[Summer's POV]
I've spent the last week hunched over various toilets, my stomach in constant rebellion. The nausea comes in waves, especially in the mornings, but sometimes strikes without warning throughout the day. I can barely keep anything down.
Taevion's old Cadillac has become my mobile command center, full of fast food wrappers, empty water bottles, and a map marked with every place Scott might be. I've staked out his workplace, his NA meetings, even his favorite coffee shop. Nothing. He's vanished completely, and each day without him feels like drowning in slow motion.
My knuckles whiten around the porcelain bowl as another wave of sickness hits me. When it finally passes, I slump against the bathroom wall, exhausted. Seven days of searching and I'm no closer to finding him. I even tracked down Jenna's apartment building and driven past repeatedly, but never spotted his car.
As I push myself up from the floor, my treasures catch my eye on the sink counter. Three white plastic sticks, lined up neatly like soldiers. Each one displays the same unmistakable result. Two pink lines.
A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep inside me, half joy, half hysteria. My hand drifts to my still-flat stomach as tears spring to my eyes.
"He can't leave us now," I whisper, a smile spreading across my face despite the lingering taste of bile. "Not both of us."
I trace my fingers over the plastic sticks, something fierce and primal surging through me. A baby. Our baby. Scott's baby growing inside me right now.
My mind races, calculating frantically. I called his office every single day until that snippy receptionist finally cracked. "He took two weeks off," she'd snapped before hanging up on me.
Which means he can only hide from me for another week at most. Seven more days before he has to show his face at work again. Seven days before I can corner him, make him listen.
But a week feels like forever when you're carrying a miracle. This news can't wait. He deserves to know immediately that he's going to be a father. That we created something beautiful together despite everything that's happened.
I push myself up from the bathroom floor, a new determination steadying my shaky legs. The nausea seems to retreat slightly, as if my body understands the importance of this mission.
"Think, Summer," I mutter, splashing cold water on my face. "Where would he go?"
I drag myself into the kitchen, my mind searching for some kind of revelation. There must be a way to make him hear me out. Something cosmic or spiritual that could guide me to him.
But life's never that easy, is it?
My eyes drift across the countertop, stopping at the knife block. The polished handles catch the light, and suddenly it hits me, a solution so obvious I almost laugh.
"I wonder if I'm still Scott's emergency contact?"