Page 2 of The Alpha's Sin
And I believed all of it—because of his love-bombing and because I’ve always been a sucker for a guy with a pretty face.
I have to admit, Dirk was nice to look at. He had sandy brown hair, a shade darker than my own dark blonde, and bright blue eyes with long lashes. He had straight, white teeth and this way of laughing out of only half of his mouth that was snarky and charming at the same time. Also, he was almost six feet tall with nice arms and fairly broad shoulders.
When he first came up to me and started flirting, I was sure he couldn’t be serious. I’m not the kind of girl who gets that kind of guy. I have nice hair and a pretty face but I’m not thin—quite the opposite, in fact. I’ve always been “curvy” for as long as I can remember. I’m what they call a “pear shape,” meaning I carry most of my weight in my hips and ass. I have pretty thick thighs too—I don’t know any man who goes looking for those qualities in a girl—let alone big, handsome guys like Dirk.
“Don’t you worry about it, honey—some men like a girl with meat on her bones and a big caboose,” my Grandma used to say. But I never actually met one until Dirk came along and started raving about how much he loved my curves. Later, I came across his Instagram and saw how many thin, perfect models he was following, but at the time I believed him. I believed everything—because I so desperately wanted to.
So we got married and he flushed my birth control, saying he wanted to start a family right away. A month later, he was gone.
“Shit…shit…shit!” I mutter as I stare at the dreaded second line on the pregnancy test. I’m pregnant—I’m really pregnant.
Just the thought of it makes me nauseous. Or maybe it’s morning sickness. Whatever it is, the dry slice of toast I had for breakfast this morning is coming up.
I hop off the toilet, push back the lid, and fall to my knees just in time. What comes up is a brown mush that floats on the surface of the water. The sight makes me sick again and I puke until there’s nothing left but acid in my stomach.
When I’m sure I’m done, I get off the floor and flush. I wash my mouth out in the sink and splash water in my face, trying to think what the hell I’m going to do.
Most people would probably tell me to get an abortion but that’s not an option. Dirk left a month after our wedding and I missed my period a few days after that. But at the time, I was so upset I didn’t even notice. That was right around the time I’d found out that our joint bank account had been completely cleaned out, leaving me without even enough money to pay the next month’s rent or buy groceries.
Needless to say, I don’t have money for medical care either.
I’ve been trying to figure out what to do about the rent situation because it’s the end of the month. I approached my landlord—a sleazy guy with a lazy eye who always smells like he just smoked about a pound of weed—and asked for an extension. His response was succinct—“Pay up or get out. I don’t give extensions, second chances, or warnings, girly.”
So that was a no-go.
I wish I had some money coming in but I don’t, mainly because I don’t have a job. Dirk wanted me to stay at home, “Just at first, babe. Until after we buy the house,” he told me. So I’d been playing housewife for him, doing all the cleaning and cooking and of course, having unprotected sex with him whenever he asked for it. Which makes it hard to know exactly when I got pregnant.
I look at the stick again and then I look in the mirror. A woman with wavy, dark blonde hair and green eyes looks back at me. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying—I’ve been a mess ever since I realized Dirk isn’t coming back. He didn’t even leave me a note. He just said he was going to work one day and never came home.
Of course, I was frantic when he went missing and didn’t return any of my calls or texts. I called every hospital in the area, looking for him but he hadn’t been in an accident. It wasn’t until my card got declined at the store when I was trying to buy a few groceries that I thought to check the bank account and found it empty.
Then I knew what was going on—I realized that Dirk had left me. But of course, by then it was too late. He was long gone, and he’d taken every last little bit of money from the sale of my Grandma’s house with him—all five hundred thousand. The bank manager said he was sorry but since we were legally married, he couldn’t report it as any kind of crime or theft. The money was gone, along with my husband.
Later that week, I used my last two dollars to buy a cheap pregnancy test from Dollar Tree. (Yes, they have them there.) I was desperate to know why I’d been throwing up every morning and why I felt so dizzy all the time.
Now I know.
“It’s a really cheap test though,” I say out loud. “Maybe it’s wrong.”
Yeah, right. I know in my heart I’m in trouble. I’m pregnant and I’m going to be living in my car by tomorrow night because rent is due tomorrow and I don’t have any money to pay it.
I don’t have anything but my clothes, a few knick-knacks from my Grandma, and a beat-up old Chevy Cavalier that barely made the trip from Florida to Virginia. I don’t even have enough money for gas to keep it running at night, so it’s going to be cold. Autumn is half over and it’s chilly in the evening.
What am I going to do?
I rack my brain, trying to think. What options do I have? I can’t go home—I have no living relatives and I’ve lost touch with my friends. None of them are in a position to let me couch surf, anyway. Everyone has it tough. And even if there was someone I could stay with back home, I don’t have the money for gas to make a twelve hour road trip. The Cavalier is a gas-guzzler. I used to joke that it barely gets two miles per gallon but that’s not far from the truth.
Where can I go, then? If Dirk’s parents were alive, I’d beg them to take me in for the sake of their grandchild, which I guess I’m now carrying. But they’re dead—it was one of the things Dirk and I had in common—that we’re both orphans. So begging to stay with the in-laws is out.
I run a hand through my hair distractedly. I don’t know anyone else up here I can stay with. Well, that’s not exactly true, I amend to myself. There’s Logan, Dirk’s older brother…but I’ve only met him a few times including the wedding.
Logan is Dirk’s polar opposite in looks. He’s nine years older than Dirk and taller too—six five or six with shoulders so wide he has to go through most doorways sideways. He’s dark where Dirk is light. He has black hair with salt and pepper at the temples. His short, neatly trimmed beard has some silver too. He has these piercing, pale gray eyes that I can’t stop glancing at, every time I see him. And he’s muscular—I bet he’s got less than ten percent body fat.
Which must be nice, I muse as I look in the mirror. I’m already fat and I’m going to get fatter. I still can’t believe I’m pregnant.
But maybe not—maybe it was just a cheap test. I mean, it was from Dollar Tree and those things give what they call a “false positive” sometimes, don’t they?
The more I think about it, the more I convince myself that must be it. I’m not going to believe I’m pregnant for now, I tell myself. Right now I just have to find a place to crash until I can get a job. Preferably someplace besides my car.
