“No, not like that kind of stick. It’s white. Has a rectangle.”
Vanessa walks up. “Is he talking about a pregnancy test?”
“But I can’t do it,” Ryan continues, “even if I set my mind to it. But you said I can do anything I want if I work really hard.”
Justin pulls his lips in, but his mouth is twitching. “Ah, okay. Well, you know, you can, uh, usually, although—”
Ryan doesn’t want to hear about “although.” He turns a triumphant face toward me. “See? You’re wrong!”
Oh my God. My mouth goes dry.
“Wrong about what?” Barron booms, closing the door to the deck behind him. Why couldn’t he have continued to hog the damned grill?
“She said I can’t pee on a stick and get a cross, like she did.”
A scream gets tangled in my throat. I don’t think I can breathe. Or, at least, that’s how it feels from the roaring in my head and the tightness in my chest.
“A cross…?” Nate’s gaze swings toward me.
My heart racing, I stagger back a step, feeling like the world is collapsing on me.
Barron also turns fully in my direction, and somebody gasps. I think it’s my mom.
“She made a cross on her stick!” Ryan says accusingly. “But when I peed on mine, it didn’t work.”
Why don’t you say it louder, so everyone in Los Angeles can hear you?
Justin starts walking into another room with Ryan, who squirms around and maintains eye contact with me over his shoulder. “I can so do it!” he screams.
“Oh my goodness, are you pregnant?” Vanessa’s voice seems to come from someplace far away.
I’m so not ready to deal with this. And I’m certainly not ready to talk about it in front of Nate’s family when I haven’t even told Nate.
I try to tell them it isn’t the time for a group discussion, but my tongue isn’t doing such a great job of making words. My vision dims, and then everything goes black.
Chapter Thirty-One
Nate
My vision narrows, my heart accelerating like it’s trying to win a drag race. The platter in my hands hits the floor as I dive for Evie’s crumpling body.
Dane lunges forward as well, and I slam into his solid shoulder. The impact jars my teeth, and we fall on the floor in a tangle of limbs and testosterone. But at least Evie doesn’t hit the marble. She lands in my arms, and I feel more victorious than a running back catching a Super Bowl-winning pass.
“Whoa. I’ve never had a fan faint at the sight of me before,” comes Ryder’s voice.
It’s all I can do to not roll my eyes. I usually find him funny, but it’s irritating as hell when I’m holding an ultra-pale Evie. “Who invited the Hollywood star? Now we’re all going to need to clear out to make room for his ego.”
“Somebody call a doctor!” Barron thunders.
Vanessa already has her phone out. “On it.”
“I mean,” Ryder says, looking around to see who else understands the significance, “she actually fainted.”
I put a finger under Evie’s nose. She’s breathing shallowly, but her skin feels a little cool against my palm. Is she supposed to be like this? And is it normal for pregnant women to faint? I’ve heard of fainting goats, but never of fainting expectant moms.
Then my mind pulls me back to the bombshell announcement Ryan made. Baby. She’s pregnant. I stare at her stomach, which is still perfectly flat. When did it happen? How?
In Vegas? But I don’t remember, and I’m pretty certain Evie doesn’t either, so how did it happen?