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Pregnant…
I watch as Soren locks it, sliding the key into his jeans. Her screams pierce through the heavy silence, clawing at the edges of my conscience like a relentless winter chill.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, the word barely audible over the thunderous pounding in my chest. My hands feel cold, almost numb, as if they belong to someone else—someone capable of walking away from the raw terror etched into every line of Gail’s face. I’ve seen that look before, in the eyes of opponents who knew they were about to be crushed on the ice. But this… this is different. This isn’t a game.
“Let her scream,” Soren says coldly, his voice cutting through my fragmented thoughts. “It’ll teach her a lesson.”
A lesson. The word tastes bitter on my tongue, tainted with a flavor of disgust and an undercurrent of something darker I don’t want to acknowledge.
Pregnant…
“Go to bed.” Soren rakes a hand down his face, looking at me through eyes that no longer burn with malice. “I’ll keep watch.”
I feel like a fucking zombie as I retreat to the guest room I’m occupying. Stripping down, showering, getting ready for bed, it all blurs together and through my sluggish movements, all I can hear is Gail saying,“I’m pregnant, and one of you is going to be a dad.”
Fuck!
Soren
Ilean against the cold, unyielding wall opposite the locked door, my arms crossed over my chest, a silent sentinel. The scent of stale sex and sweat still clings to me, a pungent reminder of what went down last night.
Inside, Gail’s breathing evened out hours ago when she cried herself to sleep, the soft rustle of sheets the only sound betraying her wakefulness. We’d untied her, sure, but we hadn’t given her freedom. Not yet.
“Fuck,” I mutter, rubbing a hand over my face.
Gail is Abby, and Abby is Gail. The same woman, two very different sides. I wonder if Mickey has even processed that part yet, or if his brain took him straight to doom’s town, party of one after hearing she’s knocked up. In the dim light of the morning, I’m no longer angry. Well, I am, just not as much as I was last night. Truthfully, my anger wasn’t for me as much as it was for Mick. I didn’t need to look at him to know how Gail’s confession would feel like a punch to the gut—like history repeating itself.
I didn’t protect Mickey when Simone played him, but I’m here now, and I’m not letting this, or any, bitch play with him like this. Scoffing, I run a tattooed hand through my short, dark hair.
How do we even know this kid is ours? We have no idea how many people she spread her legs for at Cupid’s Court, or anywhere else. She claims she didn’t know we were the men at Cupid’s Court, which I believe. Sadly, that doesn’t help her case in the slightest. Because Gail openly flirted with us outside of that place, so how can I know she hasn’t slept with hundreds of guys?
But fuck, if she’s carrying something of mine inside her… a kid—possiblymykid—can I really turn my back on her if that’s true? Since Ryan’s death, family became my everything. Not my parents, because fuck them. But Nana, Mickey, and Sawyer are my family. If Gail’s pregnant, then she’s family too, in a twisted sort of way. And you don’t turn your back on family, not if you’re Soren “The Wall” Taylor.
Fuck!
A shiver runs down my spine, and I shake it off, trying to refocus on the here and now. On Gail, locked away in that bedroom, and the decision hanging over my head like a fucking guillotine.
“Good morning.” Mickey’s voice cuts through the silent hallway, gruff with concern. I don’t have to look at him to know he’s assessing the situation, reading the tension in my body like he reads plays on the ice. That’s Mickey—always seeing more than he lets on. “Still standing guard?” he asks, coming to stand beside me, his shoulder brushing mine in silent solidarity.
“Something like that,” I reply, my voice rough. Mickey doesn’t push, doesn’t prod; he’s never been one for unnecessary words. Instead, he claps a hand on my shoulder.
Then he leans against the opposite wall, propping one leg up. His white hair is in disarray, his eyes bloodshot. I have no doubt I look just as… what’s the opposite of looking put together? Whatever it is, that’s how I’m sure I look as well. “So Gail and Abby are the same person.” The words are soft, tinged with helplessness.
I nod, because what else can I do?
My body is as tense as a coiled spring, when Gail’s screams shatter the silence of the morning. The sound grates against my nerves like nails on ice, and I can’t ignore the twinge in my gut. Pregnant or not, she’s fire and gasoline, burning bright enough to sear through my defenses.
“Please! Let me out of here!” Her voice is hoarse from desperation, her plea slicing through the heavy air of the house. “I didn’t know who you were—I swear!”
Across from me, Mick’s eyes darken like clouds before a storm rips across the sky. He clenches his jaw, balling his hands into fists. “How do we even know she’s pregnant? Or that the kid is ours?” he asks, each question heavy with the same unspoken accusation that ran through my mind earlier.
“We don’t,” I answer. “But we should make sure to get some answers. Call Cupid’s Court and demand a visit with Cupid’s Court’s doctor ASAP.”
Mickey just nods, the movement sharp.
“Let’s go in,” I say finally, determination settling in my gut like a puck ready for the drop.
The room is dimly lit by the morning sun filtering through the curtains, casting long shadows across Gail’s form as she sits up in bed, her blue eyes wide and wary. She’s beautiful, all tangled hair and defiant spirit.
