Page 135 of Daddies on Ice

It took some creative maneuvering, but I managed to shift the focus to potential sabotage instead.

The press loves a good mystery, and the idea of someone deliberately targeting the Thunderwolves has given them something to sink their teeth into that doesn’t involve supernatural nonsense.

The negative coverage has been dying down, thank god, though I know it’s a fragile peace.

Another wave of nausea hits me, and I grip the counter, breathing deeply through my nose.

This has been happening for over a week now, random bouts of queasiness that leave me feeling drained and shaky.

I initially blamed it on stress, on the constant anxiety of looking over my shoulder, but it’s getting worse instead of better.

The coffee smell, usually so comforting, suddenly makes my stomach lurch violently.

I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m retching into the toilet, my body convulsing as I bring up what little I managed to eat for dinner last night.

When the worst of it passes, I slump against the cool tile wall, wiping my mouth with a shaky hand.

This is the third time this week I’ve been sick like this, and a terrible suspicion is beginning to form in the back of my mind.

No. It can’t be.

But even as I try to dismiss the thought, my eyes drift to the small pharmacy bag sitting on the bathroom counter.

I bought it yesterday during a moment of paranoid clarity, telling myself I was being ridiculous even as I handed over the money.

My hands tremble as I reach for the bag, pulling out the pregnancy test with fingers that feel numb and clumsy.

The instructions blur before my eyes as another wave of nausea threatens, but I force myself to focus, to follow the simple steps that might change everything.

Three minutes. I have to wait three minutes.

I set the test on the counter and sink onto the closed toilet seat, my head in my hands.

This can’t be happening.

Not now, not when everything is already so complicated and dangerous. Not when I’m hiding from a violent ex.

And if I’m pregnant…

The timer on my phone goes off, three sharp beeps that sound like a death knell in the small bathroom.

With trembling fingers, I reach for the pregnancy test, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t wake Becky.

Two pink lines stare back at me, clear and unmistakable.

I’m pregnant.

50

TISH

My hands shake as I park outside the Thunderwolves clubhouse.

Three days. It’s been three days since I stared at that positive pregnancy test, and I still feel like I’m living in someone else’s life.

The nausea that’s been plaguing me for weeks suddenly makes perfect sense, but knowing the cause doesn’t make it any easier to handle.

I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror and wince.