Page 51 of Full Out Fiend

“I didn’t say you were,” he retorts.

I scoff. He didn’tsayit. But I know how his mind works.

“Sort of crazy that I’ve made it more than ten years without some sort of pregnancy drama,” I muse. “Nothing about this feels wrong, though, Dem. I wasn’t trying to knock her up, obviously, but I’m really fucking happy with how things turned out.”

“You really like her, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I admit with a sigh, remembering how she looked up at me in the woods today, and the sizzle I felt before we almost kissed. “I really do.”

“I don’t think you would have been so excited about the prospect of being a dad if this had happened last year.”

Last August, our mom had just passed away, and Maddie had left to go back to California. I had already decided I couldn’t sit around this house pissing my life away anymore—I needed a change. I needed tolive, and I was the only one who could make it happen. This time last year, I was encouraging Dem to go after what he wanted and trying to convince him I’d be okay without him.

He’s right. A lot has changed over the last year. I’m different now. The way I view myself is different. My self-doubt and loathing aren’t all-consuming. I’m fucking ecstatic that I get a shot at being a dad, maybe even at having a family of my own.

But Dem loves to scold me for getting ahead of myself. So I won’t voice those thoughts just yet.

“Did you ever have a scare?” I ask, effectively changing the subject.

“Never.”

“You’re such a dick. You say it with such conviction. How do you know for sure?” I press.

“Think about it, bro. We’re fucking loaded, andI’vealways had my shit together.”

I swat my hand toward his head at the dig.

“If a girl thought she was carrying my kid, she would have made herself known. Plus, Ialwaysused condoms. Always. Until Maddie…”

I consider teasing him about raw-dogging his woman, but there’s no point. They’re the real deal, and they’re both in it for the long haul. Plus, I’m certain Little Wheeler’s got all her bases covered in the birth control department. She’s recited her five-year plan to us so many times even I know that shit by heart. A baby doesn’t fall into that plan.

“That was probably the only worthwhile thing Dad ever taught us, huh?”

“Don’t be a fool,” Dempsey starts before we finish the ridiculous motto in unison: “Wrap your tool.”

We laugh at our asshole father’s expense. And then we both go quiet.

Long ago, we decided we didn’t want any sort of relationship with the man, but the stark reminder that it’s just the two of us against the world never ceases to make me feel small.

“How do you plan to inform George Haas that he’s going to be a grandpa?”

I smirk as I consider my options. “I’ll probably just send his secretary a press release.”

Dem chuckles, no doubt thinking about the time our dad told us he was moving to China for two years via press release. Like I said: he never was and never will be father of the year. That doesn’t mean I can’t vie for the title.

“I know you’re just days away from starting med school, so maybe this is a stupid question…”

I suck in a lungful of air and hold it while I wait for him to continue.

“But you’re doing a paternity test for sure, right?”

“Yes, Dumpy.” I sigh, annoyed. The baby is mine; I know it. But I’ll go through the motions to appease everyone around me.

“Okay, good. Did you and Daphne discuss how twins run in our family?”

Fuck. Nope. We did not. In my defense, I’ve only known about the baby for twenty-four hours. But shit—should I text her about it?

I blow out a long breath and try not to dwell on the possibility. Or let myself get too excited. That’s probably not something she wants to learn via text, and I can’t imagine it would do much to ease her stress to inform her she very well might be carrying twins.