Page 130 of The Wrong Groom

The moment I cross the threshold, my stomach rebels.

I bolt for the bathroom. I barely make it to the toilet before I throw up, my shoulders heaving violently.

I drop to my knees and lean my head against the cool porcelain, the walls of the stall spinning around me. My stomach feels like it’s in the process of turning itself inside out. I know that strong emotions can have a physical effect on the body, but this is different. This is more.

I breathe slowly, trembling. I must be coming down with something. It’s not flu season. Maybe I have a stomach bug.

Or… or maybe not.

I force myself to sit back, resting against the stall wall for a moment. A quick calculation runs through my head. Twenty-nine—no, thirty days.

Oh, god. I might be pregnant.

It’s not a certainty. But the possibility alone is enough to send me into a spiral.

Chapter 42

Gabriel

“No, seriously. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Ivy’s lecture is now entering its fifteenth minute. She’s been berating me for fifteen minutes, uninterrupted. My head is starting to pound.

The worst part is that she’s completely right.

“She’s probably feeling like shit,” Ivy says, her tone accusing. “And we haven’t been able to get in touch with her.”

“We’ve been trying for days,” Chloe adds. “She never answers our calls.”

My brothers, Jackson, and Ivy are over at my place for dinner. I wanted to invite them to have some company. Make things feel a little more normal at my house.

Unfortunately, there’s no avoiding reality, and my divorce is family business. I should’ve known they wouldn’t just let it lie. Especially Chloe and Ivy, who have started to get close with Alexis over the past few months.

Beckett, Dominic, Jackson, and Tristan, all of whom are in the living room with us, make no effort to defend me. They’re all silent, which feels like a condemnation of its own.

“She was really sweet.” Ivy scowls at me, folding her arms. “She was good for you, you dick. And you had to go and ruin it.”

She’s right. Her words feel like knives.

I’ve been keeping tabs on Alexis, trying to make sure she’s doing okay. But I haven’t seen her since I ran into her near the Fashion For All warehouse the other day. She told me to leave her alone, and I intend to honor that request. I could tell that it upset her to see me, and the last thing I want is to cause her even more anguish than I already have.

Still, not seeing her, not knowing how she’s doing, is like a kind of torture on its own. Even though Ivy’s rant is entirely justified, it’s not necessary. I don’t need the lecture to know how irreparable the situation is.

“I just can’t believe you!” Ivy continues. Apparently, she’s still got some fuel left. “Everyone wanted this to go well for you. Everyone. And wouldn’t you know it, you’re still your own worst enemy?”

“Ivy,” Beckett interjects in a low voice, sitting forward on the couch, “go easy on the guy, huh? He knows he fucked up.”

Chloe places a hand on Ivy’s forearm. “Hey, why don’t we go track down Reid? Make sure Peyton hasn’t trained that kitten to maul him yet.”

Ivy sniffs, glaring at me in the way that only an honorary sister can manage. Then she rises to her feet. “Fine.”

The two of them leave the room. I can hear muffled voices from down the hallway. Somewhere in this house, Peyton is showing Reid all of the “tricks” she’s taught Pepper so far. Most of these tricks just involve getting the kitten worked up with a laser pointer until she sprints around the basement and backflips off a wall.

Once Ivy and Chloe are gone, silence descends on the living room, broken only by the warm roar of the gas fireplace. After a few moments, Beckett clears his throat.

“Okay. I’ll be honest. The ladies did have a point.”

“Beck,” Tristan mutters, a half-hearted attempt to spare me.