Chapter 14

Construction wasn't easy. The first day had been hard work, and the second day was shaping up to be more of the same. As of right now, Bellamy was mainly shadowing this guy named Roan. Roan was a pretty gruff guy, liked to smoke every chance he got, and he had the scratchy, husky voice to prove it. He had long hair that he wore in a half ponytail, and he had some scars on his face that Bellamy kind of wanted to ask about. But he didn't want to offend the guy or anything. Maybe there was a story there that wasn't any of his business.

"So how long have you been doing this?" Bellamy asked him as they hauled some plywood beams out of the back of a semi-truck.

"Three years, give or take," Roan answered.

The beam was pretty large and pretty heavy, but Bellamy didn't want to appear like it was any big effort for him, so he kept talking while they carried it towards the existing pile. "You like it?"

"Pays the bills," Roan said, glancing back over his shoulder at him. "I'm hoping Emerson makes me project manager for the next big job. That pays better."

If it'd been three years and he'd never been the project manner yet, Bellamy was sure it would take just as long for him. Hell, he was still learning the trade here. "So did you go to college then?" he wondered. He'd assumed there would be a lot of guys there without a degree, or at most just a technical one or an associate's.

"Nah. I screwed myself up with drugs after high school," Roan openly admitted. "Lived on the street for a couple years, went to jail. By the time I got out, I was clean, but nobody wanted to hire me. I was lucky to get this job."

Bellamy was relieved when they were finally able to set the board down. So far, this was shaping up to be a far more strenuous workout than any weightlifting at the gym would have been. "It turned your life around," he said, glad that he'd never let himself do more than just get high a couple times. Drugs really would have screwed up his athletic career. Not that he'd ended up having much of one anyway.

"Yeah, and now I got some motivation," Roan said, motioning for Bellamy to follow him back to the truck.

"You wanna keep your job."

"Have to. I got two little girls," Roan revealed. "They depend on me."

Bellamy had figured that this guy was a couple years older than him, but for some reason, he hadn't pictured him with kids. "How old are they?" he asked.

"Four. They're twins." Roan stopped at the truck, his face taking on an entirely differently expression when he spoke about his daughters. "They're, uh . . . they're pretty amazing. And I just wanna make their lives easier than mine."

Damn, Bellamy thought. Yesterday, he and Roan had mostly just talked about the job, but now that he was getting to know him a little better . . . mad respect.

"What about you?" Roan asked as he climbed back up into the truck. "What's your story? Heard you used to be the big shit around here. Football or something."

Bellamy climbed up with him and tried to downplay his reputation. "Yeah, I was pretty good."

"Not good enough to play in college, though, huh?"

"No, I played, for one season."

Roan bent down to pick up his end of the board. It didn't even look like it was hard for him. "What happened? You get injured?"

Bellamy picked up his end, too, straining a bit under the weight. "No." And that was all he cared to say about that.

After they'd hauled that board over to the others, Bellamy was feeling gassed, and it was twenty minutes past their lunch break. He needed food, he needed to rest, and he needed those things now. "Hey, I think I'm gonna go get something to eat," he announced. "You wanna come?"

"I'm good. Wife packed my lunch," Roan said.

So the guy was married, too? That was some full-fledged adulthood shit right there. If anyone had packed Bellamy's lunch for him, it would've been his mom, and . . . well, that just would've been fuckin' embarrassing.

Since the job they were doing was on campus, it seemed only logical to eat there, too. He strolled on up to the student union, craving Subway, but when he spotted Clarke, all thoughts of food fell to the wayside. She was sitting out by a big fountain with her pants rolled up to her knees, feet in the water. Her focus was solely on whatever was in her lap. She was writing something down. Or maybe drawing.

He made his way towards her, really hoping that she was drawing, and when he got closer, he noticed that she was. "Glad you like the sketchbook," he said, standing over her. He created a shadow over her and her sketch.

She had to shield her eyes against the sun as she looked up at him. "Yeah, it was a great gift."

He took a closer look at what she'd been drawing and couldn't help but notice that it definitely wasn't G-rated. "What's that?" he asked, even though it was pretty plain to see that she'd drawn a breast with a hand on it. A male's hand. A little bit of a darker skin tone like his.

"Oh . . . nothing," she said, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Just a doodle."

"Is that supposed to be my hand?"

"Your hand. Please," she scoffed. "It belongs to Ahmed, a very charming exchange student I met during a routine fire drill a couple years ago."

