22. Marie
22
MARIE
It’s been weeks. Weeks since that night. Weeks since I felt their hands on me, their lips, their overwhelming presence that made me feel like I was at the center of the universe.
And I’ve missed them. More than I want to admit, even to myself.
It’s been killing my writing. I can’t get back into the groove, so Scarlett’s been preoccupying herself with work and friends, and when she goes out, she ignores the men in the club. If I were making a movie, I’d be shooting B-roll.
It’s boring as hell, but at least I’m not destroying my dad’s life. I told myself it was the right thing to do. The smart thing. The safe thing. And I keep telling myself that. Because it’s true.
So why do I feel so miserable?
I sit in the back of the library, my chair creaking slightly as I flip through the pages of a shiny new romance novel from this week’s shipment. It smells like fresh ink and glue, and normally that’s my favorite thing in the world. But today, the scent churns my stomach.
I push the book away, leaning back in the chair and rubbing my temples. My stomach has been off for a few days—tight, queasy, unsettled. Certain smells make me want to gag. Even the coffee from Julie’s thermos this morning almost sent me running to the bathroom. Hazelnut. I normally love hazelnut coffee.
It’s stress. I’ve always had a weak stomach. It’s amazing I didn’t projectile vomit onto Crow as some weird defense mechanism.
My tattoo healed, and that’s about the only thing that’s going right. Work is okay—normally, I love working the new stock into our shelves, but it’s been awful with the smell getting to me.
Dad is onto me. He knows something is up. Yesterday, my father, who thinks church solves everything, offered to send me to a shrink in New Orleans to help me deal with whatever is bothering me, or even arrange a telehealth visit for me.
He knows. He has to know.
And then there’s the worst part. The guys. I’ve been avoiding them as best I can to make this easier on all of us. But it’s hard.
They’re right across the street. I’ve started parking in the rear lot just so they don’t see me come and go. But I still see Sam’s big blue truck out front of their shop. Still see when Trick pulls up on his motorcycle. Or rather, I hear him before I see him. And then I have to pretend I don’t hear him. That I don’t want to run up to the window and press myself to the glass just to get a glimpse of him.
Pretending they don’t exist is the best course of action, but it’s going to suck even more when Dad has them over during football season. Maybe I can get my own place before then.
I want to forget about this book, but I am invested in the characters already—the hallmark of a good writer. I turn on the desk fan to blow the smell away and trudge onward. The next chapter starts off with her in the bathroom. Not a usual scene for a romance novel, unless they’re hooking up in a public restroom. No, wait. She’s sick.
I roll my eyes at the tropey-ness of it. She had a one-night stand with a mysterious billionaire. Of course she’s pregnant. Isn’t that how all of these go? Boo.
It’s absurd. How many billionaires are there in the world, hooking up without condoms with a woman they’ve never met? Are billionaires that stupid? They could lose so much money by being careless like that. The child support alone would?—
Oh wait—he had a vasectomy. Huh. Plot twist. Did the vasectomy fail, or did she hook up with someone else?
I turn the page, and it’s back to her point of view, starting her day. The scent from her espresso maker sends her reeling for the bathroom…wait. My breath catches. She’s nauseous. Smells bother her. Her stomach feels tight. She hates the smell of coffee…
My hand freezes on the page. No. That’s not…that’s not what this is. Is it?
My heart pounds as I shove the book aside and get up from the desk. My legs shake as I make my way to the restroom, locking the door behind me and leaning against the sink.
This isn’t happening. It’s just stress. Stress messes with your body. Stress has made my period late before. It can make you tired and cranky and maybe even queasy. That’s all this is.
But the seed of doubt is already planted, and it’s growing fast. It better be the only thing growing in me…
By the time I’m standing in the bathroom at home, staring at the little plastic stick in my hand, my heart feels like it’s going to explode.
Two lines. Positive. Pregnant.
The word feels too big, too heavy, too real.
I sink to the floor, my knees hitting the cold tile as the stick clatters to the ground beside me. This can’t be real. But it is.
I don’t know how long I sit there, staring at the test like it’s going to somehow change if I just keep looking at it. The first person I think to call is Julie. She’ll know what to say, what to do. I reach for my phone, my hand trembling, but before I can press her name in my contacts, the screen lights up with an incoming call.
Sam.
Now? Are you freaking kidding me? My heart skips a beat as I stare at his name, my thumb hovering over the screen. Finally, I answer, my voice shaky. “Hello?”
“I know your secret.”
My stomach drops, and the phone nearly drops with it. How could he possibly know about the pregnancy?
“If you want to keep your secret,” he continues, “you’d better meet us at the house within the hour.”
I hang up without answering, my mind spinning. How could he know? And why does he sound so…calm?
