Page 75 of Priest

The question is soft enough that it slips under my guard.

“Awful,” I say after a moment. “And good. And too late. All at the same time.”

Evan presses his lips together like he is physically restraining himself from making a dramatic noise. I love him for trying.

“And then,” I say, voice lower now, “he looked at me. At my stomach. And told me that the moment he saw I was pregnant, not wanting babies flew out the door.”

Evan exhales slowly, eyes drifting toward the ceiling like he’s mentally unpacking something dangerous. “Well. That is deeply inconvenient.”

“Inconvenient?” I repeat.

“Yes,” he says solemnly. “Because that is peak caveman biker nonsense. And unfortunately,” he gestures vaguely between my stomach and the entire idea of Priest, “very effective.”

Lila snorts into her mug.

“He went full alpha, didn’t he?” Evan continues, warming to it now. “Mine. Protect. Build fire. Probably stare into the distance while emotionally discovering fatherhood.”

I huff a tired laugh. “That is an unfortunately accurate description.”

Evan presses a hand to his chest. “I hate that I’m into it. I hate that it makes sense. I hate that my lizard brain is applauding and frankly, she has terrible taste.”

“It made sense to me too,” I admit quietly. “That’s what scares me.”

Lila leans forward. “Because believing him doesn’t undo the damage.”

“No,” I say. “And it doesn’t mean his revelation gets to rewrite my life.”

Evan nods, immediately serious again. “Exactly. Hot realization does not equal instant redemption. It equals a man who has located the first step and is now very impressed with himself for finding stairs.”

A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it.

He smiles, pleased but gentle. “There she is.”

I look around my apartment, at the notes on the fridge, the stack of prenatal paperwork on the counter, the quiet evidence of a life I built while I kept Priest at arm’s length.

“I believe he didn’t cheat,” I say. “I believe he wants this baby. I even believe he wants me.”

Evan watches me closely. “But.”

“But I didn’t build this life as a placeholder,” I say. “And I’m not going to hand it over because he finally figured out what he’s not willing to lose.”

Lila smiles, slow and proud, and something inside me loosens at the sight of it. I’ve only known her and Evan for three months, which should not be long enough for people to become family, but somehow they did. Maybe crisis speeds up the bonding process. Maybe loneliness recognizes shelter when it finds it. Whatever the reason, they are mine now in a way I didn’t know I needed.

“He wants me back at the club,” I continue. “Wants me there. Wants us there.”

“And you?” Lila asks softly.

I rest my hand over my stomach, feeling the steady reminder that nothing about this is hypothetical anymore. “I like my life. I like my job. I love you guys.” My voice catches a little, but neither of them makes a thing of it. “The rules worked when my life was measured in hours and shifts. They don’t work now that it’s measured in futures.”

Evan’s expression flickers, something tender slipping through the flamboyance. “Good.”

I look at him. “Good?”

“Yes, good.” He leans back, crossing one leg with as much elegance as the armchair allows. “Because I need you both happy. You and Lila. I have accepted that the gay dating pool in Wicker Falls is a puddle with emotional mildew, so until the love of my life rides into town on a motorcycle with excellent bone structure, I am forced to live vicariously through my girls.”

Lila gives him a look. “Forced?”

“Cruelly forced,” he says. “By geography and poor local taste.”