The Senior (College Years Book 4)

by Monica Murphy

  His expression turns pained. “I tell Hannah everything.”

  “You can’t tell her this. Besides, there’s nothing to tell. I don’t even believe it. I’m sick,” I say firmly.

  “I would never tell anyone about this, even if it was true. That’s your news to tell,” he says, now looking offended. “I know how to keep a secret.”

  “I know. I’m just—there’s no way it’s possible.”

  Another skeptical look from my brother, but at least he’s smart enough to keep quiet. “I’m starving so I’m headed downstairs. See you in a few?” He starts for my bedroom door.

  I nod. “Yes—and Jake?”

  Pausing, he glances over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

  I go to him, throwing my arms around his waist and giving him a hug. He returns it, holding me tightly. “Thank you.”

  “For what? All I did is freak you out.”

  I laugh against his shirt front. “Just for being there for me. Even though you’re irritating sometimes, I do appreciate you.”

  He chuckles, dropping a quick kiss on top of my head before he lets me go. “Come downstairs before they send me back up here to get you.”

  “I will,” I tell him as he leaves my room.

  Autumn takes a while to come up here and I’m pacing around my room, gnawing on my lip as I consider all the possibilities.

  No way am I pregnant. I’m not that girl.

  My stomach roils at that exact moment, and I cover my mouth, pausing to study my reflection in the mirror above my dresser.

  Yeah, I don’t look good. I could rectify that. A little makeup, maybe curl my hair…

  I don’t have time for all that. A quick fix will have to do.

  Hurriedly, I change clothes, putting on a pair of jeans instead of leggings. Slipping on that cute black sweater I bought a few weeks ago. I go into my connecting bathroom and brush my hair, hating how staticky it looks and throw it up in a quick bun instead. I’m applying mascara to my lashes when Autumn finally barges into my room, sounding out of breath.

  “Why aren’t you downstairs at the table?”

  “I’m getting ready.” I turn to look at her, noting how adorable she is in the dark green, flower-printed dress she’s wearing with tights and boots, her dark hair perfectly curled. She looks like she walked straight out of a photoshoot.

  “You look better,” she says, her gaze kind. “Are you feeling better too?”

  I nod, trying to ignore the nauseous wave taking over me. “Yes.”

  “Good. You must have some weird twenty-four-hour thing,” she says.

  I drop the mascara into the drawer and shut it before turning to face her. “I was wondering if I could possibly be…pregnant.”

  Autumn’s mouth drops open and she reaches out to grip the bathroom counter. As if she needs to or she might topple to the floor. “No.”

  “I don’t know,” I whisper. “I haven’t had my period in weeks.”

  “You’re on the pill.”

  I slowly shake my head.

  Her mouth drops open even more. Not sure how that’s even possible. “Ava, really? What the hell?”

  “It’s hard to explain.” I wave my hand. “And I can’t worry about that. But I’m wondering. Or maybe I’m just sick.”

  “Stress can cause you to skip your period,” she kindly points out. “Going off the pill can too.”

  “I’ve been off it for months.”

  Autumn doesn’t bother asking why, thank goodness. I can give her all the details later. “You should take a pregnancy test.”

  My stomach dances with nerves. “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “That’ll make everything so…real.” I grimace. “What if it’s positive?”

  “What if it is?”

  “What will I do?”

  “I don’t know…what will you do?”

  “Autumn, you sound like a damn parrot. Stop.” I stride toward the window and stare outside, wondering what Eli is doing for the holiday. Is he with his family? Is his brother still hanging around? Or is it another lonely Thanksgiving at the Bennett house? The last few Thanksgivings he’s always come here. He’d bring his mom too.

  We were like one big happy family.

  “You two aren’t together,” Autumn reminds me.

  I actually laugh. “Oh, I know.”

  “Will he want to get back together if you’re pregnant? I’m sure he will.”

  “I am too.” I can only imagine what he’ll think, what he’ll want.

