She throws her head back, laughing. “You fucking idiot.” She shakes her head, grinning.
My frown deepens. “You lost me.”
“My period,” she explains. “It’s late.”
My eyes widen in realisation, and my heart stutters in my chest. “No way.” She nods enthusiastically. “Have you tested?”
“No. I thought we could do it together.”
I stand, making my way to her. This could be it. Finally, all her dreams could be about to come true.
We sit side-by-side on the edge of the bed, the pregnancy test resting between us like it has weight of its own. I glance at my watch again, then again, the seconds dragging out longer than they should. Hell shifts beside me, her knees bouncing, her fingers twisting together in her lap.
“Is it time yet?” she asks, her voice thin, already cracked with emotion.
“One more minute,” I say quietly, reaching for her hand and squeezing, trying to still the nervous tremor running through her.
She looks up at me then, eyes glassy, searching my face. “You have to check it,” she whispers. “I can’t.”
I smile at her, nod once, trying to be steady for both of us. Her phone pings beside us, the alarm shrill in the silence, bouncing off the walls and straight into my chest. My hand slips from hers as I reach for the test.
The moment stretches, and my breath catches.
Negative.
I lift my eyes to her, and she knows before I say a word. Her face crumples, her brow knitting as hope drains from her eyes.
“I’m sorry, baby.”
Her lip trembles as she squeezes her eyes shut, and a soft, broken sound slips past her teeth as she fights to hold it together. The test drops to the floor as I pull her into me, tucking her against my chest, my arm locking around her as her body shakes with sobs. My heart hammers uselessly, every beat wishing I could take the pain from her, wishing there was something I could do to make this hurt less.
I stroke her hair, slow and steady, saying nothing, just holding her whilst she breaks.
“I’m so sorry, Drifter,” she cries, and it feels like my chest caves in all over again.
I lift her onto my knee, cradling her closer. “Shh,” I murmur, my hand moving up and down her back. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Not a damn thing.”
She sniffles, her forehead pressed into my chest. “I thought . . . I really thought this was it.”
“We’ll keep trying,” I tell her gently. “This was only month one. We knew it might take time.”
She nods slowly, settling against me, her breathing uneven but easing. I rest my chin against her hair, holding her close.
“It’ll happen,” I say softly, more a promise than reassurance. “I know it will.”
I’m not sure how long we sit like that before her sobs subside and are replaced by gentle snores. I lift her off me, her body completely spent. She doesn’t stir as I carry her around the bed and place her down, covering her with the duvet.
I hate seeing her so broken. I leave after giving her a tender kiss on her head, closing the door quietly and making my way down to the bar. I need a fucking drink.
“Vodka, Hazel,” I order, seating myself at the bar.
It’s quiet. Most of the guys are out front. The warmer weather has finally arrived, meaning most evenings are spent in the yard. I’m thankful for the quiet—I need the space to clear my head.
Hazel slides the glass along the bar, and I catch it, bringing it to my nose and inhaling before knocking it back in one and sliding it back for a refill.
The club doors open, and Siren strolls in. I inwardly groan.There goes my bit of peace. She smiles as she saunters over to the bar, lowering herself into the seat beside me. As she assesses my face, her smile fades.
“You okay, Pres?” she asks, her voice laced with concern.
