Page 48 of With A Little Luck
“I didn’t react the last time he was over,” Trigg says petulantly. “But I believe you just hurt my feelings.”
“You’re reallynothelping yourself sound like less of a stalker,” I say out of the side of my mouth. “Like, at all. Dial it back, man.”
“How would you know he was here before?” Quincy asks. “You really have been stalking me?”
I’m more focused on Hartley. His jaw clenches, and everything in me says he’s going to go for the gun while Trigg is distracted answering Quincy.
“I have beenromanticallychecking in on you. Just to make sure you’re okay here alone in this giant house,” Trigg says, not helping his case one tiny fucking bit.
“He’s about to—” My words cut off as Hartley ducks and pivots, slamming Trigg’s gun arm toward the back of the room. He’s damn lucky the gun ends up pointing away from Quincy, or I would have rearranged both their faces for that stupid fucking move.
Hartley tackles Trigg.
Huh, looks like he did learn something from all those years on the field. He wasn’t doing the tackling then, but he picked up a trick or two.
I sigh as the gun goes flying.
Quincy’s eyes widen. “I’ve had enough of whatever this is!” Her head swivels until her gaze meets mine. “Stop them!”
“They’re just negotiating the pecking order. It’ll be better if we don’t interfere. That’s something they have to hash out among themselves.” I shove my hands into my pockets and stride closer, trying not to look like a giant. It’s practically impossible, but I still slouch, hoping it’ll help me look like less of a threat. “How pregnant are you?”
“The baby is yours,” she says, her eyes falling shut.
My heart stalls in my chest, but the way her brow furrows as her lips purse keeps me from snapping something shitty. She looks like she’s physically in pain, and I hate it.
I also hate that if she’s right, I’ve missed out on a shit ton of memories that I can never get back. I’ll never get to see the lines on the test turn pink with her. I won’t be able to go to the appointment when you first get to hear the heartbeat or see the first ultrasound. Never get to battle it out over whether we want to know the gender of the baby. I won’t have the chance to watch her stomach grow from a tiny bump into a significant curve.
“I am so sorry I left that morning… I meant to leave my number, but I had an emergency—” She cuts off when my hands land on her hips, dragging her a few feet away as the idiots roll around, punching each other. “Please, you have to stop them.”
“They are not my problem,” I deadpan, quirking an eyebrow. “You and the baby are.”
Shit.
All this stress can’t be good for either one of them.
Apparently I hesitate for too long.
“Fine.” Quincy huffs, shaking out of my grip. “I’ll do it.” She steps around me like she’s about to interfere in an alpha fight, but I grab her by the hips and drag her back once more.
She ends up leaning against my chest, and I can’t help myself. My hand brushes over the soft material of her pajama dress.
Yeah…
She’s definitely knocked up.
I’ve never felt anything like it. Her stomach is firm, almost hard, but also soft. I don’t know how to explain it.
My brain turns into a spiraling mess all over again as I realize all the moments I’ve missed.
I would have been with her at every appointment—by her side every single step of the way.
And all of that is…
Gone.
My teeth grind together to keep from demanding answers. She said she planned to leave her number, but that sure didn’t end up happening, and I feel robbed.
That’s if she’s telling the truth and the baby is mine, but I also know I need to broach that conversation when I’m not concerned the top of my head might pop off.