He had to laugh at the ridiculous specificity of that. Bending down, he held up his hand right next to the drawing and sarcastically said, "Yeah, you're right. It looks nothing like mine."

"Just a doodle, like I said."

"Hmm. Pretty sexy doodle." Man, if he could've drawn, he would've drawn them doing all sorts of dirty things.

Closing her sketchbook, she asked him, "What're you doing on campus?"

"I'm at work," he replied.

"Oh, you're working on the library?"

"Yeah. One of my least favorite places on earth." He rolled his eyes. The irony of him working on a place full of books, a place he would probably never venture, was not lost on him.

"It's actually really nice in there," she said. "I'm glad they're expanding it."

"Well, right now I'm takin' a break from expanding. Gonna go get some lunch," he said. "Wanna join me?"

He must have caught her on a break in between classes, because she smiled at him and didn't even hesitate. "Sure."

He held out his hand for her, then stood and helped her up along with him. He took her backpack from her, even though she swore it wasn't too heavy and she could carry it just fine. No need for her to be doing any more heavy lifting than necessary.

Luckily for him, Subway was fine with her, too. He got himself a turkey bacon wrap, and she got something else altogether. He was pretty sure it wasn't even a sandwich. She blended so many different toppings and ingredients together, and it ended up looking absolutely repulsive to him. Even the sandwich maker kept asking her if she was sure she wanted certain things on there. And she was sure. She had it toasted, and when they sat down to eat, he was sort of amazed at how fast she was woofing it down.

"So I take it turkey sandwiches actually do still sound appetizing," he said. The main thing in there was turkey, so at its core, that was probably what it was.

"Yep," she said, swallowing another big bite. "Ham sandwiches . . . not so much."

She was eating olives and shit he'd never seen her eat before, but it all probably boiled down to those pregnancy cravings, he supposed.

She paused eating only long enough to take a drink. "So guess what?" she said. "I told my mom last night."

"Yeah?" That was a big step. "How'd she take it?"

She shook her head. "Not well. I thought she wasn't gonna wanna talk to me for a few days, but this morning she sent me all these texts with information about what I need to have done and this doctor here at the local hospital who she recommends." She made a face, pulled a piece of onion out of her sandwich, and set it down on his wrapper in case he wanted it. "And she doesn't even know it, but now I have to get a paternity test done, too."

"What? Why?"

"Because that's what Finn wants." She shoved in the rest of her sandwich, stuffing her mouth a little too full.

"You're shittin' me," he said. "He doesn't believe you?"

Cheeks full of food, she shook her head. Once she had it all down, she wiped her hands on her napkin and said, "I don't think he wants to believe me. He dropped out of college after his sophomore year, he lives with his friends . . . he's not ready to be a dad."

"Well, he's gonna have to get ready."

"Yeah." She sighed. "Hopefully he will after we get the results back."

He felt bad for her having to deal with one more huge stressor in addition to everything else. "How long's that gonna take?"

"After we get it tested? At least three days. But sometimes it can take weeks."

"Weeks?" In this day and age, that just seemed ridiculous. "Don't they just have those home kits you can use?" He'd seen stuff at Walgreens for cheap.

"Yeah, but if you want something that's admissible in a court of law, you can't just do that. You have to have it done through an accredited facility," she explained. "I think I'm actually gonna have to go to this lab in Baltimore, get everything collected, and then they send it off somewhere for testing, and then I get the results back."

It all sounded so technical and clinical, not the way a pregnancy was supposed to be. "You've done your research," he said, impressed.

"Yeah, now I just gotta call and schedule an appointment." Folding her arms atop the table, she admitted, "It's kind of stressful."

Hell, it stressed him out just hearing about it. He couldn't imagine what it felt like for her. "You want me to go with you?" he offered. If he had the day off work, it wouldn't be a problem.

She seemed to think about it for a moment, but her response wasn't what he'd expected. "No, you'd better not. If Finn's there and you're there . . . that could just get weird. Plus, I'll probably go visit my dad afterwards, might stay there for the night."

He thought about suggesting that she take either Raven or Harper with her, but maybe she was already planning on that. "I just wish there was something more I could do," he said, feeling sort of useless.

"There is something more," she said.

"What?"

With a hungry look in her eyes, she glanced at the remaining half of his turkey wrap.

"My sandwich?" he said. "You want my sandwich?"

"Just a couple bites."

