Luke calls, and I send him to voicemail. I'm not ready to talk to him. I'm not ready for any of this.

Chapter 33

"Holy shit. Pregnant?" Everly looks horrified. She's staring at my stomach like she suspects baby cooties are airborne.

"It's not contagious, Everly."

"I know that," she responds unconvincingly while running a hand across her flat stomach. She hops up on the back counter and stares at me while swinging her feet. "Have you told Luke? How'd he take it? Are you gonna HEA?"

"Are we going to what?"

Everly rolls her eyes at me. "HEA. Are you going to get married, have the baby and live happily ever after?"

"I don't know." I shake my head.

"Well, how did he react when you told him? He's really old, he might want a kid," she offers.

"He told me, actually."

Everly stops swinging her legs. "How? Were you playing some kinky pregnancy test game? Please say yes," she pleads.

"Uh, no." I point to my head. "Concussion? Hospital? Remember?"

"Oh, right," she says, deflating.

"Enough about me. What's new with Professor Camden?"

Everly freezes for a brief second then shrugs. "Nothing. And if you think I'm done talking about the chicken nugget in your uterus, you're mistaken."

I ignore her and move to assist a customer.

"So, what's your plan?" Everly asks when I'm done.

"It's been three days, Everly, I'm supposed to have a plan?"

Everly looks at me like I'm crazy. "Yeah, you're Sophie. You probably had a plan within three hours."

I slump against the counter. "I had planned to graduate without a pregnancy, so maybe planning isn't all it's cracked up to be."

Everly just waves her hand for me to continue.

"I think I can afford a one-bedroom in a decent area as long as I find a full-time position by graduation."

"You can afford a three-bedroom and a pony with the amount of child support Luke will be paying."

"No." I shake my head. "No, I don't want his money. I'm not my mother." The back of my eyes burn and I will myself not to cry.

Everly hops off the counter and hugs me. "I know, bitch. I know," she says, rubbing my back. Only Everly can call me a bitch at a moment like this and make it comforting. "Sophie, you're the most conscientious person I know. No one will think you got pregnant on purpose."

I spot a shiny new Land Rover parking out front as I pull away from Everly. I can't believe he's stopping in for his Tuesday morning coffee run like nothing has happened. I duck into the back and leave Everly to deal with him, busying myself unpacking a shipment of paper cups.

I don't stop until Everly appears, leaning against the door jamb. "You're so stupid," she says in way of greeting.

"I know," I agree, slumping.

"No, dumbass, about Luke." She points her thumb in the direction of the street. "He traded in a sports car for an SUV."

"Everly, I don't want his money. He can buy three cars for all I care."

"I cannot believe you're the smart one," she mutters. "First of all, that's a luxury Land Rover, not a car. And secondly, it's a Land Rover, Sophie—that's the equivalent to a minivan for Luke. Jesus, he probably has a baby name site bookmarked on his laptop. You two are gross," she finishes and walks back into the shop.

I chew on my bottom lip while I think about what Everly is saying.

"He asked about you," she calls out as she walks away.

The next two days pass in a blur. I attend class, study and send out resumes. Boyd leaves me several messages about meeting to talk, but my energy level is so low all I've managed to do is text him back. Being an incubator is exhausting.

I'm confused. Everly and Jean haven't been with Luke these last few months. They haven't heard the reminders about taking my pill at the same time every day, the refills being handed to me. The inquiries about my period. I don't think Luke wants a baby. At least not this second, or maybe just not with me.

I'm back at Grind Me on Thursday working when I look up to find Boyd across the counter from me.

“Hey, Boyd,” I greet him.

“You’ve been ignoring my calls, little sister.” He smiles as he says it. “I’m sorry.” I pause. “I’ve had a lot going on.”

“Yeah. I remember college life. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than return family phone calls.”

“I wish it were that simple.” I groan.

Boyd frowns. “Listen,” he says, tapping an envelope I’m only now noticing on the counter. “I have to leave town for a bit for work, and I wanted to take care of this before I left. Can you take a break? Or we can meet after your shift?”

We sit in a corner booth and Boyd slides the envelope across to me.

“What is this?” I ask, holding it between my fingertips.

“Your inheritance.”

“What?” I drop the envelope on the table in alarm.

“Your inheritance,” he repeats. “From our father.”

“That’s yours, Boyd.” I shake my head. “I don’t want it.”

Boyd shakes his head at me and runs a hand over his jaw. “He meant for you to have that, Sophie.”

I barely refrain from snorting. “He never even bothered to meet me.”

“I talked to my mom,” Boyd says. “She knew.”

I slump in the booth. I’m not sure if that’s better or worse. I’d hoped she was oblivious to the fact that her husband cheated on her. But why did I wish that? So I didn’t have to feel guilty on my mother’s behalf? How stupid.

“I’m sorry, Sophie.”

Wait, what? “Why are you sorry? I’m the one who should be apologizing to you.”

Boyd laughs. “Why?”

“My mom had no business messing around with your dad. He was married.”

Boyd tilts his head and gazes at me for a minute. “Is that what you’ve been carrying around in your head these last few months? Sophie, we have nothing to do with anything that happened over twenty years ago between our parents. And if either of us should feel guilty for our parents’ actions, it’s me, not you. Your mom was barely an adult, yet as far as I can tell, she’s the only one who responded like an adult to a bad situation.”

“What do you mean?” I’ve never really looked at my mom that way before.

“My mom knew about the affair, Sophie. And she lived in fear, not of losing our dad, but of having her sham of a marriage exposed. She didn’t want to end up on the covers of the newspapers as yet another scorned political wife.”

“Can’t say I blame her, Boyd.”

He ignores me and continues. “When she learned your mom was pregnant she threatened to cut off our father’s campaign funding if he didn’t end it with her. Discreetly. Our father had a decent net worth by the time he passed,” he says, nodding to the envelope, “but my mother’s family has the real money. The kind of money you need to win a campaign.”

“So he chose his political career,” I fill in.

Boyd nods. “But I dug around some more. He never meant to write you out completely. Not financially at least. You”—he nods to the envelope—“were supposed to receive that when you turned eighteen.”

I center the envelope on the table in front of me. “Why didn’t I?” I ask, looking up at Boyd.

“My mother,” he answers with a grimace. “She had it buried. She knew with our father’s death that no one else knew about you. She didn’t count on a paper trail that would come back to haunt her.”