A Little Secret (The Little Things #4)

Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

FINLEY

M y parents left an hour ago after solidifying their decision to move back to Lockwood Heights. Apparently my little episode was the final push they needed. Yay me. To be fair, they’ve been teetering on the idea since I received my acceptance letter to LAU, but after spending the majority of their time at the cabin, or bouncing from one friend’s house to another, then visiting me in the hospital tonight, I’m pretty sure the deal is sealed. I didn’t bother pushing back, well-aware that once they find out about the baby, it’ll be a moot point anyway. I’m going to need them. Me and Drew and… I close my eyes, trying not to get too overwhelmed.

Now I’m alone in my family room with the one and only Griffin Thorne as my parole officer. By some miracle, he kept his word and didn’t blurt out the not-so-little secret I’m trying to keep on the down-low from my mom and dad as soon as they stepped into the hospital. Even so, he’s not very good at hiding his emotions, especially since we’re alone now. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my sardonic smile in check as he stares at me from across the room, his emotions on lockdown. Well, at least his version of lockdown.

Yeah, I’m in the dog house for sure.

He hasn’t said a word to me since the baby’s heartbeat echoed through the hospital room.

It was so fast. Faster than I expected. It kind of scared the shit out of me because now that I’ve heard the sound, it’s made my entire situation…real. All of it.

I should be mad Griffin knows. I should be pissed at the doctor for blurting out my not-so-little secret to him while I was recovering from my seizure, but I can’t find the energy to be angry, even if he hasn’t taken his eyes off me since.

I shift on the couch, my body aching. I feel like I was hit by a truck. It’s a familiar feeling. Doesn’t make it easier, though.

“How are you feeling?” Griffin asks, breaking the silence.

“Like a million bucks.”

“I’m serious, Fin.”

I paste on a fake smile and lean my back against the couch. “I’m fine, Griff.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re not fine.”

“Yes, I am,” I argue. “I’m fine. The baby’s fine. Everything is…fine.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

“Then why did you ask?” I toss back at him. “If you’re so sure of how I feel, why even bother asking me?”

“Because you’re not fucking fine, and I want you to admit it.” He leans forward in the armchair across from me and threads his fingers together. “I want you to talk to me.”

“Well, what else would you like me to say, Griff? That I’m pregnant with a baby I don’t even know if I want right now, and I’m connected to a man I’m seriously questioning whether or not I want to be tied to, and I feel young and stupid and alone and scared and every other negative emotion a girl like me could have, not to mention the whole epilepsy side of things and whether or not my anti-seizure medication is working any more thanks to the hormones flooding my body, let alone whether or not said medication is affecting my baby’s development. Yup, that makes me even more overwhelmed and frustrated and fucking terrified, all right? So, yeah. You’re right. I’m not fine, but if I have to assess my actual feelings instead of hiding behind rainbows and butterflies, I just might lose my shit, and that isn’t an option right now, either, so how am I, Griffin Thorne? I’m. Fucking. Fine,” I snap.

“Okay, you’re fine,” he grunts, settling back in his chair.

“Thank you.”

Silence envelops us, but it barely lasts a minute as he continues his intense stare.

I know what he’s doing. Baiting me. Trying to convince me that opening up is the better option, when I’m so overwhelmed I don’t even know where to start. Or maybe it’s my stubbornness keeping my lips sealed. Yeah, I’m well aware I can be a bit hardheaded on occasion, but he has no right to come in here and demand I let him in. Not when he’s so far removed from the situation he can judge me from afar.

Folding my arms, I hold his gaze and turn the tables. “Is this another game of Chicken?” I ask.

“Sticking your head in the sand won't get you anywhere.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” I volley back at him.

“Says the girl who sucks at acknowledging reality.”

“I don’t suck at?—”

“You have a baby in your stomach!”

“Uterus,” I correct him. “And, yes. I. Fucking. Know! ”

“Does anyone else?” he challenges, refusing to back down. “If the doctor hadn’t mistaken me for the dad, would you have bothered to tell anyone, or would you have kept pretending like none of this is real until you delivered the kid?”

“I don’t need a lecture from you.”

“Yeah, well, you’re getting one,” he snaps. “Because I care about you and this?” His attention falls to my stomach. “This isn’t some failed test you forgot to study for but can make up in the future. This is…” He sighs. “This is a lot, Fin.”

“Again, I’m well aware, but thank you.”

“Not gonna acknowledge the whole I care about you bit, huh?”

My nostrils flare, but I stay quiet.

“So what are you gonna do?” he prods. “Are you gonna tell him?”

“Him?” My voice cracks, and I chew on the edge of my thumb. “As in…”

“The father,” he finishes for me.

“I haven’t exactly had the chance.”

“That isn’t an answer,” he points out.

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly something I want to tell Drew over the phone, and since I barely confirmed my assumption right before I started seizing, you’ll have to cut me some slack for not having a game plan quite yet.”

“So, what? You’ll just wait until spring break when you can reveal the gender? Or hell, maybe you should wait until summer, and Drew can skip right ahead to meeting his kid firsthand during the long break. How does that sound?”

