Page 59 of The Coyote's Veterinarian Omega

And now I was standing here, in the shower, letting the warm spray run over my skin, stalling for time.

I wanted to tell Cam. I didn’t want to tell Cam. I wasn’t sure what the hell I was going to do.

I curled a hand over my low belly and leaned my forehead against the wall of the shower stall.

I was going to have to make a decision, and stalling wasn’t going to stop that. Better to rip the bandage off, I decided, cutting the water and stepping out of the shower.

I dried off and dressed quickly, tugging up a pair of jeans. I paused to ponder my reflection in the mirror. Did I look rounder? Cam’s brother sure must have thought I did. I cupped my hand over my belly again and bit my lip.

Yeah, I guessed I looked rounder. I felt heat creeping into my cheeks and forced myself to look away.

I combed out my hair as quickly as I could, then went to join Cam in the kitchen. I slid onto one of the barstools at the breakfast bar.

He really had done a good job with the kitchen renovation, I thought, glancing around. I maybe didn’t care as much about backsplashes and countertops as he’d hoped, but the kitchen looked sleek and modern—not at all like the crowded, outdated kitchens I’d been in recently. Most of the folks in Coyote Creek seemed to have built their houses in the 1950s, lived in them, and done nothing about replacing or updating anything since.

Cam whirled around, holding a plate in either hand as he pulled them from the oven. He looked ridiculous, with an apron thatsaidKiss the Cookand mismatched oven mitts. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Order up,” he said, sliding one of the plates across the bar to me, onto a cushy placemat that looked homemade. “Careful, the plate’s probably hotter than the food.”

“Right.” I picked up a fork; I hadn’t been kidding when I told him I was hungry. The last few weeks of nausea had abated, turning into a seemingly insatiable hunger.

That was the baby, I supposed, demanding more fuel to … grow.

I paused, glancing down at my belly as Cam slid onto the stool beside me. “You want something to drink?” he asked. “I got us some bubbly.”

“I, uh.” Well, fuck, there was the need to make a decision slapping me in the face. If I wasn’t keeping it, I could drink with impunity. If I wanted to keep the baby, though …

“Wyatt?” Cam sounded concerned. “Everything okay?”

I turned to look at him. I could imagine what I looked like: eyes wide, mouth just slightly open. Cam looked back at me with a similar expression, worry building in his amber irises.

“I can’t drink,” I blurted, and just like that, the fear that had been keeping me tongue-tied and twisted dropped away. The words that I’d so carefully caged, paralyzed with terror, came tumbling out. “I’m pregnant.”

Cam’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “I’m sorry, what?”

I took another breath. “I’m pregnant.”

Those amber eyes opened again, boring into mine. “You …”

Cam glanced down. I curled my hand over my belly. Cam’s eyes widened; his mouth formed a little roundo. “You’re …”

He looked up at me again, and I nodded a little. A smile soared across the coyote shifter’s face. “Holy shit, Wyatt, that’s amazing!” he cried, looping his arms around my shoulders and dragging me into a hug so hard, he nearly knocked my stool rightover.

“Cam,” I grumbled, struggling to extricate myself.

He released me as quickly as he’d embraced me. “Oh—fuck, sorry.” His hands landed on my shoulders, bracing me. His gaze searched my face. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “I’m—”

His grip tightened. “No, I mean—are youokay?”

I hesitated. “I’m not sure,” I admitted, slumping toward the bar. “I only found out yesterday.”

“Oh,” Cam said, slumping with me. “You …”

I rolled my head a bit. “I guess I kinda … guessed? Like, I thought … but I only just …”

We were silent for a moment or two after that. Finally, Cam said, “What do you want to do?”