Page 13

"Everly!" Fern swoops down on us the moment we enter. "Perfect timing. I hate to ask, but would you mind running to the store? I forgot the whipped cream for the pies, and you know how Arik gets if there's no whipped cream."

Something about her words triggers déjà vu so strong I sway.

The grocery store.

Dylan.

Thanksgiving.

"Hey." Regnor's arm comes around me. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just..." I shake my head, pushing away the memory. "Sure, I can go to the store."

"I'll come with you," Regnor says immediately.

"You don't have to?—"

"Yeah, I do." His tone means he doesn't want any argument from me. "Not letting you go anywhere alone. Not with everything that's going on."

Fern looks between us, and I see the moment she puts pieces together.

The protective stance, the way I'm letting him take charge.

Her eyes drop to my stomach for just a second before snapping back up.

"Take my car," she offers, handing over her keys. "It's already warm."

The drive to the store is quiet.

Regnor's hand rests on my thigh, thumb tracing absent patterns through the fabric of my dress.

"You sure you're okay?" he asks as we pull into the parking lot. "You went white back there."

"Just remembered something," I admit. "Last time Fern sent me to the store, I was with Dylan. Thanksgiving. It was... not good."

His hand tightens. "That's not happening again."

"I know."

And I do know.

Because Regnor's here now, solid and protective in a way Dylan never was.

The store is busy with holiday shoppers.

We weave through the crowds, Regnor's hand on my lower back, guiding and grounding.

"Whipped cream's in dairy," I say, leading us that way.

"We should get some ginger ale too," he suggests. "For your stomach."

The casual care makes my throat tight.

Even playing a role, he's more considerate than Dylan ever was.

We're passing the cereal aisle when I see him.

Dylan.

Standing there like a ghost made flesh, studying boxes of granola like he has any intention of buying healthy food.

I freeze.

Every muscle locking up, fight or flight warring in my system.

"Well, well." He turns, and there's something different about his eyes. Something darker. Meaner. "Everly. Imagine running into you here."

"Dylan." My voice comes out steadier than I feel.

He moves closer, and I instinctively step back.

His eyes track the movement, lips curling in that cruel smile I know too well.

"You look different." His gaze drops to my midsection. "Getting fat already? Guess that's what happens when you stop giving a fuck."

"I—"

"You think you can just ghost me?" He's closer now, using his height to loom over me. "Block my number? Ignore my calls? That's not how this works, Everly."

"We're done," I manage. "I told you?—"

"You didn't tell me shit." His hand shoots out, grips my wrist.

Not hard enough to bruise—he's too smart for that in public—but enough to trap. "You're mine. You don't get to just walk away."

"Let go."

"We need to talk." His grip tightens fractionally. "About your little problem."

My blood turns to ice. "What?"

"I know you're pregnant." His voice drops, venomous. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out? That I wouldn't notice you sneaking off to the clinic?"

He had me followed.

Of course he did.

"You're not keeping it," he continues, matter-of-fact. Like he's discussing the weather. "I've already made an appointment. Tomorrow, 10 AM. I'll pick you up, we'll get this taken care of, and then we can work on us."

"No."

The word escapes before I can stop it.

His eyes narrow dangerously. "What did you say?"

"I said no." Stronger this time, even as my heart pounds. "You don't get to make that choice."

"Like hell I don't. That's my?—"

"Actually, it's mine."

Regnor's voice cuts through like a blade.

I didn't hear him approach, but suddenly he's there, solid warmth at my back.

His hand covers Dylan's on my wrist.

Not violent.

Just there.

Immovable.

"I suggest you let go of my woman," he says conversationally. "Before I break every finger on that hand."

Dylan's eyes widen, darting between us. " Your woman?"

"My woman." Regnor's other hand comes to rest on my stomach, protective and possessive. "My baby. My family. None of which concerns you."

The transformation in Dylan's face is terrifying.

Shock to rage to something beyond either.

His grip on my wrist turns punishing before Regnor's fingers tighten in warning.

"You're fucking him?" Dylan's voice rises. "You cheating whore, you're fucking this criminal?"

"Watch your mouth," Regnor warns, but I can feel the tension in him.

The violence barely leashed.

People are starting to stare.

A mother hurries her children past.

A stock boy peers around the endcap.

"She's pregnant with my kid!" Dylan snarls.

"No," Regnor says simply. "She's pregnant with mine . Has been for months. That's why she left you. Couldn't keep pretending when she had my baby growing inside her."

"Bullshit. She wouldn't?—"

"Wouldn't what? Choose a real man over an abusive piece of shit?" Regnor's voice stays level, but there's death in his eyes. "Choose someone who protects her instead of hurts her? Choose someone who'll raise this baby with love instead of fists?"

"You don't know shit about us," Dylan spits. "About what she needs. She's mine?—"

"She's standing right here," I interrupt, finding my voice. "And she's not yours. Not anymore. Not ever again."

Dylan's attention snaps back to me. "You'll regret this. When he gets bored, when he tosses you aside like the trash you are, you'll come crawling back. And I'll make you beg?—"

"Try it," Regnor cuts him off. "Show up at her place. Call her again. Come anywhere near her or our baby. See what happens."

"You threatening me?" Dylan laughs, but it's ugly. "In front of all these witnesses? I know things about your club. About the raid last month. About what really happened to Marcus. One phone call and?—"

"Make it," Regnor challenges. "Make your calls. Tell whoever you want whatever you think you know. Won't change the fact that Everly's mine now. Won't bring back what you lost. Won't make that baby yours."

