I wish I knew.
Roxy isn’t careless. She isn’t reckless. She doesn’t move through the world like that.
She spends all her time at work. Or with me. And then it clicks—quiet, brutal, undeniable.
Romeo.
The sex club. The masks. The anonymity. She doesn’t know because she couldn’t know.
I straighten, flexing my hand despite the pain. I need to find out how far along she is.
More importantly, we need to know if the baby is okay. Roxy has been stressed out, eating poorly, and clearly not feeling well.
The anger drains as fast as it came, leaving something heavier behind.
Resolve.
Certainty.
Care.
The door swings open hard enough to rattle the frame. Okay, maybe I need to calm the fuck down.
Pushing the equipment inside, the technician atmy shoulder grins, probably assuming I’m an impatient new father.
Roxy sits upright in the hospital bed, pale and sharp-eyed, her spine straightening the second she sees me. Confusion flickers first, followed by anger.
“What the hell are you doing?” she snaps.
“We’re getting an ultrasound,” I announce, keeping my voice calm.
Her gaze flicks to the woman beside me in scrubs. “No, we are not.”
The technician hesitates, glancing between us.
“Now,” I add.
Roxy swings her legs over the side of the bed. “Get. Her. Out.”
I lift a hand to the technician without breaking eye contact with Roxy. “Give us a minute.”
The door clicks shut behind her. Silence slams down between us.
“Leave me alone.” Frustration and exhaustion lace her tone.
It squeezes at something in my chest, making it hard to breathe. Seeing her this defeated makes me want to buy this fucking hospital and chain her here until she is better, rested, safe.
Until she can regain the control she so desperately craves.
“Thunder.” I lower my head.
“I need to think. You don’t get to barge in here and start issuing orders like I’m?—”
“Like you’re carrying my child?” I cut in.
Her breath stutters. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.” The certainty in my voice seems to surprise her.
