Page 27 of Seein’ Red

“As in, you’re…”

“Pregnant. Yeah.”

8

NASH

Pregnant.

Willa is pregnant.

Or thinks she’s pregnant. Which, I trust her on. She knows her body better than I do in that regard. I might know where she’s ticklish, the parts she likes to have kissed versus licked versus caressed, and what makes her scream my name at the top of her lungs, but when it comes to the inner workings, I got nothing.

“So, the puking…”

“I didn’t actually puke. Just more dry heaving.”

“But I thought that was a morning thing. It’s morning sickness, right?”

“Well, it started this morning,” she sasses.

My head spins. Unfortunately, in the opposite direction that the room is suddenly spinning in. The whole thing makes me dizzy, and I feel my way over to the bed, parking myself on the edge. That does little to stop the spin, but at least now I don’t feel like I’m going to fall over.

Holy shit…

Willa’s….nope, not saying the word. Can’t. It’s too much.

And if it’s too much for me, it’s probably beyond that for her. Shit.

Her internal freak-out must be off the charts. Add that to the list of things I can’t process right now. No wonder she’s been so hot and cold this morning. At least now I know it’s not something I did.

Except it is, isn’t it?

Shit…

I look up at her, trying to focus. Trying to figure out how we got here. No—I know how we got here. Junior high health class demystified that real quick. Willa and I are long past the basic P in V equals B equation that Mrs. Radcliff used as a way to teach us all where babies came from. Add that to the visual aids she also provided, and well, that’s high on the list of things I can never unsee.

None of that explains the particulars of this situation though.

We’ve been dancing this dance for a long time. A long fucking time. Probably too long for two people who have as visceral a reaction to each other as we do.

Willa Hayes and I might not have invented hate fucking. But we sure as hell have perfected it.

We’re also really fucking careful. Pun intended.

I always—always—suit up, and I know she’s diligent about taking her pills. She’s all but plowed me over to get to them when the alarm on her phone goes off. Wrapping my head around all of this seems impossible.

Yet, I know exactly what I need to do.

I push to my feet, giving my head a shake, trying to clear the noise that formed in a flash. My heart thunders, my mouth drying up, the adrenaline taking control. Two large steps and I’m in front of Willa again.

Dropping to one knee.

“What the⁠—”

“Marry me.”

It comes out as a statement rather than a question, the two words jumbled together like one long piece of word vomit. She doesn’t give me a chance to try again though.