He would've given it to her even if she wasn't pregnant. He had a bag of chips to munch on, and right now it was more important that she ate up to her heart's content. He handed her what he had left, and her whole face lit up. "Thank you," she said, taking a big bite without even hesitating. He had to laugh, because he'd never known Clarke to eat so much so quickly. But this was what happened when she was eating for two.

...

The LGBTQ club meeting ended up being a day earlier than Clarke had anticipated. She would have forgotten about it altogether had Lexa not texted her and asked if she was going. She really didn't feel like it, but chances were she'd have to miss more meetings and events the further along in her pregnancy she got, so she dragged herself to the union at 7:30 that night and hoped there was a decent reason to be there.

There wasn't. They ended up sitting in a 'discussion circle' and talking about fundraiser ideas.

"We could have a bake sale," somebody suggested. The new girl. What was her name again? Jane? Jamie? Clarke couldn't even remember.

Their club president, Anya, shot down that idea immediately. "We are not having a bake sale."

"Why not?" Jane whined.

"Because bake sales are stupid."

Miller grunted and said, "You think everything's stupid."

"Because everything is." Anya looked harshly at all of them and expectantly asked, "Any other ideas?"

This is torture, Clarke thought. Back when she'd joined this club as a freshman, it'd been about something. Spreading awareness, educating. But ever since Anya had taken it over, it was more of a hassle than anything else. Anya wasn't even a lesbian, bisexual, or part of the acronym at all. She claimed to like girls, but Clarke had spotted her on more than one occasion making out with boys—never girls—right in the middle of campus, so something wasn't adding up there.

"What about a car wash?" Miller proposed. He looked like he wanted to get out of there just as badly as Clarke did.

"In October?" Anya scoffed. "Next."

The discussion—if it could even be called that with a dictator like Anya in charge—continued after that, with ideas ranging from "bounce house" to "karaoke night." Clarke had nothing to add, so she turned to Lexa and muttered, "I'm so bored."

"Me, too," Lexa agreed as her thumbs dance quickly over the screen of her iPhone. "I'm texting dirty things to Costia as we speak."

That wasn't surprising. Lexa and her girlfriend were doing the long-distance thing, so there was a lot of action that had to happen over the phone. "You guys are coming up on the one-year mark, aren't you?

"Yep."

"That's exciting." Clarke had never actually made it to the one-year mark with anyone before. Almost with Lexa, but they'd fallen just two weeks short. And with Finn, they'd never even nailed down an actual anniversary because they'd been so on/off her sophomore year.

"Clarke? Lexa?" Anya glared at them. "Any bright ideas over there?"

"Nope," Lexa said, not even bothering to hide her disinterest. "Not a one."

Clarke really didn't want to get on Anya's bad side, so she opted for a bright idea that no one would oppose. "I think we should take a break and eat." People had brought food, and hell, she'd been all about food today. She'd lost a few pounds at her first doctor's visit, but by now, she'd probably gained them right back.

"Now there's an idea I can get behind," Miller said, making the first move to get up and go prepare himself a plate.

Although food had sounded good, Clarke rethought her idea when she actually went up to get some. It was . . . taco night. Somebody had brought taco meat, and it was likely that somebody else had brought the hard shells and soft shells. And there was a vast array of toppings, too: cheese, lettuce, sour cream, guacamole, and salsa. It was a lot.

"Mmm, this looks good," Lexa said as she scooped a generous amount of taco meet onto her tortilla. "Who brought all this?"

"Who knows?" They alternated when it came to food. Clarke's month had been August, so she was done for another year.

"Aren't you gonna get one?" Lexa asked, noticing as Clarke moved through the line without putting anything on her plate.

"I'm not really that hungry," Clarke lied. Food actually did sound good right now. Just not this food. In fact, the smell was sort of making her nauseous.

"You were the one to suggest eating," Lexa pointed out as she took some lettuce out of the bag.

"Yeah, but that was before I knew we were having tacos."

"But you love tacos."

She did. Normally, she really did. Besides macaroni, tacos had probably been her favorite food. But she knew she might never feel the same about them after this, and that was a painful thought. "I'll just eat some cheese," she said, sprinkling a small pile of shredded cheese onto her plate. That would have to do.

She sat down at a table and began eating the little pieces of cheese one by one, garnering a curious look from Miller. But he didn't stare too long, because he was too busy chatting with a guy named Malcolm, whom he'd supposedly broken up with but would probably still hook up with later tonight.

