Page 106 of Sin Bin Daddies
Everything inside me locks up.
My chest tightens, breath catching as my world tilts sideways. I force out a strangled laugh. “No. That—that’s not possible.”
Dr. Patel sets the file down gently. “I know this is unexpected. But IUDs, while highly effective, aren’t foolproof. There’s always a small chance?—”
“But it’s still in?” I blurt, my pulse hammering. “It’s in, right?”
Her expression softens. “We’ll need to do an ultrasound to confirm placement. In some cases, the IUD shifts or is expelled without the patient noticing. If it’s still in place, we’ll discuss the safest course of action.”
I nod numbly. My ears are ringing.
“You’re approximately seven weeks along.”
Seven weeks. Almost two months.
And all I can think is?—
I have no idea who the father is.
This was supposed to be uncomplicated. Fun. No strings, no expectations.
And now? I squeeze my eyes shut.
I am so fucked.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Asher
The ballroom is drenchedin gold light, the kind that flatters everything but feels like a lie. Crystals hang from the chandeliers, glittering like they’re proud of themselves.
Polished Miami elite float from one corner of the space to the next, champagne flutes in hand, fake smiles stretched wide.
I’m wearing a tux I’ve worn a dozen times, tailored to perfection, yet it feels like a straitjacket. The collar is too stiff, the laughter too sharp.
My jaw still aches from the last hit I took on the ice, and the bruise on my cheekbone draws a tight-lipped sigh from my mother every time she catches sight of it.
“I really wish you’d be more careful, Asher,” she says again, dabbing at my face like that’ll erase the purple shadow beneath my eye. “You’re handsome. Why must you insist on destroying that?”
“Because it’s hockey, Mother,” I mutter, voice dry. “Not ballet.”
She tsks under her breath. That look crosses her face again—the one she’s worn since I was seventeen. The look that says,this isn’t the man we raised.
Then she links arms with my father and they float off, all polish and practiced charm, probably to charm the board members of whatever cause tonight’s event is pretending to care about.
“What’s this all about, anyway?” I ask my sister.
“Restoring some theater or giving scholarships to underprivileged kids,” Ashley mutters beside me, sipping her champagne like it’s the only thing tethering her to this earth. “Honestly, it’s both. They merged two events for efficiency.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Because nothing says heartfelt like efficiency.”
She grins sideways at me, eyes twinkling with that same dry humor we share. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
“I would.”
She hands me a fresh glass of champagne. “Still hate these things?”
“Hate is a soft word.” I scan the crowd, trying not to wince at the pop of flashbulbs or the press of bodies that have never known a real bruise. “Give me blood on the ice over this any night.”