“Oo, you’re annoying today,” I huff, fisting my hands in my lap.

“I’d say the feeling’s mutual, but I’m too stressed out about everything that happened today to care.” He scrubs his hand over his face. “You scared me today, Fin. You scared the shit out of me.”

Well, damn.

The tension in my hands eases as I study Griffin across from me. The worry lines framing his blue-green eyes. The strain in his jaw. The concern radiating off him in waves. Hell, it’s so thick I can almost taste it.

He cares. I know this, but even so, sometimes it’s nice to see the reminder. That his frustration isn’t because he’s actually pissed at me. It's because he’s scared for me. And yes, there’s a difference. One I’ve failed to recognize until this moment.

“I scared you, huh?” I whisper.

He nods.

“You know, that’s almost as bad as the I care about you bit,” I mutter, causing his mouth to twitch. “And I’m sorry,” I add.

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“I mean, I did kind of give you a heart attack this morning. How dare I drop to the floor and?—”

“Not even gonna let you finish that sentence,” he interrupts. “Sometimes your humor is way too twisted, you know that, right?”

I give him a cheeky smile. “It’s one of my best features.”

“Sure it is,” he murmurs. The concern in his eyes doesn’t disappear, though. If anything, it’s only amplified as he holds my attention hostage. “I know I’ve seen you have a couple seizures, but today? It was all on me, and…shit, Fin.”

“I’m okay, Griff,” I remind him.

“I know you are. And I know I shouldn’t yell at you?—”

“You haven’t yelled.” I hesitate. “Okay, you haven’t yelled by most people’s standards. For you, you’ve been a total monster.”

He rolls his eyes. “Smartass. I guess I’m a little…overwhelmed. And concerned,” he clarifies. “Because I know you want to say we’re not friends and shit, but like I said, I care about you, Fin. I care about you, and today was a reminder that I could’ve lost you. We all could’ve lost you.”

“I’m fine.” I lick my lips. “And thank you, by the way. For calling an ambulance and staying with me and pretending to be the doting boyfriend and keeping my parents out of the loop for now.”

He studies me carefully before tossing my own words back at me. “For now.”

“Yeah.” I tuck my hair behind my ear. “I’m not stupid. I know I need to tell them. I just…I can’t get myself to say the words to myself, let alone the people I care about.”

“Denial isn’t going to get you anywhere,” he reminds me gently.

“Yeah, but it’s so much more palatable,” I quip.

His chuckle is raspy and forced as he tugs at the collar of his shirt. “Are you…gonna keep the baby?”

“I was on the fence until the ultrasound,” I admit. “Hearing the heartbeat, man.” I puff out my cheeks and blow out all the air from my lungs. “Whew. That was a doozy.”

“Yeah.” His nod is slow. “Yeah, it was. How long have you known?”

“For sure? About five seconds before my seizure started.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“And how long have you had a feeling?” he prods.

“A while,” I answer vaguely.

“Can I do anything?” he asks .

“If I say I don’t know again, will you yell at me?” I counter.

“Not gonna yell at you. Only trying to figure out how I can help when my hands are tied, you know?”

“Well, I have a few suggestions.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.” I pat the couch cushion beside me. “You can start by sitting by me instead of staring at me from across the room like some creeper.”

“Some creeper, huh?”

“I mean, a pretty good-looking creeper, but yeah.” I grin.

His chuckle is low and dry, but he stands and strides closer, stopping once he’s towering over me. “You sure Drew would like me sitting by you?”

“Probably not, but after the shit day I had, I could really use my friend.”

He takes the open seat—leaving a solid six inches between us—spreads his legs and settles into the couch. “Here I am, Fin. Now, what?”

“I want to watch a show.”

Bending forward, Griffin grabs the remote. He moves to hand it to me but changes his mind and points it toward the television on the opposite side of the room. Without any prodding, he turns on a documentary about Jeffrey Dahmer and settles back into the cushions again, making himself comfortable.

“You hate murder documentaries,” I remind him.

“Every sane person hates murder documentaries,” he tosses back at me.

My mouth lifts. “So, why’d you pick it?”

“Because you’ve had a shit day.”

“You are a good friend, Griffin,” I murmur. “The best, actually. ”

“Yeah, yeah.” He grabs my feet and twists me around, letting me use the armrest as a makeshift pillow. “How’s your ankle?”

Slowly, he digs his thumbs into my arch, and I practically moan at the contact.

“I’ll take that as better,” he quips.

“If you keep doing that, it will be.”

“Your wish is my command.”

Bringing my foot into his lap, Griffin massages it for the rest of the episode. It’s the first time I’ve felt peace since I missed my period. Honestly, it might even be since before then. Since SeaBird. Since I put a wall between us. And yeah. I thought it was the right thing to do, but now? I peek up at him again. Now, I’m not so sure.

I wake up to buzzing on my lap. Peeling my eyes open, I find my phone resting on my stomach. Drew’s name flashes across the screen, and I catch Griffin staring at it. I have no idea what time it is, but the light outside the windows is absent, and the “Are you still watching” disclaimer glares at me from the television.

