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“I’m pregnant.” My eyes close tightly as I wait on the explosion likely to follow.
“Congratulations, honey!” Mom says, and I open my eyes to see hers are filled with tears. “Now where’s the vodka?”
I laugh because, as much as I love the woman, vodka is her first love.
Dad glares at a shocked Martin.
“Say something, boy!”
He smacks the back of Martin’s head and that seems to pull him out of his surprised state.
“Pregnant?” Martin mutters. I’m not sure how to take his reaction. He talks about a baby all the time. I suppose I thought he’d be excited.
“I didn’t plan for it to happen,” I whisper when he still remains silent. Tears hover on my eyes and my Dad gets angry.
Standing in front of Martin, he grips his shoulders and shakes him a little—okay, a lot—and hard.
“Listen up, Detective, if you don’t give this girl that smile I know you’re holding back and kiss her like you want to annoy me, I’m going to shoot you with your own gun.”
Dad’s threat works.
“I’m sure something in there was illegal, but I just don’t give a fuck,” Martin growls as he pushes Dad away and strides the three feet towards me and picks me up in his arms.
“It’s about fucking time to make you Celeste Lynch, don’t you think?”
His words are harsh, but the happiness, masked by a sheen of tears in his blue eyes, screams his joy over my surprise.
“I really do,” I whisper back, kissing him before he has the chance to kiss me. For once, I take control and devour his lips. I dip my tongue in his mouth and suck roughly before I bite him.
“I love you, Martin,” I murmur.
“I love you too, Celeste.” He breathes into my neck, holding me tight to his body.
Epilogue Two
Marty
“Martin, did you hear me?” Celeste’s voice is far away. Or at least it feels like it.
“What is with you and graduation day?” Onyx laughs.
“It’s not my fault!” she defends. It’s not. At least, I don’t think it is.
“You broke him this time.” Her father laughs. “Son, you still with us?”
“Sergeant Martin Lynch, if you don’t respond, I’m calling an ambulance and having you committed.”
Celeste’s threat makes me blink slowly.
“Hi, baby.” She whispers to me the same way she does with our three-year-old son, Caleb.
Clearing my throat, I grip Celeste’s hand, and tell everyone, “Excuse us. We have somewhere to be.” Like our bed.
“Congratulations!” I hear everyone screaming behind us, but I don’t fucking care. Celeste is damn lucky I have a siren on my car—to race home—or I’d be tanning her ass as soon as we walk through the door.
“Are you going to say something?” she whispers beside me as I maneuver through the streets to our home.
“No.”