  “But what about you? What will you want?”

  I envision myself pregnant, waddling around. Eli wanting to take care of me. Rubbing my belly. Talking to the baby. Proud as hell and praying for a baby boy he can toss a football to.

  I’d rather have a girl. He’d go into pure protective mode and it would be the most adorable thing ever.

  Oops. I think I’m getting ahead of myself.

  “I don’t want to think about any of that until I know what’s going on,” I say, thinking that is the most mature response I can come up with. “But I can’t worry about that now. Let’s go downstairs and eat.”

  My stomach makes a noise of protest at me saying “eat.”

  Figures.

  “Are you really going to be able to eat?” Autumn sounds doubtful.

  I roll my eyes as we exit my bedroom. “I’m fine. Really. Don’t worry about me.”

  We head downstairs, and I immediately regret my decision to wear the sweater. It’s so hot down here, it’s practically sweltering.

  I follow Autumn into our dining room, the mingled scents of all the food hitting me at full force.

  Oh God, that smells disgusting.

  I rest a hand on my stomach, hating how it pitches and roils like I’m a boat in the middle of the ocean. I gaze at everyone sitting around the table. All of the people I love and care about, my family.

  “Ava.” Mom slowly stands, her brows knit together. “Are you okay?”

  Autumn turns to me and I blindly reach out, grabbing at her arm.

  I miss and sink to the floor.

  Into nothingness.

  I crack my eyes open at the commanding way someone—my father?—says my name.

  Yep, there he is, his face in mine, his blue eyes swimming with worry. He glances up and speaks to the rest of the table. “She’s awake.”

  “Thank God.” That’s my Aunt Chelsea.

  I roll my head, realizing I’m sitting in someone’s lap. Autumn’s. She’s brushing my hair away from my forehead. “You fainted.”

  Mom rushes into the dining room, kneeling down with a glass of water in her hands. “Can you sit up?” she asks me.

  Nodding, I lift up slowly, my head woozy. “I can’t believe I fainted.”

  “When was the last time you ate?” Dad asks, his voice stern.

  “I don’t know.” I take the water from Mom and sip it.

  “Not too much,” she warns, making me feel like I’m five and I just threw my guts up all over my bedroom floor.

  That might’ve been an actual experience I’m referring to.

  “Ava,” she murmurs. “You can’t stop eating just because your relationship ended. You need to take care of yourself.”

  I don’t want the lecture. I know I should take care of myself. But I’m pretty sure this goes beyond a break-up issue. I’m starting to think I’m really sick.

  “I’m going back up to my room. I need to lie down.”

  “Can you take her upstairs?” Mom asks Autumn.

  My sister nods. “Of course. You want to wait a few more minutes? Or are you ready to go now?” she asks me.

  I want to get away from everyone’s watchful gaze as soon as possible. They’re all staring, and it’s making me uncomfortable. “Let’s go.”

  I stand on slightly wobbly legs and let my sister lead me back upstairs, mute. She doesn’t say a word either. Not until we’re in my bedroom and no one’s around to hear her.

  “When I g
et a chance, I’m leaving to go pick up a pregnancy test,” she announces.

  Reality smacks itself right in my face. “You think I should take one?”

  She nods firmly. “Oh yeah. I don’t know if you’re sick, but we need to figure this out. While you still have time to make a tough decision.”

  “Um, if you’re referring to an abortion, there is no way in hell I would ever do that. This is mine and Eli’s baby,” I stress.

  “Right, and he’s a prick.”

  “A prick that I’m still in love with,” I retort.

  “Fine, okay. You’re right. You can’t do that. But you need to figure out what’s going on with your body, because if you’re sick, then you need to go to the doctor. You haven’t been well for at least two weeks,” Autumn says, reaching out to gently squeeze my arm. “I’m worried about you.”

  A sigh leaves me, and I appreciate her concern.

