Page 29 of The Stepbrother 2: Noah

I thought about what she said and the fact that I could indeed be pregnant, wondering if I would feel exhilarated too. I knew the fear would be present.

"Tempest." The sound of her name being roared made me jump. I brought my eyes up to Tempest in time to watch her face go as red as a Black girl's could. Then I snapped my head in the direction of a very angry AJ stalking our way. He didn’t seem to notice the very nervous-looking customers pulling out their phones. I wanted to run. I wanted to pick Tempest up and run with her. She was in trouble, and we both knew it. I could see the lie being created in Tempest's head, but she wasn’t quick enough to formulate it before AJ was on us. So she just sat there, looking about ready to cry.

"What are you doing away from the fucking house, Tempest?" AJ's voice boomed like thunder when he yelled.

Tempest did what I would have never thought to do; she burst out crying.

The anger fell from AJ's face immediately. Shushing her, he bent and swooped her up in his arms. He glared at me without a word before walking off with his very pregnant wife in his arms.

The faker had the nerve to look back at me over his shoulder and wave. AJ was so soft on Tempest; she could get away with anything. I wanted that.

Everybody was whispering and gawking in my direction after they'd left the coffee shop. That was my cue to leave. I stood and smoothed down my parents’ band T-shirt and then my red knee-length bandage skirt to make sure everything was in order before I ducked my head and headed towards the exit. I knew I wouldn’t be hearing from Tempest for a few days.

I almost dropped my phone when I was snatched into the bathroom by the exit. A hand was slammed over my face. My heart was beating erratically. I always told myself I’d be able to defend myself in a situation like this, but I just froze. Then time sped up when I realized it was just Noah. I wanted to hit him, but instead, I just glared. “What in the hell are you doing here?” I whisper-shouted.

He kept his hand wrapped around my arm as he explained. “I went looking for you at Tempest's place. I didn’t find anyone home, then AJ pulled up and went apeshit when he found out you had taken his wife, who is having a high-risk pregnancy, out of the house. He tracked her here, and I followed."

I didn’t even try to explain that Tempest had insisted. I knew better, but we were ten minutes from four hospitals; she would have been alright."

"That doesn’t explain why you’re here or why you pulled me into the bathroom like you were about to snatch me up," I retorted.

He was wearing a white polo and blue jeans. He pulled a pregnancy test from his pocket. It was one of the good ones, with "Find out seven days sooner" scrawled across the box.

“You want me to take that here?” I scoffed.

"You’re not leaving until you do..."

I reluctantly took the pregnancy test from Noah's hand, my fingers trembling. I stepped into one of the stalls, closed the door, and locked it. I followed the instructions on the test carefully, my mind racing, even though I doubted I was pregnant. I waited.

After what felt like an eternity, I emerged from the stall, holding the test in my hand. The results were clear and undeniable. My eyes met Noah's, and I could see the hope in his gaze.

I was dying.

"It's positive," I whispered.

What had I done?

Noah-

Right, right, jab. Troy shifted his weight to one foot, broadcasting his right hook. I purposely moved into the path of his fist to be met with a jab. His left fist rocketed toward me, colliding with my jaw. It stung, but it didn't hurt. Troy didn’t put enough weight behind his punches. I was bored but still remembered to throw my right, right, jab. I knew Troy would duck, and he did. I knew his every move. Troy and I had been going to the boxing gym once a week since I was about eight or nine. Even if he was on tour, he made sure to fly back once a week just for me.

By the time I was fifteen, I started going after school every day without him. Now I was a far more advanced fighter than he was, trained in both boxing and MMA. It was hard holding back in a sparring match with him and even harder not to correct his punches, but I never said anything and stuck to his routine because I knew him thinking he was teaching me something meant a lot to him. It was Troy. He was soft when it came to the people who were important to him.

While he danced around the ring, I eased into the conversation I had wanted to have with him. I had rehearsed what I wanted to say plenty of times—yesterday and the day before. That was when I thought Creed would actually be an adult and talk to me about what happened next. But today, I was pissed off and not in the mood to play nice.

"Creed's pregnant, and the baby's mine..."

It took a few seconds for him to register what I’d said. Troy's face contorted with rage. "What the hell did you just say?" This time he didn't telegraph his punch, an uppercut rocked me on myfeet. He threw a jab, jab, punch, and I felt my ribs rattle, leaving me dazed. The blows kept coming—jab, jab, punch, body shot. I felt like a freight train was hitting me. I guess I wasn’t the only one who’d been holding back in our sparring sessions.

Out of sheer reflex, I threw a right hook—one of my best—catching Troy off guard. The impact landed squarely on his jaw, and he staggered back, his face turning even redder. He glared at me, slammed his gloves together, and yelled, "Come on."

As the ringing in my ears subsided, the world around me blurred as Troy showed me his right hook was just as powerful as mine. He was trying to take my head off. We were both breathing hard. Troy's face was bright red, and my heart was pounding in my chest. If I made the wrong move, this could be the end of a lifelong relationship and the beginning of some awkward family holidays because, for the next eighteen years, I’d be around. Instead of bowing out, I regrouped, readjusting my stance.

"We might as well get this over with," I said before jabbing Troy in the nose. We’d have a hell of a lot to talk about when we finished beating the hell out of each other.

The owner of the gym and his son had to break Troy and me apart. Everything above my waist hurt, and Troy was breathing like a heart attack was imminent. We both had swollen, bloodied faces. We were sitting on the back of his truck in the parking lot, his rolling suitcase beside him. We’d been sitting there for over thirty minutes, but neither of us had spoken a word.

"This still surprises me, though I should have foreseen it—Creed and you." He shook his head. "I've seen how you look at her, just like I looked at her mother. How long?"

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