I ground my jaw so tightly it ached before gripping Mallory’s hand tighter. “Yeah, I don’t think this can wait,” I mumbled as I attempted to go around him. When he tried stopping me again, I blocked his hand and gritted, “Five minutes, Briggs. We’ve wasted nearly half that standing here arguing over it.”
Dark eyes dragged to Mallory, then narrowed on me again before he shifted just enough to let us pass, but I knew from the irritation settling over his features that Briggs didn’t plan to let this go without some kind of explanation.
Depending on what I found out, I’d already planned on telling him.
“I’m with Briggs,” Mallory said as I led her to the far end of the break room, away from anyone who might be listening. “I’m not going to just start sneaking off with you and get distracted from my job. We’re here for a—stop,” she hissed when I abruptly turned and pulled her into my arms.
But even though she tried shoving me away, I locked one arm around her back and drove my other hand into her long hair as I dropped my head to hers. “Need you to be honest with me,” I began, my voice soft and strained from all the emotions raging and clashing.
“I am,” she stated bluntly. “I honestly think we need to be professional at work.”
“Mallory,” I said through clenched teeth, her name practically a plea that had her going still. “We will. I promise, we will. But this might directly affect work, so I need you to talk to me. I need you to be honest with me.”
Even still, I pulled her flush against me as I leaned back to search her concerned stare when I asked, “Are you pregnant?”
Her head snapped back at the hushed question before she shoved at me. I didn’t let her go. “No! I already—no. Why do you keep asking?”
“The last time we went over this, you were still keeping key parts of that night from me,” I gently reminded her.
“Okay, but not that,” she hissed. “And why are you asking anyway?” Before I had the chance to respond, she flung a hand out to the side. “I spent hours with Lainey this weekend. She got sick, like, three times and barely left the couch. I thinkyou’d know if I was—” Her head cocked just slightly and her jaw clenched, like she couldn’t even bring herself to say it.
I studied her, waiting for her to realize the error in what she was saying before remembering who I was talking to.
Knowing everything I did about how she’d been raised and who she’d been raised with, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mallory hadn’t even known morning sickness was a symptom of pregnancies before this weekend.
“Yeah, Peach, that isn’t always the case,” I mumbled as I took in the puffiness of her bloodshot eyes that gave away her earlier tears. “And you’ve been...”Don’t say hormonal. Don’t say hormonal.Don’tsay hormonal.“You’ve been crying.”
Her eyebrows drew together, but the typical iciness of that look was absent. In its place was confusion and dread as she began to do exactly that—cry. Eyes filling with tears that clung heavily to her thick lashes. “And?”
I swallowed past the knot in my throat and let my hand fall until I was cradling her neck in my palm, my thumb sweeping along her jaw as I asked, “And...did I use protection that night?”
I didn’t need my memories to know the answer.
If it’d been Mallory? If we’d been married? I hadn’t.
When her only response was the heaving of her chest as the tears finally fell, my head dipped in slow, understanding nods.
“But I’m not,” she choked out before quickly shaking her head. “I’m not—I can’t—I would know. Right? I’m not, and I can’t—” An almost panicked sound burst from her. “Gray, I can’t. I don’t want kids. I’m not. I’mnot,” she said adamantly as she steeled her spine and expression, brushing at her cheeks like she could erase all evidence of her most recent emotions. “I would know.”
“Weneedto know,” I corrected her.
“No, we don’t,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Peach—”
“We don’t,” she ground out.
“I fought you,” I said in the same harsh tone, all while fear clawed at me. “Twice. I took you down by falling with all of my weight on you—front first.”
“You rolled us,” she reminded me
“I don’t care,” I snapped. “Any part of those fights could’ve hurt the baby.”
“I’m not pregnant,” she cried out.
“Ifthere’s a baby,” I said over her. “Which is why we need to know. And we need to knownowfor so many reasons, but especially for this club job. It was already hard enough to imagine letting you do this, but I would’ve because you were right. This is our job—this isyourjob—and I respect you too much to stop you from doing something you’re good at. But I will be six feet under before my pregnant wife walks up to known mafia to trick information out of them.”
Challenge flared in her glassy blue eyes. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not.”