As nervous as I am, I can’t deny the spark of excitement that flares in my chest. I’ll get to see them again. I’ll tell them, and we’ll figure this out together. That’s the only thing that makes sense to do, right?
I’m heading out the door when my dad stops me, his voice sharp and cutting through the quiet of the house. “Where are you going?”
I freeze, my hand on the doorknob, before turning to face him. “Out,” I say carefully. “To see some friends.”
His eyes narrow. “To see your friends or my friends?”
My stomach is a rock. He knows. But I play innocent. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Is there anything going on that I should know about?”
I frown and almost smile, trying to be convincing. “Anything like what, Dad? You’ve been weird since I got the tattoo.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “If Sam, Trick, or Hugo lays a hand on you,” he says, his voice low and cold, “I’ll kill them.”
I scoff a sharp laugh while my heart skips a beat, and I force myself to meet his eyes. “They’ve never raised a hand to me, and they never would. You know that.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” he snaps.
“Who put this ridiculous idea in your head?”
“Auclair is a small town, and small-town people talk,” he says bitterly. “Mrs. Wasserman saw Hugo standing too close to you.”
“An old lady with glaucoma saw someone standing too close to me, and you’re worried? Since when are you this paranoid?”
But he doesn’t back down. “The night you came home with that damn tattoo, Danny Brooker?—”
“Danny?” I interrupt, laughing bitterly. “Danny’s mad because I broke up with him in middle school, and he’s been throwing tantrums about any man who so much as looks at me ever since.”
“So, Trick was just looking at you?”
“What?”
“According to Danny, Trick put his arm around you. I quote, ‘like he owned her.’”
Fucking Danny. I try to laugh it off, but the sound comes out strangled. There’s no good way for me to get out of this, and I need to meet the guys to figure things out. My heart is racing, and I hate arguing with Dad. There’s no air in the room—he uses his big, booming preacher voice when he’s mad, and it makes me feel like a kid again. I hate it so much.
I have to make him let me go.
“Danny Brooker is just being a jealous brat, and Trick knew it as soon as he started up, so he was helping me out and making it look like there’s something between us. He was acting?—”
“Was he? Or are you acting, right now?”
He knows. And there’s no other way to get out of here. I have to go through him. Feels like a car is parked on my chest. I have to get out. I can’t stay, I can’t breathe, I can’t think!
“Dad, I’m pregnant. What I do about it is my choice. Not yours.”
His mouth drops, his face pales, and I don’t wait for him to respond. I turn on my heel, yanking the door open and slamming it shut behind me. When I peel out of the driveway, I expect to see him in the rearview mirror, like some horror movie monster coming to chase me down.
But he doesn’t. I imagine he’s still standing in the living room with that shocked look on his face. By the time I reach the guys’ house, I’m frazzled, exasperated, and on the verge of tears.
I don’t even bother knocking. I push the door open, stepping inside to find all three of them waiting for me, their expressions shifting as they take me in. Did Sam call them here too?
“You look like hell,” Trick says, but his tone is light, teasing, and it immediately makes me feel a little better.
I huff a laugh and glance at Sam, who’s standing by the window, his arms crossed. Hugo is leaning against the counter, watching me with his usual sharp, calculating gaze.
And for the first time in weeks, the tension in my chest eases. There’s air in here, and it smells a little like their cologne.
But then Sam speaks. “Cat Blackstone.”
My stomach churns. It cannot catch a break today. “What?”
“That’s your pen name, right?” he says as he turns to face me, his eyes locked on mine.
I feel like the floor is falling out from under me. I can’t take this. Not any of it. If he outs me…no, he’d never do that. But my brain staggers on the feeling of being outed. The worry of it. “How did you?—”
“Your books,” Trick interrupts, grinning. “You’ve got good taste in smut, Marie.”
I stare at them, my face heating as the pieces click into place.
“You read a lot of your own books, don’t you?” Hugo says, his smirk widening. “And you write what you want. Three men. All of them forbidden for one reason or another. All of them obsessed with your heroine.”
Sam steps closer, his voice softer now. “Trick noticed what you’ve been reading. I looked up Cat Blackstone. No pictures of the author anywhere on her website, except for a new one. The picture of the tattoo I gave you. A black cat for Cat Blackstone.”
I feel exposed. Stripped bare. My throat knots.
“Relax,” Hugo murmurs. “We’re not judging you, love. In fact…” He pauses, his green gaze darkening. “We’d like to help you make those fantasies of yours come true.”
My breath catches, my pulse quickening as I look between them, each stepping toward me. My body responds instantly. I’m aching to be held, to be close to them. A dull throb starts between my legs.
I’ll tell them about the pregnancy later. For now, I just want to lose myself in them.
“Make me forget.”
“With pleasure,” Hugo says as he closes the distance between us, the other two flanking him.
I don’t know what’s in store, but I don’t care. Whatever they want.