“I’m twent–”
“Jon!”
“Jon!” Tink steps around us, stops in front of Jon, and presses her tiny body against his. She’s less than five and a half feet tall, yet his rage slows to a simmer as soon as her chest presses against his. “Jon. Stop.” She presses her hands to his chest and waits for his eyes to meet hers. “Please just stop.”
“Can we sit and talk?” Iz asks.
Iz’s hesitant voice snaps Jon from his Tink distraction, and glaring up at me, his teeth bare like those of an attacking dog. He looks back to Tink. “Did you girls know about this?” Then to me. “Did you fucking know?”
“Watch it, Jon,” Bobby snaps. “You don’t speak to her that way.”
“Shut the fuck up, Peacock!”
“We found out last night,” I interrupt before the brothers turn on each other. “Weallfound out last night.” It’s important he knows that Iz is still fresh with the shock. She’s hurt and scared, and she needs his support, not anger.
With disappointment shining in his eyes, he kills me with a glare, turns on his heel, and sits back in his chair.
Ouch.
I squeeze Iz’s hand and lead her back to our seats. We need to talk. We need to get it out on the table. Then we need to wrap her in a damn hug.
She walks the few steps with me and Tink, and looking over our shoulders in search for Jim, her chest crumbles in on itself when she finds the space he was in empty.
Jon’s disappointment cracks her foundations, but Jim’s disappearance smashes them down.
I help her sit before I take the chair next to hers, then unsurprisingly, Bobby takes up position behind me and presses his hand to my shoulder. I have no friggin clue why he’s so calm, but I won’t say no to the support.
Rubbing shaking hands over his face, Jon’s tortured gaze comes up to meet his sister’s. “What happened, Sissy? How the fuck did this happen?”
“It just…” She shrugs. “It was an accident.”
“You’re pregnant?” He looks like he’s going to be sick. “You’re really pregnant? Like, expecting an actual baby?”
“Yeah, Jon. An actual baby. An actual baby will be here around Christmas.”
“Christmas?” He mentally attempts the math. “So you’re…”
“Nine weeks.” She exhales tiredly. “Thirty-one to go, according to the ultrasound lady.”
“Ultrasound? You’ve already seen… it?”
Bobby moves in my peripherals. He knew where weweren’tgoing today. And now he knows where we really did go. I look up to him with pursed lips and nod.
“Yes,” Iz continues, “I’ve seen it. I made an appointment this morning, the girls drove me there, then we came home. I’m telling you now, because I didn’t wanna keep the secrets.”
His nostrils flare with the anger he can’t contain. “Whose is it?” His question is a growl, but before Iz can answer, he does. “Ben. I’m going to kill that f–”
“Yes, the baby is Ben’s,” she cuts him off. “Talk about bad fucking luck?”
“Does he know?” Jon asks.
“No.”
“What are you going to do… about it?”
“I’ll be keeping it.” She meets Jon’s gaze bravely. “I’m not aborting.”
“Sissy, it’s not too late. This can be fixed… Your life doesn’t have to change.”