Page 4 of Beneath His Vow (Knocked Up and Locked Down #1)

FOUR

LEXI

I blink. Then I blink again. “But that’s not possible. I’m covered.”

Dr. Singh taps a finger over her lips. “It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes IUDs can migrate out of the uterus. If you’re having rough sex, they can even come out.”

I’m pretty sure my face is on fucking fire right now. Casey screws me like he’s possessed. He’s probably fucked my birth control into my chest.

“Have you had any bleeding or abdominal pain?”

“No. Nothing like that.” My mind is spinning. I grip the edge of the table until my fingers hurt. “I’m really pregnant?”

Her expression softens. “Yes. I’d still like to do bloods, and an ultrasound. We’ll need to check if your IUD is somewhere it shouldn’t be.”

Like on the clubhouse garage floor…

Fuck my life.

“I’ve drunk alcohol. I’ve eaten bad things. I streamline caffeine like it’s a lifeline. I’ve—” Had more sex than I can admit to without sounding like a nymphomaniac.

“Well, that’s not ideal, but let’s just focus on good habits going forward.”

Dr. Singh takes my blood, runs a few more tests and sends me on my way with an appointment for an ultrasound in two days’ time.

I walk back to work in a daze, my mind rebelling at the idea that there’s life growing inside me.

Life that shouldn’t be there.

I don’t know how Casey’s going to react to this. He likes control. Needs it.

And I’m about to shatter that.

I have no idea how I get through the rest of the afternoon.

After the presentation, I head into the break room, my brain spiraling with a thousand thoughts. I have to tell Casey, of course, but how? And when? Maybe I should wait until the bloods come back…

Maybe I should?—

A hand slides around my waist, and I stiffen as his sickly cologne fills my nose. James reaches for the coffeepot, and that touch disappears as if I imagined it.

Except I didn’t.

Because I can still feel his hand ghosting along my hip.

“You did well in the presentation,” he says. “I would suggest, though, that next time, make sure you’re not fiddling so much with your paperwork. We don’t want to look unprofessional, do we?”

I don’t say anything. I can’t. It was just a casual touch. That’s all. Don’t read into it. Don’t make a fuss.

I don’t breathe until I’m alone again, and only then do I step away from the counter. I don’t get the cup of tea I was making.

By the time 5 PM rolls around, I’m a twitchy mess. Casey sends a prospect to pick me up. I’m glad it’s Jake and not Tommy. Jake doesn’t talk, and I want to get lost in the silence of my own thoughts.

He takes me to the clubhouse, and I thank him as I get out of the truck, and head into the building.

Instantly, I feel some of the stress melt from my bones. The low rumble of the music mixes with familiar voices, every single person in this room as close as family. Chopper pinches my cheek as I walk past, like I’m five years old, and laughs when I shove him off me.

“Is Casey around?” I ask when I don’t see him in the room.

“Prez is in church. He’ll be out in a minute.”

I lick my suddenly dry lips. Am I shaking? It feels like I might be.

My smile is strained, even though I adore Chopper.

I head over to the bar, slipping onto a stool. My ass has barely touched the seat before Tommy slides a glass in front of me. Reflex has me lifting the glass until I smell the alcohol. I place it back on the bar top.

No alcohol. No coffee. I’m sure there’s a list of other things I’m not supposed to have in my condition .

I’m only sitting there for a few minutes before I feel his presence. Casey has this way of sucking the air out of any room he is in. I twist, and see him cutting across the room to me.

My nerves blossom, and while I would usually ogle my husband, I’m too busy trying not to throw up.

As soon as he is close enough, his hand trails around my hip, so different from how James touched me earlier. Casey is all possession. He touches me like every move is claiming, and usually I love it, would melt into it, but I’m too anxious right now.

When he dips his head and presses a searing kiss to my lips, I meet it with passion. I need his reassurance, even if he doesn’t know that’s what I’m taking from this.

When he pulls back, his eyes search mine in that way he always does, as if he’s trying to drag everything out of my head into his.

His hand wraps around my nape, a statement that I’m his. “You okay?”

My smile is genuine, because even though my stomach is in knots and nausea is chewing through my gut, everything in me relaxes around him. “I am now.”

He swipes his thumb back and forth over my neck, and I lean into his touch.

“You still look pale.” He says it like an accusation, like he should have been able to make it go away.

Because I’m pregnant…

It sits on the tip of my tongue to tell him, but not here.

Not in front of his men. I don’t know how he’s going to react, but he deserves privacy when I drop this on him.

At least that’s one secret I’m keeping that I can unburden.

If he knew about the shit I’m dealing with at work, he’d set fire to the fucking building. “I’m okay.”

I don’t think he believes me, and I don’t blame him for that. I look a hot mess.

He lifts my hand, brushing his mouth over my knuckles. “Let’s get you home.”

I slide off the stool, and his arm automatically wraps around my shoulders. Nitro, his vice president, lifts his chin at me as I walk past.

“See you later, First Lady.”

I roll my eyes at him. I hate when he calls me that, which is why he does it.

It’s still light as we head out to the parking lot. The noise of the clubhouse behind us fades into the background and all I can hear is my pulsing heartbeat.

He pauses in front of his bike, and my stomach sinks. I’m pretty sure riding on the back of a motorcycle with an “unexpected item in the bagging area” is a no-go.

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to work out how to phrase this without him going nuclear, but whatever I say he’s going to question, and as soon as we get home I’m going to tell him the truth anyway.

“I don’t feel steady enough to be on the bike.”

Not a lie. I don’t think I’ve stopped shaking since I left Dr. Singh’s office. He stares at me for a beat, and then guides me toward a truck parked outside the garage.

He heads inside to grab the keys, and when he comes back, he opens my door first, helping me in. I don’t stop him as he pulls my seatbelt around me like I’m five years old.

His eyes lift to mine. “You feel worse than you’re saying.”

It’s not a question.

“I just don’t want to risk falling off.” He stares at me, and I know there are a hundred thoughts rolling through his mind. So I grab his hand, gently squeezing. “We’ll talk when we get home. Not here. But I’m okay.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he straightens out of his crouch, shuts my door and walks around to his side of the car while I mentally run through all the different ways I can tell my husband he is going to be a father.