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I walk down the hallway and grab her by the collar. "Let's go, girl." But she won't budge and begins to whine.
Jesus, this better be something good.
"Let's take a look, alright?" I twist the knob and let the door swing inward. Before I can turn on the light, the dog takes off. I lift my hand to flip the switch when I notice a foot hanging over the armrest on one of the couches.
"What the hell?" I drop my hand again and step inside. I know for a fact Kai came home alone. That's something that always registers in my muddled brain, no matter how trashed I am. And walking past it, his door was still closed.
I round the edge of the couch and stop short.
I, uh—what?I blink once, twice. Nope, she's still there. My heart has stopped beating, or at least that's what the cramping sensation behind my ribs must mean. My chest hurts at the sight, and I can't make sense of it.
King is curled up, one foot out straight, which I saw hanging over, and her top leg thrown over one of the couch pillows. Most of her body is covered with a blanket that I'm pretty sure was in the living room last night when I started my nightly routine.
Am I still drunk?
I rack my brain. I came home from another useless training session, ate some leftover Chinese from…I think three days ago, then proceeded to watch TV and…drink.
Why did you take her? Her question sounds in my mind.
Who?
Echo.
She was my connection to you.
Fuck, was that real? I rake my hands through my hair and let them rest on the top of my head. King is here, in my house, and I—
"Oh fuck!" The other thing I said slams into my brain.
King jolts up, and the blanket drops off her body. Her sleepy gaze flits around the room, clearly disoriented, until her eyes settle on me, and her hands fly to her mouth. I only vaguely follow the motion because what the falling blanket revealed has all my attention: her stomach.
My fingers pull on the strands of my hair as my throat goes dry. My pulse thrashes in my ears, and I'm assessing what in this room I can destroy without it costing me a fortune. At least I have some rational thinking left. My girl is pregnant. No, she's not my girl.But she is. I tug harder, and the sharp pain on my scalp makes me wince.
"Wes?" At the sound of her voice, the red haze slowly disappears, and I study her closely. She's…scared.
"Who did you fuck?"What the hell?
"What?" She pulls the blanket over to cover herself.
"A little late for that, MOAB Girl," I sneer, and she lets it drop back in her lap.
"I'm going to ask you again. Who did you fuck?" Nothow did you get into my house? Orwhat are you doing here? After no one had a clue where she was for almost five months.
"I didn'tfuckanyone, Sheats." Her sass is back, and my cock twitches instantly.
"Well, someone put that bun in your oven," I mock her. Does she think I'm stupid? She jumped the next best dick as soon as she le—
"I'm five and a half months pregnant, you asshole! Do the math." She throws the blanket off and stands up, her hands on her tiny hips. She is still tiny. She's all belly. Belly. Stomach. Five and a half—I count back, and my eyes fly to hers.
"Five and a half?" I croak.
She sighs in resignation, and her chin dips forward.
I take a step toward her. "King, look at me." Cold sweat has formed on my forehead. I swallow, but it's of no use. I'm somewhere between puking and passing out. Maybe both. The remnants of the alcohol in my system are not helping either.
Another step, but then she jerks backward. "No." She holds her hands up, palms toward me.
"King, is this my baby?" I speak purposefully slow. Not because I think she doesn't hear or understand me, but because I'm trying to keep the two emotions currently battling for control from spilling out.
