Page 60 of His Flawed Ride

“Don’t. I deserve to be where I am now. Just like you deserve to have the life here you have. I’m not going to risk what you’ve built cause I’ve fallen for the wrong guy again.”

“That’s the saddest shit I’ve ever heard, Mom.”

“The truth mostly is. Regardless, I’ve caused you enough trouble and I’m done with it.”

“Mom, you’re tired and you’re hurting. Let me help you back to bed, we can talk another day when you’re stronger.”

“Sure.”

She lays Gunner down on the couch and then proceeds to help me back up the stairs. Once I’m back in bed, she asks, “Is there anything I can get you?”

“A fresh glass of water, thanks.”

Before she reaches the door, I tell her, “You’re the very best part of me.”

She nods and then quickly escapes.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Shane

It’s not my morning. I burned the first round of toast and forgot to switch the coffee machine on, banging on the side of it because I thought it was broken.

All the while, Annie is sat at the kitchen table watching me fuck up repeatedly with a smile on her face.

“You’re going to have to learn how to cook the simplest dishes before our baby is born. They don’t survive on milk forever.”

“Ha-ha. I have plenty of time.”

I pop the toast before another round burns and pour my coffee and her an orange juice.

“Will this be enough for you and the baby?” I ask as I set it on the table.

Her smile turns sour. “Trust me, I’m going to struggle to keep this down for long.”

“Morning sickness, right?”

“Yep, it’s been kicking my ass.”

“Will it last long?” I don’t have any knowledge on pregnancies apart from the obvious, stomachs grow larger and then after nine months, the baby is born.

“They say it lasts through the first trimester and then eases off, but some women suffer throughout.”

“Let’s hope you’re not some women.”

Her smile returns and she nibbles at her toast and gingerly sips her juice. I gulp my coffee down as I watch on.

This woman, who I spent one amazing night with is going to be the mother of my child yet wants nothing to do with it. I intend to dig deeper, but she jumps up from the table and rushes up the stairs to my room.

By the time I reach her she’s retching over the toilet, and I scoop her hair away from her face and rub her back until she collapses on the floor.

“You hardly ate anything,” I point out.

“It was the smell of the butter that set it off.” She holds her hand up for help and I pull her up to her feet.

“I’m going to lie down for a while until it passes.”

“Sure.”