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bedroom. “If you won’t walk out on your own, then I’ll carry you out.”
    She punched his back and squirmed. “Let me down. We need to talk.”
    “The time for talking is over. I need distance right now. Eventually we can be friends again. But for now?” He opened the door, set her in the hallway, and closed the door in her face. “Please go home.”
    He turned away and stomped into the kitchen. Damn it, he wasn’t doing this anymore. He may have played the part of the lovesick friend for months—hell, years —now, but he was done with being a benchwarmer she pulled out when it suited her mood.
    From now on, it needed to be a starting position for him…or nothing at all.
    Shutting off the stove, he picked up the pot and peeked inside. She’d made his favorite meal. Cheese ravioli. Vodka sauce bubbled away in a different pot and he could smell the garlic bread in the oven.
    “Listen, Garrett, we need to talk,” Kiersten said.
    Garrett jumped and faced her with a glare. “What are you doing in here— again ?”
    “I have a key.” She waved a gold key under his nose, her nose tilted up in the air stubbornly. “And I know how to open a door on my own. I’ve been doing it since I was three.”
    “Congratulations.” He snatched the key out of her hand and reached for her, determined to put her right back where he had left her. “But you need to go. I’m serious.”
    She jumped out of his reach and sprinted behind the relative safety of his favorite chair. “Not until you listen to me. Sit down and shut up for a second, will you?”
    He pursued her, ready to stick her back out in the hallway, sans key this time. “All I asked for was a break. Can’t you respect that?”
    He bolted around the chair, reaching for her arm. Her eyes widened and she darted to the side when he feinted left and ran right, hoping to fool her into his arms. “I can’t leave until we talk,” she replied.
    “Why not?” he asked in exasperation, holding his hands up. “What could possibly be so damn important?”
    She blinked at him, wringing her hands. “I’m pregnant.”
    He stilled, unable to breathe. Nothing she said could shock him any more than those two words. He stumbled back against the wall, his heart beating so loudly it echoed in his ears. “What did you say?”
    She came around the side of the chair, creeping closer cautiously. “I said that I’m pregnant. And yes. It’s yours.”
    “I wasn’t going to ask that,” he snapped. He sank into his favorite chair, staring at a crack in the wall. Pregnant. Fucking pregnant ? How? Why? “How long have you known?”
    She shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “A few months.”
    “Months?” He lifted his head, a sick feeling taking over him. “Were you planning on not telling me?”
    “Of course not! I planned on letting you know but I wanted to wait until I knew the pregnancy was viable.” She fluttered her hands. “A lot of pregnancies don’t make it past the first couple of months. I wanted to be sure…”
    What did that mean? Had she been debating abortion? The thought made him want to throw up. So did the fact that she’d been deciding this on her own, instead of with his help. “That you wanted the baby?”
    “I always wanted it. That wasn’t the problem. But before I came to you, I wanted to be in the second trimester.”
    “And now you are?”
    She met his eyes. “Yes. I am.”
    “I see,” he murmured. He scrubbed his hands against his eyes, stars swimming before his vision. “But we used a condom.”
    She flushed. “I guess it didn’t work. I don’t know what to tell you.” She shrugged. “We’re not the first people to have a condom fail.”
    He remembered how easily it had come off. It had struck him as odd that night, but never had he suspected this might happen. “Fuck me,” he breathed, unable to believe it could be possible.
    A baby? Would it have her eyes and her hair? Would their daughter look like her…sound like her? Awe at