Page 64 of Breakaway Daddies

“Hold still,” I murmur, gently nudging the log with my fingertips.

It teeters precariously.

So, I extend a little further, balancing on the ball of my foot like a clumsy ballerina in knee-high socks.

Just one more inch.

And then it happens.

I feel the balance of my hips tip the laddertoofar, and it sways violently beneath me.

Gravity seizes me, pulling me sideways.

I yelp as I plummet off the step, reaching desperately for the nearby shelf and missing completely. Air rushes past my ears, and I crash onto my side, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs.

I lie sprawled on the floor, blinking up at the ceiling, disoriented.

A groan escapes me as I curl an arm protectively over my stomach. Pain radiates through my body.

“Ow,” I mutter hoarsely to myself. “Fuck, Jinx, be careful.”

My heart races, panic tightening like a vise around my chest. My side aches fiercely, but it’s the heavy sensation in my belly that truly alarms me.

The baby!

My hands fly to my stomach, trembling with fear.

“Please be okay,” I whisper urgently.

It wasn’t even that big of a fall, just a slip on the slick tiles. But as I went down, my forehead collided with the edge of the tank frame, sending a jolt of pain through my skull. A dull throb is now pulsing above my left eyebrow.

My wrist, twisted awkwardly in the fall, has already started to swell, the skin tight and inflamed. The sharp ache shoots through me when I attempt to move it, prompting a grimace.

I gingerly push myself up into a sitting position, using my uninjured hand to steady myself on the cool, hard floor. The room spins slightly, as if reality has shifted sideways, and my vision blurs.

I blink rapidly, trying to clear the fog clouding my sight. A metallic tang clings to the back of my throat, unpleasant and persistent, while the air around me is thick with the scent of reptile bedding and a lingering trace of old disinfectant.

My heart pounds against my ribs, a rapid, uncontrolled beat. A cold, clammy sensation spreads across my skin, and a wave of dizziness washes over me, reminiscent of the disorienting spins from detox days gone by.

Not even the queasiness of morning sickness compares to this disconcerting vertigo. I close my eyes, focusing on slow, shaky breaths as I try to calm the storm inside me.

I look up to Lilith to see her slitted eyes fixed on me with what seems like a disapproving glare.

“Yeah,” I mutter under my breath, my voice coming out rough and strained. “That was fucking stupid.”

I sink back onto my heels, my hand moving instinctively to rest over the gentle curve of my belly. Beneath the persistent ache in my wrist and the rhythmic pounding in my skull, a deeper sense of worry seeps in like a slow, creeping tide.

It’s not the kind of worry that buzzes or stings—it’s the kind that settles heavily, like a stone sinking into the depths.

Normally, I’d reach for a couple of painkillers, maybe sleep it off on the worn-out couch. I’ve powered through worse—enduring the relentless needle of tattoo sessions, shrugging off the bruises from bar fights, and bracing against the icy chill of late nights in freezing hockey arenas.

Fragile isn’t in my vocabulary. Fear isn’t an option.

But now?

Now, there’s a tiny life inside me that I have to consider. Someone small and vulnerable, who doesn’t have a say in whether or not I take risks.

My throat constricts, and for a fleeting moment, I feel the urge to cry. Not from the physical pain, but because the reality of it all hits me with full force.

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