You made her lie. You brought her down to your level. Soon, she’s gonna hate you.
At the top of the stairs, I placed my open palm on the door, keeping her from opening it. “Let me check the hallway first.” The smooth skin between her eyes furrowed as she studied me, confusion and a trace of hurt in her eyes. “What?”
Peyton stepped back, shaking her head. “Nothing. Go ahead.”
A part of me realized I was handling this wrong. I was snippy and standoffish and frankly, losing my shit. But I was in survival mode. I had no clue how to let her in without leaving myself more vulnerable.
Luckily, when I stuck my head out, the coast was clear. I pulled the door open wider and lifted my chin. “Come on.”
The women’s bathroom was located in the middle of the hall. We booked it down the path, feet slapping against the linoleum, and I wrapped my hand around the door handle, ready to duck inside. Peyton stopped me cold with her hand.
My skin burned at the contact.
“I should probably go in first,” she said, eyes trained on the spot where our skin touched. Her tongue glided across her bottom lip, and I wondered if she felt the heat, too. “Just in case. The last thing we need is one of your many admirers to see you in there.”
Slowly, she raised her eyes to mine. They pleaded with me, seeking a connection, wanting to know that she wasn’t alone in this. And she wasn’t—I was right here. But the words to tell her that were locked inside my head. Behind a fake, crumbling wall of indifference.
“Fine, but hurry,” I said, taking a step back and severing contact. The hopeful light in her eyes dimmed. “We don’t have much time.”
Peyton nodded and slipped inside the bathroom, and I banged my head against the wall. Too many questions, too many unknowns swirled around us—and I was a guy with no answers. Sunshine needed me to be strong, to get her through this. I needed to stop being such a dickhead.
The door opened a crack and she whispered, “All clear.” With a final glance down the hall, I snuck inside.
The women’s bathroom smelled a lot better than the men’s. Looked different, too. I locked the door behind us, realizing just how weird this was, then slumped against the wall near the sinks. Peyton rolled on the outsides of her feet and raised her eyebrows.
“Oh, right.”
I opened my backpack and pulled out the box I’d spent a half hour in the aisle at the drug store trying to choose. Why the hell did they have so many kinds? Each of them different, too. I’d been terrified I’d get the wrong one and mess things up—well, worse than I already had—but thankfully, a clerk took pity on me. She reminded me a lot of my Grams. After I explained our dilemma, she handed me this one.
Peyton’s fingers trembled as she took the box from my hands. “Thanks. Uh… think you can turn on the faucet?”
I frowned in confusion. “I don’t think you need to add water or anything,” I said, and she shook her head with a small smile.
“Shy bladder.” Her cheeks turned pink, and the ice around my heart thawed the tiniest bit. After everything we’d been through… everything we’d done, she was still self-conscious.
Returning her smile, I turned on the water.
Peyton chose the stall farthest from me and the actual act of peeing on the stick didn’t take very long—not that I was surprised. Out of the whole process, that part was pretty basic. It was the waiting that sucked.
She set the test on the sink as I set a timer on my phone. Three minutes to go.
“Should we talk?” Peyton asked, twenty seconds in. “You know, about what will happen—?”
I shook my head. “No point worrying until we know for sure.”
The truth was, I couldn’t let myself think too far ahead. If I did, I’d panic. Ever since she told me she was late, I’d been living moment to moment. First, it was getting to the drug store. Then, finding the right test. The rest of the night was spent checking and double checking my alarm, making sure I woke up on time, and making up a bullshit excuse about a team meeting.
Two minutes.
The drip, drip, drip of the leaky faucet filled the silence, and my anxiety ratcheted with each plop. The seconds ticked so slowly that I knew they were messing with me, trying to drive me insane. I heaved an impatient breath, and my knuckles blanched white as I clutched the basin.
“Justin, I just think you should know, that regardless of what it says, I—”
“Please, Sunshine. Can we please just… wait?”
Forty-five seconds. I couldn’t listen to her speech for another forty-five seconds. If she blamed me then, she had every right to do so; if she didn’t, well, she damn well should. But until that stick declared our fate, I couldn’t handle anything else.