“Shit, Ellie. You should ask him that.”
I shake my head. “You’re not supposed to ask questions if you’re not ready to hear the answer.”
“I’m sure it’s not what you think.”
Oh, sweet Ava. I bite my lip. There’s so much she doesn’t know about her brother. So much I’ve kept from her in an attempt to protect her and her relationship with Colton.
She squeezes my arm. “Tell him what you feel, and make him tell you what’s going on. My brother loves you. He’s just not always good at the grownup stuff. Sometimes Colton needs to be told that his actions are hurtful because he’s so oblivious.”
I grab another glass and fill it with ice and cranberry juice. “I think he knows that fucking around on me is hurtful.”
She shakes her head. “I really don’t believe that’s what this is.”
Then why doesn’t he touch me anymore?
“Talk to him,” she says softly. “And dang it, Ellie, tell him about the baby.”
“Not yet, okay? Soon. Just . . .” My gaze drifts back to the table and to Colton, who’s now sitting on the opposite side of the booth by Molly. I hate them both so much right now. “She’s really moving back here?” I ask Ava. “I thought she hated Jackson Harbor.”
Ava shrugs. “Brayden decided he wanted to open a tasting room on the other side of town—you know, a place for the beer connoisseurs who don’t want the bar atmosphere and aren’t looking for a meal. He offered the job of running it to her, and I guess the offer was just too good to refuse.”
“Remind me to thank him,” I grumble.
We finish loading the tray and head back to the booth and toward the group’s raucous laughter. Colton’s whispering something to Molly.
Her gaze snaps to meet mine, and she blushes. “Is one of those beers f
or me?” she asks.
I want to throw it in her face. Instead, I pass it over, along with everyone else’s drinks, before excusing myself for the bathroom. I hide in a locked stall and squeeze my eyes shut.
I can do this. I can go out there and sip on my cranberry juice for fifteen more minutes, and then take my boyfriend and get out of here.
Another wave of nausea rolls over me, and I rest my head against the cool metal of the stall door. I have no idea why the world calls this “morning sickness.” Mine is more like “morning okayness.” I can eat and function like a healthy human the first few hours of the day. It’s the remaining hours that present a challenge. And while I haven’t actually vomited, most days I’d choose puking over persistent nausea.
“Did you see who’s out there with the Jacksons?” someone says outside the stall.
“You mean that Ellie girl?”
I peek through the crack in the door and see two girls standing at the sink, reapplying lip gloss. The blonde is tall and hippy, and the brunette is short and painfully thin. I can’t remember their names, but I met them at yoga once and have seen them around Jackson Brews a few times. I hold my breath, trying to stay quiet. In terms of small-town gossip, I’m never privy to much, but I know Jackson Harbor isn’t immune. It sounds like I’m about to get a taste of it.
“I’m not talking about Ellie,” the blonde says, “but she’d better watch out. Molly McKinley is out there.”
“Blow Job Molly is back in town?”
If they hadn’t used her last name, I’d have thought they were talking about a different Molly. Ava calls Molly Mother Teresa because of all the volunteer and not-for-profit work she does—a far cry from Blow Job Molly.
“I heard she has a four-year-old. Apparently, the Jacksons found out about it when she started working for them, but get this—Amanda saw Molly and the kid when she was in New York last month. She ran into them on the subway of all places. Anyway, she said the kid looks just like Colton McKinley.”
Looks just like . . .
No.
Ava would have mentioned it.
Unless . . .
Oh, hell no.