Page 66 of Code Violation

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Vesper

Ihardly ever dream, and if I do, then I rarely remember the details.

But the same clear memory has been featured in my dreams two nights in succession. The one where Silas had shown up, unannounced, and handed me a receipt for fancy sneakers and had them delivered to the apartment.

I forgot all about that afternoon.

Did I choose to push the memory to the back of my mind, and now that Kane is out of the picture, my conscience feels comfortable to remember it? I’m not sure.

All I do know is, I’ve been experiencing sharp, stabbing pains for the last few hours, and Google tells me this can be a sign of implantation—aka when a fertilized egg attaches itself to the lining of a uterus.

One of the first stages in pregnancy.

I should probably wait another couple of days to take a test, but impatience and the need to pee urge my feet toward the bathroom. I creep down the darkened hallway, careful I don’t wake Silas, who stayed on my couch last night after we binged an entire box set of Bad Boys.

Flicking on the light, I grab the twin pack of pregnancy tests, rip it open, and pull the pink cap off one of the sticks, setting the other down on the counter.

“Fuck,” I whisper when I slide down my cream sleep shorts and find spots of blood inside them.

Either I started my period early or that blood is exactly what I suspect. Spotting from implantation.

Sitting down on the toilet, I can’t pee fast enough or wait for the two minutes to pass before I can read the results.

I pace the length of my small bathroom while the test develops.

I promised Silas that he could be with me when I did this, but truthfully, I don’t know how I’m going to react when the result finally shows.

Whichever way this goes, I know my life will never be the same again. It’s hard to believe that a two-minute moment in time could have such a profound effect on a person’s future.

On the future of multiple people.

I can’t do this.

Anxiety gets the better of me when I check the test and it’s still blank.

Snatching it off the counter, I replace the pink lid and step out of the bathroom.

If I turn right down my hallway, then I’ll be back in my bed in seconds.

And if I turn left, I could be lying on the couch next to Silas, wrapped in the safety of his arms.

“Ves?” Silas’s sleepy, rough voice filters from the living room, and I head toward it, test in hand and tears pricking the corners of my eyes.

It’s the middle of the night, and the room is flooded in moonlight. Silas’s handsome face smiles at me when I slide beneath the duvet I pulled from Drew’s old bed and he scoots back on the couch.

Every night he stays here, I offer him my friend’s old bed, and each time, he declines it. I don’t know why, and I haven’t argued either.

“Hey …” He flips me onto my back when my glassy eyes shine in the moonlight. “What’s going on?” He braces a palm next to my head, which now rests on his pillow.

As a hot-blooded woman, I’ve always fantasized about a man hovering over me like this, a look of love and possession weighing heavily in his eyes.

My core throbs, and for a second, I forget about the test in my left hand. Something he hasn’t seen.

I hold it between us.