Morgan Is The Bomb (The M' s Series #1)

One Plus One Equals?

I am carefully doing my hair when my phone rings. The contact name makes my brow crease. He isn't the kind of person to prefer actual phone calls over text messaging.

"Jo? What's up?"

I can hear her heavy, laboured breathing.

"Jo?" I repeat, worry bubbling in my chest.

She starts talking at a fast pace. So much so, I can't make out what she says.

I interrupt her. "Jo, what's going on? You're talking at super speed, Sweetie."

Her breath hitches. "Eli's gone. I'm here alone. Morgan, I'm so scared. Please, Morgan. Please. I can't do this alone," she begs.

My first thought is that there is someone in the apartment. Jo and Eli's place is hardly in a safe neighbourhood.

"Jo? Is there someone in the apartment?" I whisper.

"No," she whines. "No, no, no. There is something wrong, M. Please. Please. I'm scared."

My best friend needs me.  Sunday brunch be damned. "I'm on my way. Just breath, Sweetheart. I'll be there in about a half hour, okay?"

"Okay." She sniffs. I know she's crying.

I put down the phone.

"Gail!" I shout, running downstairs. "Gail, I can't go to lunch."

"Why not?" She emerges from her room. Her hands busy with an earring.

My face has paled. "Jo's in trouble. I have to get to her."

Gail frowns with sympathy. "You can't help all those people, Sweetie."

"Gail, she isn't some lost puppy. She's my best friend and she needs me." I am horrified.

"If she is in that much trouble, call the police," Gail suggests.

I will get down on my knees. "Gail, please! I'll take an Uber."

"Fine." She gives up.

I waste no time in getting an Uber. My hair is half done and I am not dressed for Jo's world. My leg taps the whole way to the city. My Uber driver seems unsure about dropping me off at my requested address. But I pay her so she can't protest. I don't give her second glance before running up to Jo's apartment. I rap on the door, urgency undisguised.

"Morgan." Jo opens the front door.

Tears have welled up in her moss green eyes. Her dirty blonde hair is up in a messy bun.

I engulf her in a hug. "Oh, Jo." I pull away to assess her for injury. "Darling, what's the matter?"

She clasps my hands in hers. She leans in and whsipers, "I'm late, M. I'm late."

"Holy shit." My hand flies to my throat.

"And I've been tired and pukin' and M, I don't know what to do!" She openly cries now.

I rub my face. "Okay. Have you taken a pregnancy test yet?"

"Uh uh." She shakes her head.

I pace. "Then that's our fisrt stop. Come on. I have money for it."

She nods her head, but I can see from her hazy expression she is consumed by the looming threat of premature motherhood. I put my arm around her. I slow rub in comforting stokes to reassure her. But the truth is I don't know if everything will be fine.

We walk to the nearest 24-hour store. We pass more than a few people who recognize Jo. I grab a basket and toss in everything from salted crisps and chocolate to two pregnancy tests. Jo visibly tenses. The cashier eyes both of us with that judgy look that says "what have you done, kid?". Jo is a zombie.