  I’m worried about me too.

  Thirty

  Eli

  There are four words strung together in the English language that I hate more than any others out there on the planet.

  We need to talk.

  I received a text from Ava that said exactly this on Thanksgiving night. We’d just played a game—yeah, one scheduled on Thanksgiving, which I was kind of glad for, considering I was sad I wasn’t spending it with Ava and her family—and I checked my phone long after the game was over, when we were on the bus headed home.

  Ava: We need to talk.

  That’s it. That’s all she said. No, how are you? or Happy Thanksgiving or I’m thankful for you-type texts. None of that shit. I get the ultra-nerve wracking, we need to talk instead, and it sucks ass.

  But then I shove all my worry and anxiety out of the way because at least the woman wants to talk to me, am I right? I texted her immediately upon seeing the text.

  Me: I’m on a bus coming home right now. Want to call me?

  She doesn’t respond.

  Of course she doesn’t respond. It’s late. Maybe she’s in bed? My girl is more of a night owl, but maybe she’s exhausted after a busy holiday with her family.

  Man, I have the best memories of Thanksgiving with the Callahans. They all show up. They play football and eat lots of food and laugh and joke the entire time. They watch movies together and they have dessert contests like who can make the best pie, and the afternoon football games with all those greats out on the lawn are the absolute best. I’ve played football with Owen Maguire and Drew Callahan—who can say that?

  Me. I can say it.

  I’ve brought Jackson with me. Jake would have Diego over. One time Caleb came over for dessert and played. It was a blast.

  I miss my girl. I’ve missed her since our last stupid fight, when I knew it was all my fault, but part of me doesn’t regret the move, because it helped keep her away from me for a bit so I could get my head on straight. I was a mess, letting my emotions take over me and screw with my head, my game.

  Not any longer. Something clicked recently, though I can’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe it was intense practice after intense practice, Tony right there by my side almost at all times, convincing me I was on track. Shutting out all the negativity and bullshit that fucks with me, thanks to his soothing voice praising me and reminding me that I’ve got this. Tony and I have become closer and I’m thankful for that guy. I always believed his quietness meant he was hiding something.

  He’s not—he’s always listening. Thinking.

  Reminding me that I’m doing this for me. For Ava.

  For our future.

  It also helped that Ryan has stuck around and is staying with Mom. He got a job as a bartender at Southgate and is killing it with tips. He talks about finding somewhere to live close by, once Mom seems capable of being on her own once more, and we don’t have to worry about her trying to hit the bottle.

  She did have DUI charges brought on her, and that’s a whole other mess we still need to figure out, but one I’m not necessarily having to deal with at the moment. Ryan promised me he’d help. Mom has a lawyer friend and she’s already hired him. They’re taking care of it.

  For the first time in what feels like forever, it’s not all on me, and that’s a huge relief.

  Sure wish my girl would call me back, though. I want to hear her voice. Tell her what’s going on. Will she listen to me? Or is she just calling with bad news? I don’t know if I can handle any more bad news this year. It’s been a rough one and I’m ready for it to be over.

  I’m just about drifting off to sleep when my phone buzzes, jolting me awake. I fumble to check my phone to see I have a text.

  Ava: We should talk in person.

  I frown, rereading what she said, hating the nervous feeling that socks me in the gut.

  Me: I’m free tomorrow.

  Ava: Want to meet somewhere in the morning? Or will you be too tired?

  Me: I’ll meet you whenever you want, wherever you want.

  There. That shows I’m willing to do whatever she wants. Because I am.

  Anything for my Ava.

  I stare at the little gray bubble with the three white dots, anxious for her answer, grateful no one is paying attention to me. This late at night, most everyone is snoozing or messin’ on their phone.

  Finally, she responds.

  Ava: Tomorrow at 10?

  Me: Grab some breakfast somewhere?

  Ava: Okay.

