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“I didn’t fucking call Beau,” I replied quickly. “I’d never fucking call Beau. Not in a million fucking years—”
“My point, Ian!” she interrupted. Her expression softened as she ran her palm down my neck and over my chest. The simple gesture was ridiculously comforting. “You have to find another way. You can’t keep doing this. Not to yourself, not to me, and not to us. We deserve better.”
“My job is to protect you,” I reminded her. “I’m not about to let something happen to you.”
“And my job is to keep you from doing something stupid,” Genevieve stated. I smirked. That was one hell of a task for her to take on. And from the expression on her face, she knew it too. Quietly, she added, “We deserve a future. You and me. Together.”
I wanted to argue—I really fucking did—but the sadness in her voice wrapped around my heart ten times over. It fucking hurt because she was right. We deserved some kind of future that didn’t involve fighting for our lives and near-death experiences.
But for the life of me, I didn’t know how to fucking give that to her. Not with Sadie threatening our entire future.
Chapter 118
Genevieve
Three tests. Three minutes. Three positive responses.
I wanted Lane to be a liar. I wanted my wolf to be… protesting? Tired? Annoyed? Something. Anything.
I wanted to be anything but pregnant.
Blinking back tears, I sat down on the toilet in the pharmacy and rested my head against the tiny sink. Pregnancy was the last thing Killian and I needed. Not now. Not with the hunter on the verge of destroying everything. Not with our marriage being held together by proverbial duct tape. Not with his mental health as fragile as it was.
What if this was just some horrible repeat of last time? I couldn’t survive that. A painful sob clawed its way out of my chest. We couldn’t survive that. There was just no way.
And what if nothing happened? What if we had a baby? Could we even handle that? Would he stay? Would he run again if it was too much?
The questions were endless. And ones I couldn’t handle alone.
Nemo. Nemo. Nemo. Nemo. Nemo. Nemo.
NOLAN: What’s wrong?
I typed, erased, typed out again, and ultimately kept erasing the words I needed to tell him I was pregnant.
NOLAN: Where are you, Ginny?
The pharmacy.
NOLAN: Why?
Of course, I had to say why. A pathetic whimper escaped me. I couldn’t make myself type it out, so I took a picture and sent that instead.
NOLAN: I’ll meet you at my apartment in an hour. Go to the diner and get something small to eat, okay?
I’m not hungry.
NOLAN: I know, but it’s a public space. You’ll be safe there.
Safe is good.
NOLAN: Safe is good.
NOLAN: It’ll be okay, Ginny. We’ll figure this out.
I left him on read because I wasn’t sure what else to say. It didn’t feel like it’d be okay. Nothing felt okay.
After the most nerve-wracking hour of sitting at the diner with a cup of soup, I walked to Nolan’s apartment via the alley that ran behind all the shops. Avoiding people was easier. I had no desire for small-town small talk.
