Chapter 39
“I’m pregnant.”
Everything else that pours from her mouth is only white noise. My body goes lax, and my arms feel heavy at my side. Edith is speaking. I see her mouth moving and she looks as if she’s growing panicked, but I literally cannot move.
I just need a second to process. Fuck. We used a condom that first time, definitely not the second, though. Third, fourth, and fifth? I don’t know…
Her face swims in front of my eyes as I do my best to remember every time I fucked her. At least one other time, I took her bare. There’s nothing more incredible than feeling her tight, wet… Internally, I shake away my thoughts, focusing back on the now.
I specifically remember using a condom after I ate her pussy when she was spread out in the back office. But that other time, I don’t remember. We were probably bare, but… Ahhh, that’s right.
My cock makes itself known when memories of shooting ropes of my cum over her stomach and pussy filter in. How could I have forgotten that? First thing I did after I caught my breath was rub it into her skin and I remember grinning at her shocked expression and wrinkled nose.
Introducing little Edith Hughes to the joys of sex has been the highlight of my past three weeks. And now she’s pregnant.
Fucking pregnant.
That jerks me out of my head, and I only see wood with peeling paint in front of my eyes. Narrowing them, I make a note to get a pressure washer out here to strip it. Dad can hire a couple of high schoolers to come out over some weekend and put on a fresh coat.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
My eyes roam over my now empty farm. No Edith in sight. I have no clue how long I stood here. Flashes of yelling and her pleading voice dance in the recesses of my mind, but for the life of me, I have no idea what she said after those two words.
“I’m pregnant.”
I have to get out of here.With no idea how the hell I’m feeling about this, I trudge my way to my truck, climb in, then drive home in absolute silence. All I can think about is her worry and fear as she delivered our life-altering news.
It’s like a flicker of time passed me by when I come back out of it and find myself sitting alone on my couch, an untouched bottle of water being strangled in my grip.
My face feels weird.
Reaching up, I trail my fingers over my cheek and realize I’m fucking grinning.
Holy fuck. I’m fucking grinning just like one would expect when a man hears his woman is expecting.
Adrenaline slams into me, and I surge to my feet. I let the bottle fall to the floor as I smack my hands against my pockets to find my keys.
“I gotta go talk to her.”
As if fate was only waiting for me to open my mouth and say a fucking word, my phone rings. I yank it from my pocket and fumble with it until I can answer the call.
“Edith?” I ask into the phone, certain it’s her. I’m not sure why she would even be trying to call me. I stood there like a statue and didn’t give her any kind of reaction.
Unfortunately, it’s not her.
“Son.” Dad’s voice is hesitant, seriousness lacing his tone. My pulse starts to beat wildly because I just know he’s about to deliver a blow.
“What’s goin’ on?” I ask, sitting back down, preparing for whatever it is he’s calling for. “Mom alright?”
“She’s fine. She’s on the phone with the police right now, but there’s an issue. We just had a visit from Griffin Graham. You know him?”
My lip curls into a snarl, but I keep my dislike of him reined in. “Yeah. What’d he want?”
Clearing his throat, dad hits me with news that if I wasn’t sitting down, I’d actually worry my knees would give out. “He came over in a state, bloody knuckles and panicked. Said he was next door and found Clay hurtin’ Edith. Don’t know exactly what happened, but he was lookin’ for her. Said she’d been hurt pretty bad, maybe. He, uhh, mentioned that she’s also pregnant. Your mom and I are real worried about her. Any idea where she could’ve run off to?”
I can actually feel my throat constricting the longer he speaks, and all I know is I need to do is find her. Like right the fuck now. “I’ll call you back. She shouldn’t be hard to find. Thanks for the call.”
Hanging up, I find my text thread with her. Instead of writing to her, I flick to her contact and select the call button. I listen to the ring as it cycles through five or six times, then a generic voice message fills my ear.
“Girl.” Wincing, I cough and try again. “Edith, I need you to call me. Got a call from dad that some shit happened at your house, and I need to know you’re alright.”
Ending the call, I send a quick message.
Call me, Edith. I need to know you’re alright. Please.
Going back to the call log, I dial her number again, then again, and another ten times before I give up. My next step is to find her, so I rush from my place without locking up and haul ass over to her house. Maybe she’s gone back by now and I can make sure she’s alright and we can have a talk about the pregnancy. The one I should have been present for from the start.
