and sobs. I hold her tighter and let her cry. She never cries. My girl is strong and can handle anything life throws her way. Seeing her like this is killing me.

“Please, angel,” I whisper against the side of her head. “Talk to me.”

She doesn’t answer me. It takes her a few minutes to slow her breathing before she looks up and meets my worried gaze. She’s still crying, but she seems to have a better handle on it.

She takes a deep breath and then says, “I’m pregnant.”

I hear her words, but they don’t fully register. At least not immediately. But when they do, I feel my blood turn cold. If I could see my face, it’s probably ghost white.

“Are you sure?”

She nods. “I took a test today.”

“Fuck.” I release her and run my fingers through my hair. I spin around, squeeze my eyes closed, and take several deep breaths. A panic I’ve never experienced before feeds my anxiety. My head feels faint, my chest is tight, and I can’t feel the air filling my lungs. It takes me several deep breaths to calm my pounding heart enough to truly process what she said.

I turn back around and cringe when I see the look of rejection on her face. I don’t want her to feel rejected because I’m freaking out. I tell myself to pull her into my arms—hold her, comfort, tell her everything will be okay—but I don’t. Instead, I ask, “But how? We’re careful.”

She shrugs and pushes her shoulders back like she’s trying to be strong. “I guess we weren’t careful enough.”

“Shit, Lia.” I shove my hands into my hair and tug at the strands. It does nothing to relieve the stress building inside me. “I can’t be a dad.”

She takes a step back and fists her hands at her side. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. I am pregnant, and you are the father.”

“No, baby.” I reach for her, but she pulls away. “I didn’t mean it like that. I know I’m the father. It’s just … I’m too messed up to be a dad. I’ll fuck up a kid.”

Her expression softens, and she lets out a deep sigh. I open my arms to her and she steps back into my embrace. My anxiety calms some, but not like it usually does when I hold her.

“No, you’re not and no, you won’t,” she mumbles into my chest. “Your life hasn’t been easy, but you’re a good man. I wish you could see that.”

I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. This is probably the wrong question to ask, but I need to know what she’s thinking. “Does this mean you want to keep the baby?”

“Christian, look at me.” I shake my head, refusing to comply. She lifts her hands and cups my cheeks. I immediately feel calmer—her touch has a way of doing that to me—but I don’t open my eyes. “Look. At. Me!” Her voice is demanding in a way I rarely hear from her.

I’m powerless to refuse her. When our eyes lock, she smiles.

“We’ll figure this out. Together. But yes, I am leaning toward keeping it. How can I not want to keep what we created?” Her eyes well up with more tears and her voice cracks.

I nod, even though panic is digging its sharp claws deeper into me.

“Okay.” This time I’m the one taking a few steps back. Her hands fall off my face and I immediately miss her touch.

“Christian.” She begs. “Don’t shut me out.”

“I’m not.” My response is rushed, and I shake my head. I feel myself shutting down and I can’t do anything to stop it. My sudden urge for a hit is so powerful, it’s as if I took my last hit yesterday and my body is in the early stages of withdrawal. It’s been a long time since a craving this strong has overcome me.

“I know that look in your eyes. You’re panicking, and when you panic, you shut everyone out. Please don’t shut me out. Not now.” Her voice wobbles and her tears return.

Seeing her like this makes me feel like shit, but if I don’t get out of here, I’m going to lose it. My skin is itching, and my heart won’t slow down.

“I just need to think.” I whisper. I’m not equipped to handle this.

“Christian, please.” She reaches for me, but I step out of her reach before she can touch me. If she touches me, I’m done. I will crumble to the ground and cease to exist.

“I won’t shut you out. I promise. Just give me some time to process this. Can you do that?”

She nods, but all I see is hurt. Hurt that I’m causing. And I hate myself for it.

If she chooses to keep this baby, she’ll be tied to me for life. That will only drag her down and ruin whatever chance at happiness she deserves.