Page 142 of I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC 2)
“Morning,” he says, but his voice is thick with emotion and hindered by deep thought. I pause briefly outside the room, leaning my body up against the doorjamb. I should probably apologize to him for yesterday, but I can’t seem to make myself do it. Admitting that I had an emotional meltdown feels too personal in the early morning light.
“You sound like you did the day of my sisters’ funeral,” I remark absently, and Crown sighs, setting his rag down and laying the handgun beside it.
“I’m happy for you, Gidget,” he tells me, and I hate that he uses the T at the end of my name. For years, I’ve yelled at him, refused to let him call me Gidge, and now that he’s stopped doing it, I’m just as irritated. “I really am. But it isn’t what I want.” He gives a harsh laugh and swipes a hand over his handsome face. “Seeing you walk down the aisle with another man is my worst nightmare.”
I swallow hard.
“Worse than anything you ever saw as a cop? As an outlaw?” It’s meant to be a bit of a dark joke, but Crown takes it like a serious question, mulling it over, exhaling, rising to his feet. He’s so damn tall that I have to crane my neck to meet his eyes.
“Worse than all of it combined,” he admits, cupping the side of my face in a way that probably would’ve annoyed the crap out of the old Gidget. The thing is, this is a new Gidget. The world feels like a different place than it was two years ago. “But I know this has to happen. I won’t do anything to interfere.”
He drops his hand by his side and scoots past me, heading into the bathroom.
We have a lot to talk about, me and him. Unfortunately, right now is not the time to do it.
After the wedding then. After the wedding night. There’s no honeymoon for me and Beast, other than one shared together in bed. We can’t really leave in the middle of a war.
I watch the bathroom door close behind Crown before continuing down the hall toward the kitchen. I’m not entirely surprised to find Grainger there, awake and sipping coffee. He lifts his brown eyes to stare at me over the rim of the mug.
“Coffee,” I say, and even though he lifts the edge of his lip in a snarl, he sets his own mug down and pours me a cup of my own. Grainger adds the appropriate amount of cream and sugar since, frustratingly enough, we like to drink our coffee the same way.
“Here,” he says, handing it over before grabbing a familiar looking box from the surface of the counter. Another pregnancy test. Just like that day. Only this time, Beast is the only person whose kid it couldn’t possibly be. And he’s the guy I’m marrying today.
Man, my life is fucked-up.
“Um, thanks?” I reply, drinking my coffee with one hand and holding the box in the other. Grainger’s in a pair of gray joggers and nothing else. Me, I’m wearing an oversized t-shirt and shorts. He’s seen me in pj’s plenty of times, but I’ve never seen him in his, and I … gag … like it. I like the look of him, casual and comfortable.
“If you are pregnant,” he starts, and I roll my eyes to the ceiling.
“I’m not pregnant,” I snap back at him, but I could be. I could. Denial won’t help in this situation; it’ll only make things worse.
“If you are,” he continues, picking his mug up again. “Then it’s gotta be mine.”
“You don’t know that,” I throw out with a scoff, taking a sip of the coffee and finding it pleasantly hot and perfectly sweetened. Figures this dickhead would be able to make a great cup of coffee. He has to be good at something other than sex, right? “It could be Sin’s or Crown’s.”
Grainger’s already shaking his head, his reddish-brown hair mussed up in a way I’ve never seen before.
“No. If you’re pregnant, it’s mine.” He takes a step toward me, and I glare up at him. “I fucked you in the cathedral; I fucked you in the woods.”
“Maybe we should wait until I actually take the test before having this argument?” I say with a sigh, lifting the mug to my lips only to have him grab my wrist, sloshing hot liquid onto the floor.
“God help you if you have my baby, Gidge,” he says, his fingers burning where they press into my skin. His eyes blaze, and that possession I’ve always seen in him becomes almost glaringly apparently. “I will never let you go.” He yanks me closer, spilling more coffee onto the floor. “Never.”
My nostrils flare with my usual anger, but I push it down, fighting back against a motley of emotions.