It’s been hours. Hours of binge-watching and napping and?—

“You gonna answer?” Griffin asks.

“Nope.”

His attention shoots to me. “Are you serious?”

“Look, it’s not my fault that if I answer the phone, I’ll feel obligated to tell him?—”

“As you should,” he interjects.

My gaze narrows. “What are you? The honesty police?”

“Something like it,” he counters. “Look, you know I hate the guy, but he deserves to know. ”

“And he deserves to find out face-to-face, and since I’m still babysitting the demon frog in my room, it’s not like I can simply jump on a plane and see him. And even if I wasn’t watching the stupid amphibian, I still wouldn’t be able to fly, thanks to my seizure earlier today, so…” I give him a smartass grin as if to say, case in point.

“Fine, we’ll drive.”

My eyes widen. “I’m sorry, what?”

“If you can’t tell him over the phone, and you can’t fly because of Frankie, I’ll drive you.”

Sitting up, I pull my feet from his lap and bring my knees to my chest, leaning my shoulder against the couch cushion. “It’s a twenty-two-hour drive.”

“So?”

“So, it’s a long drive?—”

“So?” he repeats. “If I was going to be a dad, I’d want to know.”

I cock my head, surprised by the onslaught of imagery of that. Griffin as a dad. Swaddling a baby. Buying a mini jersey to match his own. The way his nose would wrinkle when he’d change the baby’s diaper or how mussed his hair would be after a sleepless night. He’d be a good dad. He will be a good dad. Not anytime soon—fate likes him more than me—but still. The idea is…nice. Bittersweet, almost. And I don’t know why.

Shaking off the thought, I murmur, “And you’re so sure Drew’s going to have the same sentiment?”

“Are you saying he won’t?”

My lips press into a thin line, and I set my phone next to my hip on the couch cushion.

“You’re nervous to tell him,” he concludes.

“Well, duh.” I laugh. “If a random girl told you she was pregnant, how would you handle it? ”

His attention flicks around my face, and I hate how much it makes me feel…seen.

“You’re not a random girl.” My breath hitches. “Not to Drew.”

Drew.

Right.

I tuck my hair behind my ear and quirk my brow. “So because we’ve been dating long term he’ll automatically be ecstatic?”

“Ecstatic might be a bit of a stretch, but you two will figure it out.”

“I’m glad someone’s sure,” I mutter.

“You love him,” he offers. “He loves you. You’ll figure it out because you have to. It’s what people do when they love each other. They figure shit out.”

I shouldn’t find his confidence annoying, but I kind of do. It’s like he’s saying two plus one equals three. And sure, it does, but only if it’s two plus one. What if I’m the only one who shows up? What if it’s two plus zero? Then the answer is two, and what if two isn’t enough? What if I’m not enough to hold this relationship—this family—together?

“I must’ve really knocked you on your ass,” he notes. “Breathe.”

“It’s just…You make it sound so simple.”

“Nothing in life is simple, Fin. And loving someone who’s a pain in the ass is tough as shit, but you’ll get through it.”

I smirk. “And here I thought you were referring to me being the pain in the ass, not Drew.”

“Depends on the day.” He bumps his shoulder against my bent knees still pressed to my chest. “But first, you have to tell him.”

Tell him. I have to…tell him. The idea alone makes me fe el like an elephant is sitting on my chest, but I hate it because I know Griffin’s right. I know there’s only so much procrastination to be had, and I’ve already used it all up. Now it’s time to…pull on my big girl panties and face the music.

“Fine,” I murmur.

“Fine?” Griffin challenges, not even trying to hide his surprise at my compliance.

“Yes. Fine,” I grumble with a mock glare. “I’ll let you drive me to see Drew.”

“And Frankie?”

My nose bunches. “I mean, we might not be gone long. He could totally survive?—”

“Fin.”

“Fine, he can come, too, but only because my motherly instinct is starting to kick in, and it feels wrong to abandon him.”

He chuckles. “Well, all right, then.” He slaps his hands against his knees and shifts forward. “You should get some rest. We’ll leave early tomorrow.”

“What kind of early?”

“Four.”

“In the morning?” I screech.

“It’s a twenty-two-hour drive, Fin,” he reminds me as if I wasn’t the one to point it out minutes ago.

“Well, yeah, but…” My bottom lip juts out. “I really like my sleep.”

“Pretty sure Drew finding out he’s gonna be a dad is more important than your beauty sleep.”

“First of all, sir, I think that’s debatable,” I hmph. “But fine. I’ll just sleep in the car.”

He snorts. “What am I? Your chauffeur?”

With a grin, I say, “Apparently.” My smile falls. “There’s only one minor flaw in our plan. ”

“Only one?” he quips.

I smack his chest. “Drew won’t like the idea of you driving me to his place.”

“I’ll keep my distance,” he offers. “He’ll never have to know I’m there.”

“You’d do that for me?” I bat my lashes for good measure, and he snorts.

“What’s one more secret, right? Come on, smartass. Let’s get some rest.”