"Here," Lexa said, plopping down beside her. She set a fully-wrapped tortilla down on Clarke's plate and said, "I'm not letting you go through a body-conscious phase. Eat up."

It had nothing to do with feeling self-conscious about her body, though. Yeah, she did feel kind of bloated, especially in the underbelly area, but she wasn't showing yet. She knew she could tell Lexa, but she didn't feel like doing it in the middle of this club meeting, so she said, "Looks so tasty," and picked up the taco. She took just a small bite, trying to force down the seasoned meet, the spicy salsa, and everything else Lexa had put in there for her. It just didn't taste the way it should have, though, and she couldn't possibly stomach it. Spitting it up into a napkin, she said, "Ugh, no, I can't." It tasted like roadkill. Not that she knew what roadkill tasted like, but close enough.

"What's up with you?" Lexa asked, giving her a suspicious look.

"Nothing, I just . . ." Clarke burped and clasped one hand over her mouth. Crap, that one taste and the potent smell of these tacos was just too much. She couldn't handle it anymore. "I don't really feel so well," she said, pushing her chair back. "I'll be back." Bolting into the bathroom, she barely made it in time before she threw up.

It was gross, because it was always gross. But it was something that she was accustomed to dealing with in the morning by herself, not in the evening like this. If her morning sickness lost its ability to tell time, that was just gonna suck even more.

"Oh, god," she groaned, wiping off her mouth with some toilet paper. How was she supposed to gain weight when she kept puking like this?

She flushed the toilet, got up, and washed off her hands. To rid her mouth of the taste, she scooped some water into it and swirled it around a bit. God, she was so sick of this nausea. So sick of it.

When she opened the door to head back out, Lexa was standing right there, waiting for her. "Something you wanna tell me?" she asked, a knowing look on her face.

Nothing you don't already suspect, Clarke thought. But yeah, it was time for her ex-girlfriend to hear what was going on.

...

Bellamy's car was low on gas, so he drove his mom's that night. He thought about swinging by Octavia's dorm room, just to surprise her (and to make sure she wasn't doing anything dumb with Lincoln), but he opted not to. If he actually did interrupt the two of them, that'd be horrible, and if he didn't, she'd be mad at him for checking up on her. Besides . . . he had something else he really wanted to do, so he made the arrangements to go do it.

He turned on the radio, and some soft music came through the speakers. Not the usual stuff he liked to listen to, but it reminded him of the songs Clarke used to sing.

...

By the time he wrapped up his tutoring session with Monty, Bellamy only had ten minutes left of study hall. Ten more minutes until football practice started. Ten more minutes to actually take a break.

"Good job today," Monty told him.

"Thanks." It'd taken him that whole time just to get his English assignment done, but it was better than nothing. And Monty, despite being a year younger than him, was a really big help. He wouldn't have been eligible to even play right now without the kid.

He slung his backpack over his shoulder and left the library, always happy to get out of there. He wandered around for a few minutes, trying to think of where Clarke would be right now. She, too, had study hall at the end of the day, but she usually didn't come in the library when he was there. Didn't wanna get him unfocused and all that.

On his way to the locker room, he walked past the music room. Or was it the band room? He really wasn't sure, because he'd never set foot in there. But he slowed down and backed up when he heard singing. It sounded like . . . Clarke was singing.

Quietly, he opened the door to the music room, and there she was, by herself sitting on a chair in the front row of the small theater-like room. She was playing her guitar, and her eyes were closed as the lyrics to some soft song he didn't recognize left her mouth.

"Who am I, darling to you?

Who am I

To tell you stories of mine?

Who am I?"

He smiled, wondering how long he could stand there and watch her without her knowing he was there.

"Who am I, darling for you?

Who am I

To be a burden in time?

Who am I to you?"

She trailed off, her voice fading into a whisper, gave the guitar one last strum, and then startled when she opened her eyes and saw him there. "Oh, god, Bellamy," she gasped. "You weren't supposed to hear that."

"Why not?" He'd enjoyed every note.

"Nobody's supposed to hear it yet," she said as he sidled towards her. "It's just something I'm playing around with for the winter concert."

Winter concert? He'd never been to one of those. "That's still a ways away," he said, setting his backpack down on the floor. He sat down beside her, not concerned about the time. If he was a few minutes late to football, he was a few minutes late. He'd just tell his coach tutoring ran long.

