Page 253 of Wicked Brutal

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

For a minute neither of us talks. Then her hand settles over her stomach. My eyes go straight to it.

“You’re staring again.”

“Different stare.”

She looks down at her hand. I lean closer to the phone.

“Hey, kid.”

Her eyebrows lift. “It is nearly two in the morning.”

“Our child doesn’t know that.”

“Our child is the size of fruit.”

“Fruit doesn’t own a clock either.”

A quiet laugh slips out of her. She touches her lip immediately. “Stop making me laugh.”

“No promises.” I look at her hand again. “Stay in there, little lime. Your mom’s scared enough years off my life tonight. You don’t need to contribute.”

She’s laughing and wincing at the same time now, thumb moving slow over her stomach. “We’re okay.” Her eyes stay on mine. “I was scared.” T

hat hurts worse than almost everything else she’s told me. “I know, pretty girl.”

“I didn’t think about the baby when I moved. I just saw Dad grab Tobias and I—“

“Hey.” She stops. “You don’t have to explain that to me.”

“But—“

“I know exactly why you moved. I’d have done the same thing.” Her eyes fill again. “I’d have done significantly worse things afterward, but that’s why you’re the nice one.” That gets a tiny smile. She looks exhausted now, and I hate that I’m keeping her up almost as much as I hate the thought of hanging up. “What do you need me to do?”

Her answer comes fast. “Send everything to Arthur. The pictures. Tobias, mine — Jane’s too. She let me take them because she knew we needed proof. And everything I told you. Celeste. Marianne. The agreement. Dad keeping things. Victor calling.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

“Arthur’s about to wake up to a fucking novel.”

“I don’t care.”

“I’ve got you.”

Her shoulders finally lower. Just a little. “Thank you.”

“You don’t ever have to thank me for this.” I look at the time. 1:53. “You need to sleep.”

“So do you.”

“I’m not sleeping.”

I run through the list before she can argue — text me when you wake up, if Tobias wakes up, if Roman comes home, one cramp, any bleeding, anything feels weird — and she answers each one, call you, immediately, yes, until neither of us has anything left to stall with. I don’t want to end it. She doesn’t either. Her thumb moves over her stomach again.