“Then talk.”
“I didn’t say anything at first because I wanted to be sure.”
“Sure about what?”
“I thought I noticed it when she walked into work the day I found her. Then I did a slow roll-by when she was leaving the grocery store, and she was wearing leggings that were pretty tight on her ass, so that kind of confirmed my suspicions on its own, not to mention the towel situation?—”
“I swear to God, you better get to the point real fucking fast, Mav!” I bellow.
Outside the office door, I hear the TV turn up louder. Almost loud enough to drown out what Maverick says next.
“She’s pregnant, Ransome.”
I stop.
Stop talking, stop breathing, all of it.
“What the fuck did you say?”
“She’s pregnant,” he repeats.
Pregnant.
The word spins in my brain. For a second, I can’t connect it to my mouth long enough to form words.
“How pregnant?” I ask eventually.
“Pretty fucking pregnant. If I had to guess…”
Don’t say it. Don’t fucking say it.
“Six, seven months? Like she’s poppin’, brother.”
He fucking said it.
“You there?” Mav asks, but I am trying to process the wasp nest of thoughts swarming in my head.
“I gotta go,” I say.
“You gotta go? So what am I supposed to?—”
“Get photos.Notof her in a towel. And get your ass back to Manhattan.”
“Technically, I am in?—”
I hang up before Mav can say anything else.
Then, after a moment of my nerves sizzling under my skin, I text Baron.
RANSOME: Meet me at the warehouse. Now.
“Is he sure?” Baron asks as we watch production.
The warehouse is always a good place to meet for shit like this. Anywhere else could have eyes and ears. Bars aren’t safe, even on Rozanov territory. My house isn’t safe, because there’s no way of knowing if my formally Chadovich wife is actually paying attention to the dispute between Kourtney and Kim or if she’s listening in on my conversations.
I pull my phone out wordlessly and show him the photo Mav sent me. A photo I have looked at no less than twenty times since he sent it. It’s a side profile of her walking into a deli.
“Yep, that’s knocked up alright,” Baron says. Then he gives me an apologetic look. “Sorry.”
