answer. “Five days ago.”
“W-what? I don’t understand. You haven’t said anything.”
I force out a laugh, wiping my cheeks. “Welcome to my club. He kept it from me. He’s taken everything, Becca. Everything. I can’t—” I close my eyes, shaking the dark thoughts from my mind. “I need the pain to stop.”
“It feels like that at the beginning, but it eases. I’m not going to lie to you and say it gets better. It doesn’t. But you have me, and together we will get through this.”
I flinch, ashamed that I didn’t think of how Rebecca would feel. She lost her mum when she was five.
“I’ve lost her, and I’ve lost Wyatt. They all hate me, and I finally felt like I belonged somewhere. I don’t belong anywhere now.”
“You belong with me,” she declares, tears rolling down her face. “What would I do without you?”
“Life would be better without me. You wouldn’t have to worry about my father doing something to you next.”
“Fuck him. Fuck them all. Please, Evie, come down. This is grief and heartache talking. What you need to do is get fuckfaced, cry it out, and come home with me. Please.”
Her pleading has my stomach in knots. I can’t bear to hear the anguish a minute longer.
“I feel dead inside,” I admit, looking back down at the rocks.
“And in time, you’ll have that breathing room to feel life again. Right now, you have forced all other emotions off and are only feeling the worst. Once your world stops, your brain will reset, and you’ll be able to sort through your emotions.”
I let go of the side, rubbing my aching chest, and from the corner of my eye, I notice Rebecca stop herself from grabbing me.
I look over at her, letting her see it all; the sharp sorrow and regret I’m holding in. I’m scared that if I let it all out, they’ll be no coming back, and I won’t have the strength to do what I need to. Tears stream down her face as she sucks in a breath.
“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” I tell her, my voice breaking at the end.
“Then don’t. Come with me and get drunk.” She stops, brushing her hair off her face, her eyes pleading with me. “I need you.”
I shake my head, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “You don’t.”
“I’m pregnant.”
I jerk at the admission, seeing the truth on her face. My heart stutters, a tiny burst of happiness running through me before it’s extinguished by the turmoil and grief.
“I can’t do this alone, Evie. I need you. You’ll be the best aunt ever.”
I glance back down to the rocks, my decision wavering. She continues, not caring, her pleas desperate.
“And who will help me choose the colour for the nursery, pick clothes or establish a routine? Who’s going to be with me when I give birth? And what if it’s a girl? Who’s going to be there to scare the boys away with me,” she asks, and I clutch my stomach at the sharp cramps. She’s breaking through my wall, and it hurts.
“Rebecca,” I croak out, silently pleading with her to stop.
She ignores me, continuing. “I found out this morning, which is why I couldn’t meet you. I wanted to tell you, but I was scared you’d judge me.”
I glance at her so sharply my neck cricks. “I’d never judge you.”
She turns sideways, looking down at the water. “I think I was judging myself. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. It’s still really early in the pregnancy. I wasn’t sure if I was ready. What do I know about being a mum?”
“You’ll be a great mum,” I whisper, letting in a deep breath.
She shakes her head, her shoulders dropping with a sigh. “Out of the both of us, you’re the maternal one. I need my friend, Evie. I need her so badly right now. You’ve always had my back, always known what to do. You can’t leave me. I’m so scared right now and it’s not just the pregnancy. You mean everything to me. You’re the sister I always wanted. Losing you would be losing myself. Please, come down. Let me help you.”
I begin to bawl, my body shaking with tears at her admission. “I-I’m s-scared it won’t stop. I’m s-scared I’ll move off this bridge and regret it. I’m so sorry. So fucking sorry.”
“It’s going to be okay,” she assures me, moving a little closer, her arm brushing mine.
Looking at her through floods of tears, her