"Mr. Johnson wants me to sing a solo this year," she said, tapping her hands against the guitar. "And I'm really nervous about it."

"Why? Your voice is really good," he said.

"Thanks." She re-positioned her fingers on the chords and asked, "You wanna hear what else I'm working on?"

"Sure." He glanced up at the clock. The final bell of the day was about to ring. Screw it. He could hang out here for at least ten more minutes without getting in trouble.

She took a deep breath, strummed out a note once, and then started playing and singing, the chorus to some song that played on his mom's 90s music stations sometimes.

"I will always go beside you

You will always understand it."

She laughed self-consciously. "Yeah, that's pretty much all I've got of that one."

"It's really pretty." Not his type of music at all, but he liked it when she sang it. "You're . . . really pretty."

It was always fun to make her blush, and when he said that, her cheeks got red. "What's your favorite song?" she asked him. "Maybe I could sing it."

"Oh, 'Where Is My Mind?' by The Pixies," he answered without hesitation.

"What? I don't even know that one."

"You don't?" She must have never seen Fight Club then. "It's good."

"Hmm, sorry, I can't sing that one," she said. "Maybe I'll just go back to what I was practicing before."

He leaned back, put his arm on the back of her chair, and stretched his legs out. "Mind if I sit here and listen?" he asked right before the final bell of the day rang.

"No, that's okay." Once the bell was done chiming, she started singing the song he didn't recognize again.

"Who am I, darling to you?

Who am I

To tell you stories of mine?

Who am I?"

...

The address Raven had texted him was really easy to find, so Bellamy pulled up outside her apartment at 9:00 and waited for her to come out. It only took her a few minutes, but when she climbed into his car, she had this look of dread on her face. "I feel like we shouldn't be doing this," she said.

"Why not?" He shifted into drive and pulled away from the curb. "We're not doing anything wrong."

"Yeah, but . . . without Clarke's permission?" She cringed. "I don't know."

"Just tell me where to go." She didn't have to do anything here except get him to Finn's house.

"Up to the corner, then take a right," she navigated.

Finn's house was a little hard to find, mostly just because he'd forgotten some of these streets over the years. He probably could have found it on his own, but he would have driven around in circles for a while.

"Here we are," she said when they pulled up out front of a run-down white two-story. "Casa de Finn."

"Looks kinda crappy," he noted. The paint was peeling off, there were some shutters missing, and one window upstairs was boarded up. "Then again, I'm one to talk," he muttered. "I live with my mom."

Raven pulled the sleeves of her long-sleeved shirt down over her wrists and shivered. "What're you gonna say to him?"

"I'm gonna tell him there's no way this kid's mine, try to get his head out of his ass."

"I don't think that's gonna work," Raven warned him.

"We'll see about that." He got out of the car, feeling like he might be able to talk some sense into this guy. One man to another or something like that. Not that he knew anything about fathering a kid or ending up in this position, but . . . he knew a thing or two about being fatherless.

"I'll just wait here," Raven called after him as he headed up the porch steps.

First he tried the doorbell, but since that didn't work, he knocked. Nobody came to open the door, and there was some pretty loud music playing from inside, so he decided to try the doorknob. It wasn't locked, so he just walked right in. The same guy he'd seen hanging out with Finn at the bar last week was there, sprawled out on the couch while a girl on her knees sucked his dick.

"Hey, don't you knock?" he snapped, putting a pillow over his lap.

Bellamy rolled his eyes, trying to picture a baby in this home. It was loud in there, smelled like pot, and this girl looked like an actual prostitute. "Is Finn home?" he asked.

"Yeah, upstairs."

Bellamy had barely turned his back to them and started heading up when he heard some slurping sounds start up again, followed by groaning. He loved a blow-job as much as the next guy, but that girl looked trashy as fuck.

Upstairs, the doors to all the rooms were shut, so he tried his luck with the one that had some light coming out from underneath it. When he walked in, he interrupted another couple. This time it was Finn and a girl with bleach blonde curly hair. They weren't going at it yet, but clothes were partially hanging off, and the girl immediately covered herself up. "What's this?" she yelped. "I'm not into threesomes."

Finn shot him an annoyed look and grumbled, "This isn't one."

"I need to talk to you," Bellamy told him. He really didn't care if he was cock-blocking. Finn could put his sex plans on hold, because there was more important stuff to deal with. Besides, did he really need to be hooking up with anyone right now when he already had a kid on the way?

