Page 100 of A Song for You

“What are you doing?”

He laughs. “Just got home. Going to make dinner and head to bed. I’m beat.”

“Come to Boston. Kev and I are at Pearl. Thought we’d hit up Rebel next.” I dangle the carrot, hoping he’ll take it.

He whistles. “Wow, you’ve been so busy this past month, I really did think you got a girlfriend or some shit, but Rebel…”

I can almost picture him scratching his chin as he considers the request.

“No girlfriend,” I lie, tipping my face to the night sky, pleading with whoever’s up there to forgive me for all my transgressions. It’s for a good cause. So I don’t lose the best part of me, a person I vow to be good to for the rest of my life. I’ll take care of her, keep her happy, treat her better than anyone else could. Isn’t that worth the stumbles I have to take to get there?

I run my hand through my hair. What is taking him so long to answer?

“Sorry, man. It would take me an hour to get there. Tomorrow night?”

I text Mia that she’s shit out of luck. She better come up with another plan.

“Rebel, Carter. Fucking Rebel,” I try again.

He laughs. “Tomorrow,” he promises.

I agree, even though by then, I’ll probably have been discovered. I don’t even head into the bar. I call a cab and text Cat and beg her to meet me at home. She’s working late with Sophie. And knowing this may be the last night she ever looks at me in that soft way of hers, I selfishly ask her to come to me for the night.

The next morning, while I lie in bed with the love of my life in my arms, the unraveling begins.

Mia: I have the disk. You have two weeks to make a decision, and then I go to Cat with the proof, and we both lose her. Your choice.

Fifty-One

Jay

How To Save a Life by The Fray

Allow a sociopath to touch my girlfriend? Or break my girlfriend’s heart? Doesn’t feel like much of an option. Killing Mia would be preferable.

Although jail time would also break Cat’s heart.

“Motherfucker,” I growl for the thousandth time since I received the ultimatum. “Who fucking does this?”

Uncovering my father’s plan has now become my top priority.

When the two-week deadline comes and goes and nothing happens, I foolishly let myself relax a little. By week three, I’m convinced she was bluffing.

And then during week four, Mia walks into my office and upends my life.

“I’m pregnant,” she says as she sits in the chair across from me, her eyes watering.

“You’re what?”

“Pregnant. With child. Ya know? When two people have sex, the sperm⁠—”

I slam a hand to the top of my desk, cutting her off. “I know what pregnant means, Mia. I just have no fucking idea why you’re telling me.”

“Because it’s your fault,” she says matter-of-factly.

I huff out a breath and lean back in my chair, steepling my fingers. This should be good. “And how is it my fault?”

“You didn’t get your best friend out of the apartment like I told you to, so I took matters into my own hands.”