The Right Kind of Wrong: A Brother's Best Friend Romance by Fabiola Francisco (open ebook .TXT) 📗

call him and be like, Hey, I’m pregnant, and you’re the dad, by the way. Yeah, not gonna happen.

I sink deeper into the sofa and just stare at the wall, clearing my mind as much as possible. I’m so overwhelmed, I don’t even know where to begin making a plan. I’ll definitely wait until I’m through the first trimester to say anything at work, so I guess that’s a start at a plan.

However, I don’t think I can wait until Christmas break to show up at my mom’s doorstep five months pregnant. Not exactly the best pregnancy announcement for your family, and I highly doubt I could use the excuse that I didn’t know I was pregnant like those women on that reality show.

I reach for my phone on the coffee table and unlock it, opening my Instagram account. No messages are waiting for me. I haven’t heard from Camden in a few days. A few long days if I’m being honest with myself. I was getting used to our back and forth banter.

I finally spot the video camera icon that allows calls, my finger hovering over it before I close out the app and throw my phone down by my feet. I’ll worry about it tomorrow. Today is for me to digest this news and wallow. I wish I had dark chocolate brownies with chewy centers to binge eat. The doctor didn’t say anything about not having sugar, so I’ll be making double fudge brownies tomorrow. Maybe I’ll get drunk enough off chocolate to build the courage to talk to Camden. I’m sure tomorrow everything will seem more hopeful. It has to.

chapter 12

Allyson

No matter how many hours pass watching reruns of Gossip Girl, it doesn’t erase what I have to do. I woke up this morning, made tea, and had breakfast, all the while giving myself a pep-talk to woman up and tell Camden that I’m pregnant. Just the mere thought of it made me puke said tea and breakfast, and my heart race like a wild stallion feeling attacked. Of course, the throwing up could’ve been morning sickness, but it’s easier to blame my nerves.

Sitting tall on the couch, I grab my phone off my lap and take a few deep breaths. No matter how scary it is, I need to tell him. He has a right to know. And like Berkeley said, once I tell him, I’ll feel like a weight’s been lifted. Telling my family is a whole different story that I’ll get to once I’ve talked to Camden. He should be the first to know.

I stare at the video camera outline in the chat, my finger trembling as I press on it. I stare at it with wide eyes and hang up immediately. I can’t tell him like this. I run a hand through my knotted hair, shaking my fingers in between the strands.

My fingers begin typing as I chicken out, but a written message is still better than not telling him at all, right?

@AllyinSpain: Hey…what’s up? Listen I need to talk to you about something

I focus on my breathing while I wait for him to respond, curious if he’s aware of his phone or not. When the word, Seen, shows under my message, my breathing becomes erratic, and tears sting my eyes. This is it.

@CamSteeleIT: What’s going on? Did u just call me?

@AllyinSpain: Ignore that. Okay, so…I don’t know hwo to say this but I’m pregnant

I hit send without re-reading or thinking twice because I know I’ll delete it and completely chicken out. I groan when I spot the typo but figure it’s acceptable considering the bomb I just dropped on him.

I wait for Camden to reply, seeing as he read the message, but instead of typing bubbles, I get silence on the receiving end. My stomach drops, and hot tears roll down my face. I wasn’t expecting a ton of exclamations and happiness, but I was expecting a response, anything that would make this less heavy, less scary and lonely. Tying my hair in a knot, I sink into the couch and drop my head back, closing my eyes.

I trap the tears, but some manage to escape from between my lashes. Camden isn’t my happily ever after, but the silly girl in me was hoping I’d have the father to help ease the fear and worry that are twisting my stomach like a tight-rung towel.

When I continue to receive silence from Camden, I get up to work on the brownies I planned on making today. Today’s secret ingredient—salty tears.

I can’t believe he didn’t respond at all. I slam the spatula into the bottom of the bowl and furiously mix the ingredients as my frustration increases. He could’ve at least acknowledged it, said something like, Hey, good for you, but I’m not taking care of it. Anything would’ve been better than ghosting me. I’m here, scared shitless and alone, and he’s got the balls to ignore me. Typical Camden, never taking responsibility for his damn actions so he can continue to live his carefree life.

After I’ve placed the brownies in the oven, I pace around the kitchen. When my legs give out, and my anger turns into sadness, I sink onto the floor, hugging my legs and burying my head between the nook of my knees and thighs. In this moment, it all crashes down on me, and I sob into my pajama pants, soaking them.

Every bit of denial I had is stripped from me, and I’m left with the cruel reality that I’m going to be a single mom. But I can’t abort. I refuse to. Maybe I can look into adoption, give a couple that’s been hoping for a baby their answered prayer. I could be the light in their life. The only thing I’m unsure about is if I’ll be willing to let the baby go after having him or her growing inside of me for nine months.

I rub a hand over my