I watch Dylan's face cycle through emotions.

The moment he realizes he's lost control.

That his threats aren't landing.

That Regnor isn't backing down.

"This isn't over," he says finally, releasing my wrist with a shove that makes me stumble.

Regnor steadies me, pulling me against his side.

"Yeah, it is," he says. "You come near her again, threaten her again, even think about her again, and they'll never find your body. That's not a threat, it's a promise."

Dylan's jaw works like he wants to say more.

But something in Regnor's expression must convince him because he backs away.

"Fucking whore," he spits. "Both of you deserve each other."

He storms off, leaving us standing in the cereal aisle with half the store staring.

"You okay?" Regnor asks quietly, turning me to face him. His hands frame my face, thumbs gentle on my cheeks. "Everly, baby, you're shaking."

I am.

Full body tremors like I'm freezing.

"He knows," I whisper. "He knows about the baby."

"And he thinks it's his." Regnor's eyes are intense on mine. "Let him. Doesn't matter what he thinks. Matters what everyone just saw—me claiming you and our baby in public. That story's gonna spread. By tomorrow, everyone will know you're with me."

"He'll try to prove it's his. Demand tests or?—"

"Can't demand shit if he can't find you." His thumb traces my cheekbone. "You're moving in with me at my room in the club. Tonight. No arguments."

"Regnor—"

"No arguments," he repeats. "This escalated faster than I expected. Need you where I can protect you properly."

A hysterical laugh bubbles up. "We came for whipped cream."

"Fuck the whipped cream." But his lips twitch. "Though we should probably grab it or Fern will kill us."

"She would," I agree, and somehow we're both almost smiling in the middle of this disaster.

He keeps me tucked against his side as we find the dairy section.

I grab whipped cream and the ginger ale he mentioned while he scans the store like he's expecting Dylan to jump out from behind the yogurt.

"Ma'am?"

We turn to find a security guard approaching, looking uncertain.

"That man who left," he says. "The angry one. He was bothering you?"

"My ex," I explain. "He's not handling the breakup well."

The guard nods knowingly. "You want me to call the police? File a report?"

"No," Regnor answers for me. "We've got it handled. But we appreciate you checking."

The guard looks skeptical but nods. "If he comes back while you're here?—"

"He won't," Regnor says with such certainty the guard just nods again and walks away.

We pay quickly, the cashier avoiding eye contact.

Great. I'm officially the woman whose baby daddy drama played out by the Cheerios.

"Hey." Regnor stops me before we reach the car. "Look at me."

I do, reluctantly.

"You did good in there. Stood up to him. Told him no."

"I was terrified," I admit.

"But you still did it." He cups my face again. "That took courage. I'm proud of you."

The words hit someplace deep.

When's the last time someone was proud of me for standing up for myself?

"We should get back," I say, throat tight with emotion. "Fern needs her whipped cream."

"In a minute." He's studying my face like he's memorizing it. "Just need to do something first."

"What?"

"This."

He kisses me.

Not the casual pecks we've exchanged for show.

This is different. Raw. Consuming.

His hand slides into my hair, fingers tangling in the curls as he angles my head back.

The first touch of his lips is gentle, asking permission I didn't know I was dying to give.

Then I open for him and gentleness burns away.

He crowds me against Fern's car, his body a wall of heat and protection.

One hand stays buried in my hair while the other curves around my waist, pulling me impossibly closer.

His tongue traces the seam of my lips before delving deeper, tasting, claiming, branding me in the middle of this parking lot where anyone could see.

I should care about that.

Instead, my hands fist in his cut, holding on as he devastates me with his mouth.

He tastes like coffee and mint and something uniquely him—dark and addictive and safe .

He kisses like he fights—with total focus and devastating precision.

Every angle change, every nip of teeth, every soothing sweep of his tongue feels calculated to take me apart.

A whimper escapes me when he tugs my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss.

The sound seems to break something in him.

A growl rumbles from his chest as he presses closer, his thigh sliding between mine, pinning me completely.

It's possession and protection and promise all at once.

Mine, the kiss says.

Mine to protect.

Mine to worship.

Mine to keep.

When he finally pulls back, we're both breathing hard.

My lips feel swollen, tingling.

His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide as he stares down at me like he's seeing me for the first time.

Or maybe like he's finally letting me see him.

"What was that for?" I whisper.

"Because I wanted to. Because you're mine, even if it started as a lie." His forehead rests against mine. "Because that asshole needed to see it, and he's probably watching from his car."

I don't look.

Don't care if Dylan's watching.

All I care about is the solid warmth of Regnor against me, the safety of his arms, the certainty in his voice when he calls me his.

"We should tell people," I say suddenly. "Tonight. At the party. Make it official."

"You sure?"

"He knows. By tomorrow, he'll be spreading his version. Better if we control the narrative. And if you want me with you at the club… we need to tell my parents too."

"Smart girl." He kisses me again, quick but thorough. "Your dad's gonna lose his shit."

"Probably." I think about Dad's rules, his protectiveness, his fury when he finds out. "You scared?"

"Of your dad? Fuck yes." He grins. "But you're worth it. Both of you are worth it."

His hand finds my stomach again, protective.

The baby that's not his but somehow is.

The lie that's becoming the truth.

The future that started as desperation but might become something real.

"Let's go face the music," I say.

And for the first time since those two lines appeared on the test, I actually believe we might make this work.