The Price of Thrills

The Test

The Texas sun was beating down something fierce outside, but I couldn't feel nothing except the cold marble under my palms and the chill running down my spine. I stared at that little plastic stick on the bathroom counter like it was about to grow fangs and bite me. Two pink lines. Clear as day. No mistaking what that meant.

I'm pregnant. At 28 years old, in my big fancy house in the suburbs of Houston, I'm standing here scared out of my mind like I'm 16 again.

"Lord have mercy," I whispered, gripping the edge of the counter so tight my knuckles went pale against my brown skin. The face looking back at me from the mirror? I barely recognized her. Eyes wide, skin ashy, looking like she'd seen a ghost.

"Okay, Imani," I told my reflection, trying to keep my voice steady. "Get it together, girl. Think."

But thinking? That was dangerous territory right now. 'Cause thinking meant asking the question I'd been avoiding since I first thought I might be late: Who's the daddy? My husband, Enzo Conti, the man who swept me off my feet and gave me this life I never thought I'd have? Or Darius Johnson, the boy — now man — who knew me way back when, who reminded me of everything I thought I'd left behind in my old neighborhood?

I closed my eyes, feeling like I was about to drown in memories. I saw Enzo clear as day, sitting at my section in that run-down diner where I used to waitress. Him with his quiet ways, that gentle smile, leaving tips that had me thinking he'd made a mistake the first few times. The way he'd asked for my name like he was asking for directions to heaven itself.

"Imani," he'd said, rolling it around in his mouth like he was tasting something sweet. "That's beautiful. It means 'faith' in Swahili, doesn't it?"

I'd been so surprised he knew that, I nearly dropped my notepad. "Yeah, it does. My mama picked it out. Said I was her faith made real."

He'd smiled then, a real smile that reached his eyes. "She chose well."

But then, like it always did these days, Darius's face muscled its way into my thoughts. That cocky grin of his, the one that used to make my heart race even when we were just kids running around the block. The way he'd look at me like he could see right through me, like he knew every secret I'd ever had.

"Come on, Imani," he'd said just a few weeks back, his voice low and teasing. "You can't tell me you don't miss this. Miss us. All this fancy livin' ain't changed you that much."

And God help me, in that moment, with his hands on my waist and his breath on my neck, I'd wanted to believe him. Wanted to be that girl again, the one who didn't think twice about jumping into whatever crazy scheme Darius cooked up.

A car door slammed outside, snapping me back to the present. My heart jumped into my throat. Enzo was home early.

"Imani?" His voice floated up the stairs, that slight Italian accent wrapping around my name. "Sei a casa, cara?"

"Yeah, baby," I called back, wincing at how shaky my voice sounded. "I'm up here. Be down in a minute."

I looked at the test again, then at my scared face in the mirror. What was I gonna do? Enzo and I, we'd talked about having kids, sure. But not now. Not like this. Not with this cloud hanging over everything.

And Darius... Lord, I didn't even want to think about how he'd react if...

No. I couldn't go there. Not now. I had to pull myself together. Had to face my husband with a smile and pretend everything was fine. At least until I figured out what the hell I was going to do.

I took a deep breath, straightened my shirt, and tried to school my features into something resembling normal. As I headed for the bedroom door, I caught sight of a photo on the dresser. Me and Enzo on our wedding day. Me grinning like I'd won the lottery, him looking at me like I was the most precious thing in the world.

My chest tightened. How had I gone from that girl to... this? Standing in my beautiful home, carrying a child that might not be my husband's, scared out of my mind?

"Imani?" Enzo called again, closer this time. "Everything okay?"

I closed my eyes, took another deep breath. "Yeah, baby," I called back, proud of how steady I kept my voice this time. "Everything's fine. Be right there."

As I opened the door and headed downstairs to greet my husband, one thought kept running through my mind: Everything is not fine. Not fine at all. And I got no idea how I'm gonna fix this mess I've made.

But I plastered on a smile anyway, pushing all those worries down deep inside. 'Cause that's what I'd always done, wasn't it? Smile through the hard times, pretend everything's okay. It had gotten me this far. I just hoped it would be enough to get me through whatever was coming next.

'Cause one thing was for sure – my life was about to change in ways I couldn't even begin to imagine. And all because of two little pink lines on a stick.