Another smile tugs at my lips, and I laugh. Jesus Christ. I never thought in a million years I’d ever father a kid. Didn’t seem to be something I’d find written in my cards, so I brushed the idea away years ago. I’ve dated women and fucked them, but never met one I could imagine having a kid with.
Fresh thoughts of raising a little boy alongside Edith have an unfamiliar, but pleasant feeling weaving through me and connecting pieces together I never realized were missing. I’ve been broken and just getting by, pretending it didn’t affect me.
My anxiety spikes when flashing lights draw my eye as I stop at the end of her drive. Without shutting off my truck, I run over to one of the cops writing on a pad as he leans over the top of his squad car.
“Hey, I’m the neighbor. What’s goin’ on? Ya’ll got Edith Hughes in there?” I’m vibrating in place as my eyes dart over to the house, hoping to see her.
The cop side-eyes, then jerks his chin toward the house. “She’s not in there. Took off a bit ago. Any idea where she’s at? Heard she might be just as banged up as her father.”
My shock must be evident because I can only gape, then shake my head. With a crack to my voice, I admit, “G-Got no idea where she’s at, but I’ll go find her. What’s happenin’ with him?”
He seems frustrated as he slaps his book shut and turns down the volume on his radio. “Taking him in for the night to get his injuries treated and give him a chance to sleep off the booze. If you find Edith, have her come down to the station if she can, or at least call, would you?”
“Yeah,” I say, distracted as a few more officers start to head out of the house, tugging a sluggish and bleeding Clayborn behind them. I don’t give two shits about the blood on his face, but when my eyes fall to his uncuffed, bloodied hands, they turn to slits and I see fucking red.
Bolting forward, I rush toward him. “The fuck did you do to her, you piece of shit?” I’m screaming at him and two of the officers step between us, preventing me from getting any closer.
His words are slurred as he taunts me. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, neighbor. Now, get the fuck off my land and keep your cock away from my daughter. You’ve already dirtied her enough with your hands.”
I barely catch the way a few of the officers eye him, not happy with how he’s speaking about his family, but I pay them no mind. “If you—”
“If I what?” he spits out. “What could I have done that’s any worse than you?”
Two hands yank me back and I attempt to throw them off me, but their grip holds enough warning that I force myself to take a step back. With narrowed eyes, I watch as he’s helped into the back seat of one of their cars, then handed a bag in case he needs to puke.
Whirling on the first cop who decided to stop me, I jab a finger at him. “Ya’ll better find somethin’ to charge that bastard with. From what I hear, he spent the mornin’ beatin’ up his daughter. His pregnant daughter.”
“I need you to calm down. We got the story already. We’re just waiting to hear from the man who did that”—he jerks his thumb toward Hughes—“to his face. Nothing more we can do right this second. Call me if you have any information.”
Handing me a card, I stand in the middle of Edith’s drive and watch as three police vehicles, one containing Clayborn, disappear down the road. Pushing the card into my pocket, I force my feet to take me back to my truck.
Once I’m behind the wheel, I stare out the windshield for a minute, wracking my brain with ideas of where she could have gone. Turning in the same direction the cops went, I begin hours of driving around town, stopping to ask anyone I see walking around if they’ve seen her.
Eventually, I find myself in front of the only fucking bar in this town and decide I need to calm myself down. It’s already turned dark, and I can’t imagine Edith is still roaming around. During my drive, I did swing back to her house almost every hour, knocking on the door and praying she’d answer.
She never did.
Walking into the poorly lit place, I decide I’m also going to celebrate the fact I’ve got a baby coming in the near future. Fuck, she can’t be more than a few weeks along!
Wondering if she’s feeling okay outside of the pain I’m sure she’s in from her dad’s assault, I make my way to the end of the bar and find a seat.
My eyes skim the place, a few patrons quietly drinking, scattered around grungy tables and sticky floors. I note that Jaxon Thorton is here, looking pissed off. I’ll go talk with him in a few once I’ve got my order. I don’t care if he’s in the mood or not. He was heading up the job she volunteered at, so maybe he’s seen her.
Which reminds me, I should have gone to the pastor’s house. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll go to them after checking to see if Edith made it home.
The bartender draws my attention and I catch sight of Griffin Graham at the other end of the bar, nursing a glass of brown liquor. As soon as our eyes meet, I surge to my feet.
My booming voice catches everyone’s attention, but I ignore them. Pointing a finger at him, I march forward just as he leaves his chair, getting to his feet.
“You! I need to talk to you!”