Page 82 of Shots Fired

The one Archer had fitted.

I turn and pick it up, unlocking the screen.

“Who is it?” she asks.

Against the odds and with everything Jenna just told me, an involuntary smile pulls at my lips when I turn the phone to show her the camera. “Speak of the devil.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

ARCHER

In a pink pajama set I bought her—because of course I fucking did—Darcy brews two mugs of Yorkshire tea. One for me and another for her. I don’t have the heart to tell her I can’t stand tea.

Would it be a deal-breaker?

Jenna left around ten minutes ago, and since the moment Darcy answered the door to me, my girl has been really fucking quiet. Disconcertingly quiet.

Slowly, she stirs a tea bag around one mug and then moves to the other, releasing a small sigh.

When Sawyer took his eyes from my phone and Darcy and Jenna back home, I spent the next half hour Googling her symptoms, and—thank fuck—lightheadedness is a normal part of pregnancy, thanks to lower blood pressure.

That didn’t stop the burning desire to wrap her in my arms at Lloyd’s and be the one to take her home, with me, to my apartment—a place I know we’ll call ours soon.

I approach her from behind, not stopping until my chest brushes her barely covered back. Even though I’m wearing a hoodie, her skin still reacts to my presence.

Reaching around, I fold my hand over hers, taking the teaspoon from her and setting it in a cute-as-fuck spoon dish I know she brought with her from England because we don’t have that kind of shit here.

“Spin around for me, Doll.”

Another small sigh leaves her lips. I can smell her shampoo, and I appreciate the perfect curve of her exposed neck since she’s wearing her long hair in a messy bun.

“Please?”

Picking up a small milk jug, she adds a few drops to each mug and sets it down softly. “When all this gets out … about you, me, and the pregnancy, is there a chance you will be traded?”

Her question comes out of nowhere and hits me right in the gut.

This time, I don’t ask her to turn around and face me. I plant both hands on her small waist and do it myself. Her lower back is pressed into the countertop, and worried blue eyes peer up at me through thick, dark lashes.

I cup one side of her face with my hand, my large palm dwarfing her delicate features.

We haven’t kissed in days, but like that’s going to stop me. I duck down and brush my lips over hers.

She smiles against my mouth, and fuck if I don’t do the same back.

With her pinned to my body, I’m convinced she isn’t going anywhere, so my other hand leaves her waist, slipping between our bodies. I palm her stomach, rubbing small circles around her navel with my thumb.

The question she asked still hangs between us, but kissing Darcy is my priority. I know it makes her feel good, and if itoffers her some semblance of comfort, then I’ll gladly give it to her every damn day.

The truth is, I can’t be sure what will happen when I ultimately break the news to Jack and Coach. I know the new GM doesn’t take any prisoners, and if it fucks with team dynamics, then best-case scenario is, I’ll be benched. So much of my fate rests on how Jack will react.

I think about if the shoe were on the other foot and this were my baby sister, Emma, and my best friend … yeah, I’d be pissed at the betrayal. But if he treated her right, I’d have it out with him for being a secretive douche and then try to push past it.

“Why do you ask?” I breathe into her mouth as she wets her lips, clearly not done with the kiss.

Neither am I.

She exhales, and I swallow down the taste of her. I want to consume every inch of Darcy Thompson.

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