Twenty-Nine
Luca
Harper glares at me, and I swear I haven’t done a damn thing wrong. It’s Harper who suggested terminating the pregnancy.
Well, not in as many words, but she made it clear she wasn’t certain she wanted to keep it, so I assume that’s what she meant, because no one is giving away my child.
To say I’m a bit grumpy after that announcement is the understatement of the century. But I played the dutiful husband while Harper gave her statement to the Breckenridge police, who interviewed her at the compound.
But now that we’re alone, well, in the car heading back to campus and away from the police and my parents, I have no trouble being pissed at her.
I get it.
The whole pregnancy thing is her body, but still, that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.
We’re married.
She’s my wife.
That’s my kid in there—and I swerve back into the lane as I realize I’ve been drifting and not fully paying attention to the road.
Shit.
I need to be more careful because my other kid, Zeke, is in the backseat. Along with my friends.
“What’s with the tension?” Liam asks, taking the attention off of him.
How nice of him to drudge up my recent drama, but it’s not like he has the slightest clue. Or maybe he does? He heard about the pregnancy when I found out, while Harper was in captivity.
“Did you make out with Harper too?” Sophia jokes, and Liam tosses up his middle finger at his sister. She gives a shrug. “It’s going to be fun working together.”
Liam grumbles under his breath, something about this wasn’t his idea. Can’t say I’m surprised, since Liam never mentions his father or the family business.
I didn’t see him ever coming to work for Dante, let alone his own father. And Sophia, that was news to me that she’d be working for my old man. But I hear it’s that or return to New York and be forced into an arranged marriage.
I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white.
Harper rests her hand on my thigh and gives it a squeeze. “It’s been a long day, can we not fight?” she asks, her voice soft, quiet, making it so that only I can hear her.
“We’re not fighting.” I keep my focus on the road and shift in my seat.
Her hand falls away and moves back to her lap.
I don’t want to be fighting with her, and the pregnancy discussion, if it’s true, and she’s having my baby, then it’s a conversation we should have, just the two of us. I reach for her hand, intertwining our fingers together.
She gives my hand a squeeze; it’s a simple gesture, a truce. Neither of us wants to be fighting.
And I hate thinking that I could make her feel awful, worrying about being pregnant after what that horrible doctor had done to her. How he violated her. I doubt he was a physician at all, probably just a perverted man who wanted absolute control.
I clench my jaw, exhaling sharply out of my nose. Heat emanates through me. The car is warm, and I turn the thermostat down several degrees. I push out a shaky breath, trying to steady myself as I focus on the road in front of me.
It’s late. Growing darker by the minute. And I’m beyond tired, although I doubt I’ll be able to sleep tonight. I imagine Harper won’t be able to either without more nightmares plaguing us.
The silence hangs heavy between us, and Zeke breaks the tension as he wiggles in his car seat.
“Are we there yet?” Zeke asks, leaning forward, his seatbelt restraining him. “Home yet?”
“We’ll be home soon,” Harper says, recognizing the route. We’ve taken it enough times, she’s familiar with the drive.
