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When Faye makes no move to take it, I do.

Doctor Madden continues, “You have options, Faye, if being a mother isn’t what you wish right now. There is no shame⁠—”

“I’m not doing that.” There is sharp conviction in Faye’s voice.

I’m not even sure what they’re talking about now.

Doctor Madden hands me a second pamphlet, as though she knows Faye won’t take it.

I glance down and see a single word: Abortion.

That blood that rushed to my head starts to swirl. The words blur and I feel a prickly heat crawling down my spine.

My ears ring.

I clutch her hand tighter.

Doctor Madden pulls in breath as she wheels her stool back to her table, scribbling something on her prescription pad. She tears the paper from the pad, handing it to me again when Faye fails to move.

“This should help settle the nausea. I encourage you to consider all your options and supports, but in the meantime, you’ll need to start taking a prenatal.”

Faye nods and slides off the bed, eager to escape.

Doctor Madden calls, “Faye.” Faye pauses. “I’d like to see you again in eight weeks. But know I’m here to see you through this however you choose.”

Weakly, Faye croaks, “Thank you.”

I say nothing as she drags me from the office and into the clinic parking lot. I’m not sure I’m capable of words, anyhow.

I don’t know what I’m feeling.

And then Faye lets out a terrible sound. It’s like an animal dying—or what I imagine that might sound like.

It guts me.

I don’t think about the right and wrong of it. I just pull her into the circle of my arms. She doesn’t fight me, either. She comes to me willingly, burying her face into my chest and soaking the front of my shirt with her tears. She cries so long and so hard, I start to worry. I start to wade through my shock to find myself in the present.

She’s pregnant. Faye is pregnant with my little brother’s baby.

There’s a part of me, I’m ashamed to admit, that wants to fall to my knees right here in the parking lot and mourn this twist of fate right alongside her.

Somehow, I manage to hold myself steady and strong for her. For this girl I’d do damn near anything for.

With my hand cradling the back of her head, I walk us back to my truck. Her arms tighten around me, like she thinks I’m about to push her away. As though she fears I’m going to force her to stand on her own.

I’d never.

For her, I’ll always stand steady as a rock. Even if I’m just the rock that bridges the space between her and him.

I open the passenger door of my truck and perch with her still tucked in close. We have privacy like this, shielded by the door. I’ll stay like this for the rest of eternity if it’s what she needs.

She doesn’t need it, though, and I mourn that, too.

Untangling from the weeds of me that ache to draw her back in, to keep her forever, she blows out a big breath. Her lips tremble as she forces a sad smile.

She huffs, “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t apologize,” I croak.