He turned away and stomped into the kitchen. Damn it, he wasn’t doing this anymore. He may have played the part of the lovesick friend for months—hell, years—now, but he was done with being a benchwarmer she pulled out when it suited her mood.
From now on, it needed to be a starting position for him…or nothing at all.
Shutting off the stove, he picked up the pot and peeked inside. She’d made his favorite meal. Cheese ravioli. Vodka sauce bubbled away in a different pot and he could smell the garlic bread in the oven.
“Listen, Garrett, we need to talk,” Kiersten said.
Garrett jumped and faced her with a glare. “What are you doing in here—again?”
“I have a key.” She waved a gold key under his nose, her nose tilted up in the air stubbornly. “And I know how to open a door on my own. I’ve been doing it since I was three.”
“Congratulations.” He snatched the key out of her hand and reached for her, determined to put her right back where he had left her. “But you need to go. I’m serious.”
She jumped out of his reach and sprinted behind the relative safety of his favorite chair. “Not until you listen to me. Sit down and shut up for a second, will you?”
He pursued her, ready to stick her back out in the hallway, sans key this time. “All I asked for was a break. Can’t you respect that?”
He bolted around the chair, reaching for her arm. Her eyes widened and she darted to the side when he feinted left and ran right, hoping to fool her into his arms. “I can’t leave until we talk,” she replied.
“Why not?” he asked in exasperation, holding his hands up. “What could possibly be so damn important?”
She blinked at him, wringing her hands. “I’m pregnant.”
He stilled, unable to breathe. Nothing she said could shock him any more than those two words. He stumbled back against the wall, his heart beating so loudly it echoed in his ears. “What did you say?”
She came around the side of the chair, creeping closer cautiously. “I said that I’m pregnant. And yes. It’s yours.”
“I wasn’t going to ask that,” he snapped. He sank into his favorite chair, staring at a crack in the wall. Pregnant. Fucking pregnant? How? Why? “How long have you known?”
She shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “A few months.”
“Months?” He lifted his head, a sick feeling taking over him. “Were you planning on not telling me?”
“Of course not! I planned on letting you know but I wanted to wait until I knew the pregnancy was viable.” She fluttered her hands. “A lot of pregnancies don’t make it past the first couple of months. I wanted to be sure…”
What did that mean? Had she been debating abortion? The thought made him want to throw up. So did the fact that she’d been deciding this on her own, instead of with his help. “That you wanted the baby?”
“I always wanted it. That wasn’t the problem. But before I came to you, I wanted to be in the second trimester.”
“And now you are?”
She met his eyes. “Yes. I am.”
“I see,” he murmured. He scrubbed his hands against his eyes, stars swimming before his vision. “But we used a condom.”
She flushed. “I guess it didn’t work. I don’t know what to tell you.” She shrugged. “We’re not the first people to have a condom fail.”
He remembered how easily it had come off. It had struck him as odd that night, but never had he suspected this might happen. “Fuck me,” he breathed, unable to believe it could be possible.
A baby? Would it have her eyes and her hair? Would their daughter look like her…sound like her? Awe at the tiny life growing inside of Kiersten shook him, and he buried his face in his hands. A smile tugged at his lips.
Kiersten must have mistaken his wonder for dismay, because she sat next to him and said, “If you don’t want anything to do with us, it’s fine. I’m not new to being a single mom.”
“Are you kidding me?” His head whipped up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash, fixing a glower on her. He couldn’t believe she’d actually said that to him. Him. “How long have you known me? Do you really think I’d turn my back on you and our child? Hell, I’d ask you to marry me if I thought you would say yes without vomiting on my shoes.”
She flushed and avoided his eyes. “Oh, please. It’s not the nineteenth century anymore. Marriage isn’t necessary. I just thought I’d let you know that I don’t expect you to dance attendance on me just because you are the father. We can work this out in a mature fashion, I’m sure. Or, you can do nothing. That’s fine, too.”
“Do I look like a deadbeat dad to you?” He clenched his fists, unable to believe she would even insinuate such a horrible thing about him. Twice. “I will be there for every single step of the pregnancy and every second of that child’s life, no matter what you want from me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, of course.” She nodded and stood. “Well, then, I’ll be going.”
He grabbed her hand, taking a deep breath to calm the queasy feeling in his gut. She wanted to drop this bomb on him and then skip out? Not happening. “Eat the dinner you started—if it’s not ruined by now. We have a lot to talk about.”
They went into the kitchen and the whole time that Garrett helped serve their burned garlic bread and overcooked, soggy ravioli, he kept stealing glances at Kiersten. He couldn’t believe that she carried his baby inside of her, a small piece of him.
By God, he would love that baby to pieces.
He carried out their plates and, after setting the dishes on the table, helped her sit before taking his own seat. Though she pushed her food around on her plate, he didn’t see much actually go in her mouth. Morning sickness, perhaps? But it wasn’t morning. He made a mental note to go to the bookstore and buy a few pregnancy books. Something along the lines of What to Expect When Your Not Girlfriend Is Pregnant and Wants Nothing To Do With You or something like that.
Pushing his empty plate away, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms behind his neck. “So, what are we going to do about this? How do you want this to work out?” he asked.
She set her fork down and wiped her mouth—despite the fact he doubted she actually ate anything. “We’ll go on as we were before but we’ll have a kid together. Simple.”