  We go back and forth for a little bit, discussing where to meet and I can tell she really doesn’t care where we meet. I make a suggestion, she agrees, and that’s it.

  We’re meeting tomorrow morning. I wonder what she wants to talk about.

  Hopefully it’s nothing too serious.

  I enter the restaurant at 9:55 to find her already there, sitting alone at a table with a glass of water in front of her, wearing a thick sweater that swallows her up and makes her look tiny. I stop short when I catch sight of her face. She looks…

  Worried.

  Scared.

  Pale.

  Tired.

  So damn tired.

  I rush to the table, ignoring the hostess who calls out to me, and sit across from Ava at the table, leaning across it, my voice low as I ask, “Princess, you okay?”

  She blinks at me, then rolls her eyes. Sassy as ever, even when she looks low. “So many people have asked me that exact question the last couple of weeks.”

  “You look a little…beat.” I wince the moment the words leave me. I’m trying to make things right with her, not make her feel worse.

  Ava sighs. “I know. It’s—how are you? How’d you do at the game yesterday?”

  I notice her change of subject but decide not to push it. “Good. We won. I played well. Didn’t throw an interception.”

  Her smile is small. “I’m glad. I didn’t know you guys played on Thanksgiving.”

  “It’s a new thing, I guess. We’ve never done it before.” I shrug, turning my attention to the server who stops by our table to ask if I want coffee. I ask for a water and then pick up the menu, casually scanning it and suddenly nervous as fuck when Ava speaks.

  “I need to tell you something.”

  I glance up at her real quick before my gaze returns to the breakfast specials. “Shoot.”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  I drop the menu with a clatter, my gaze going to hers. She’s watching me, her expression absolutely petrified, her eyes so wide it’s like I can’t see anything else. “What did you just say?”

  Nervous laughter leaves her and she shoves the menu out of her way, as if it disgusts her. “I’m pregnant. I took a pregnancy test last night. Actually, I took three. And they all came up positive.”

  I’m speechless. All I can do is watch her, my brain scrambling to come up with words.

  I’m drawing a complete blank.

  “Don’t you have anything to say?” she prompts.

  “H-how did this happen?”

  Yeah, that’s the first thing I manage to say to
her.

  “I think you know how it happened, Eli.” Her voice drips with sarcasm. “It was the whole us having sex thing, if you haven’t figured that out yet.”

  I look around, but there’s no one nearby. We chose a restaurant not too close to shopping centers because they’re all packed, thanks to Black Friday specials. “I thought you were on the pill.”

  “When I came back from Spain, I kept forgetting to order a refill. And then I just—never got back on it.” She bites her lower lip, her eyes starting to well up. “So I guess it’s my fault that it happened.”

  “Hey, hey, hey.” I don’t even think, I just do. Next thing I know, I’m sitting on her side of the booth, my arm around her shoulders, and she’s leaning into me, her hair tickling my mouth as she sobs into my sweatshirt. “This is no one’s fault. It’s gonna be all right.”

  She’s crying so hard, her shoulders are shaking. The waitress chooses that moment to approach our table with my glass of water and I shake my head. She nods in understanding, sets the glass on the table and keeps walking.

  “Ava.” I reach for her face with my other hand, my fingers coming underneath her chin and tilting her head up. Her watery gaze meets mine, her cheeks covered with tears and I gently wipe at them with my thumb. “Are you sure?”

  “Three tests, Eli. Three positives.” She hiccups and swallows a sob. “I’ve felt like crap for weeks.”

  Concern laces through me. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m tired. I can’t eat because I’m too nauseous. All I want to do is sleep.” She shrugs. “It’s been awful.”

  “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

  “I didn’t want to mess with your game mojo.” The words she says are slightly bitter, but her tone gentles with the next sentence. “I know you’re dealing with a lot, and at first I just thought I was sick.”

  My chest hurts at hearing her say that. “I’m never dealing with so much that I can’t think about you. You’re the most important thing to me in this world.”