"Okay, I'll just go then," the girl said, scrambling to retrieve her jacket and her shoes. "See you around, Finn." She looked embarrassed to have been walked in on and didn't seem like she could get out of there fast enough.

Finn sat up on the side of his bed and buttoned up his shirt. "Did Clarke send you?"

"No, she doesn't know I'm here," he said. "I wanted to clear the air about some stuff."

Standing up, Finn flapped his arms against his sides. "Such as?"

"Well, you thinking this baby could be anyone else's but yours, for starters."

Finn motioned for him to shut the door, probably didn't want his roommate to overhear.

"I've only been back for three weeks," Bellamy told him as he closed the door. "Clarke and I didn't hook up 'til then."

"But you did hook up, though?" Finn narrowed his eyes at him.

Oh . . . crap, Bellamy thought. Of course Finn hadn't known about that, and now he'd gone and told him like a fucking idiot.

"That's what I thought." Finn walked over to his dresser, picked up a lighter and a carton of cigarettes, and lit one. "Did you know that, one time when we were goin' at it, she said your name instead of mine?" he said, laughing angrily. "I don't even think she knows she did it. But she did." He blew a puff of smoke into the air, right in Bellamy's direction.

Bellamy forced himself to ignore that for now, because he couldn't think too much about it, about what it might mean. "My point is, this kid's yours," he said simply. "So step the fuck up and take some responsibility."

"How do I know she didn't sleep with anyone else between me and you, huh?" he protested. "Did you ever think of that?"

"She says she didn't. Why don't you just trust her?"

"Because it's my fuckin' life we're talking about here!' Finn roared. "I deserve to know the truth."

"You already know it." He found it pretty sad that, even after five years apart, he still knew Clarke better than this guy did. He knew she was telling the truth. "What happens when those results come back positive, huh?" he challenged. "What happens when you can't deny it any longer? Are you gonna be there for her, or are you just gonna let her fend for herself?"

"I'll . . . cross that bridge when I come to it," Finn said with a shrug.

Bellamy grunted, shaking his head. "Unbelievable." There really was no guarantee that he'd take responsibility for this, was there? He wondered if Clarke knew that, or if she was hoping for the best. "You can't just make her do this alone," he said, so pissed off to even be having this conversation. Guys who just knocked chicks up and then went on with their lives like nothing had changed drove him nuts.

"I didn't say I was going to," Finn said. "Cut me some slack here. I'm handling this the best I can."

"By handling that girl who just left?" He wasn't handling anything; he was just being an ass. "Cut the crap, alright? You're gonna be a dad. Clarke's gonna be a mom. Now I grew up with a single mom who bent over backwards to give me everything she could. But Clarke deserves better than that. And your kid deserves a dad who actually gives a damn," he growled. "So man up and be there for her." He shook his head in disgust, opened the door, and left. As he trundled down the stairs, he couldn't help feeling like he hadn't gotten through to this guy the way he'd hoped. But maybe something would resonate if Finn thought about it a little longer. Maybe, hopefully, something he said would strike a chord.

...

Just when Clarke had managed to fall back to sleep after getting up for the third time that night to go to the bathroom, her phone rang. Groaning, she rolled over onto her side, reached over to her nightstand, fumbled around, and picked it up without even looking to see who was calling. "What?" she growled impatiently. She just wanted to go back to sleep.

"Hey, next time you wanna try to make me feel like shit, do it yourself instead of having your boyfriend come over."

There was such anger in Finn's voice that she could barely even recognize it as his. "What—what're you talking about?" she stammered, sitting up.

"Oh, like you don't know." He snorted. "Bellamy paid me a little visit tonight, had some choice words."

"Bellamy?" What the hell? Bellamy had talked to Finn? About . . .

She touched her stomach.

"Yeah, he basically told me I should just forget about the paternity test and raise this kid, no questions asked," Finn ranted. "Interrupted a perfectly good night I had planned, too, not that you'd care."

Why had he done that? She hadn't asked him to say anything. "Finn, I . . . I didn't know anything about that."

"Oh, you didn't?"

"No." She wasn't sure whether he believed her or not, but . . . well, he didn't believe her about a lot of things.

"Then I guess it isn't such smooth sailing between you two after all," he grumbled before he ended the call.

"Wait, Finn . . ." She really wanted to talk this through with him, but it was too late. He was pissed, and he wasn't going to be hearing it. He probably wouldn't wanna hear much of anything from her until they got the paternity test results back.