Page 17 of One Night with the Werewolf
“I’m sorry,” she whimpers. “I’m so sorry for calling you.”
Something is wrong. I try to soften my voice as I ask, “What is this about?”
There’s a long silence on the other end, her breath speeding up.
“Emelia?”
“I’m sorry,” she repeats, the words sticking in her throat as she tries to get them out. “I d-d-don’t know what to do.”
Dread fills my bones. Maybe she’s in trouble. Maybe she’s in danger. The wolf rises to the surface in a way it never has before, roaring to go to her, to help her, to get revenge on whoever has hurt her.
“Emelia. Please.” I try to sound more comforting. “Tell me what’s going on.”
She takes a deep breath on the other side, clearly trying to calm herself, too.
“Roscoe,” she says in a devastated voice, “I’m pregnant.”
My whole fucking world goes white. My vision blurs, and my heart practically stops beating in my chest.
No. No way. This can’t be happening. There must be a mistake.
“Jason’s?” I don’t know why I’m hoping that it’s his and not mine. It would be worse for Emelia if that was the case. But I also don’t want to even fathom what the other answer would sound like.
“No.” I can hear her starting to cry on the other side. “It’s not. It’s yours. I don’t know—I don’t understand—I was on the pill—but…” A sob breaks free. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Why does she keep apologizing? I’m the one who came inside her. I’m the one who was too horny and drunk to even consider using a condom. It takes two to tango, and I was one of those two. The older one, in fact, who should have behaved responsibly and didn’t.
This is my fault.
“Fuck,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes hard. “Goddamn it.”
She cries harder. Shit, I’m only making this worse.
I need to see her. I need to hold her and comfort her and tell her it’s going to be all right. We’ll figure something out.
“Emelia,” I say firmly. “I’m coming to get you. Right now.”
“What?” She sniffles.
“Text me your address.” I use my bossiest tone, because she responded well to that the night we were together.
“O-o-oh, okay.”
“See you soon,” I tell her in a softer voice. Then I hang up.
The text message arrives with her address—an apartment close to Elroy’s. Without a second thought, I get in the car, set up my phone to give me directions, and take off.
All I can think about as I drive is what this means. I can’t believe I knocked up a twenty-six-year-old girl. Fuck me. Fuck me into the sun.
I speed more than I should, as eager as I am to get to Emelia’s side. She doesn’t deserve this. The choice she’s going to have to make is a hard one, and I have to be prepared for whichever path she chooses—which could have an astronomical impact on my life and hers. I’ve already co-parented with Julie while Jason was growing up, and I know I could do it again, but the idea is more daunting than anything I could imagine.
My hands are gripping the wheel so tight my knuckles are white by the time I pull into the parking lot. I don’t even need to look up which apartment is Emelia’s because she’s sitting on the stairs out front, her head in her hands, her whole body hunched forward and curled in on herself.
“Emelia,” I say the moment I get out of the car. Her head snaps up, and her face is blotchy pink, her eyes spiderwebbed with red. She doesn’t even greet me, just rises to her feet and wraps her arms around herself.
Fuck. I didn’t consider this part. Of course she hates me. I saw her face when I spoke to her that morning in my strictest tone, hoping to cut everything off at the bud. Now that’s coming back to bite me in the ass, because she looks fearful as I approach the bottom of the stairs.
That’s the last thing I want, for her to be afraid of me. Of what I’ll say. Of what I’ll do.
