Page 19

Okay, so that just happened. Since when did I have such terrible self control? Still, I’m not sorry.

I’m leaning against the cool wall outside Nash’s office, a smile tugging at my lips. My body feels liquid and satisfied in ways I’d forgotten were possible. His scent clings to my skin like a second skin. We’ve just fucked, but even so, smelling it still makes my pulse quicken.

God, that was incredible. When was the last time I felt this good? This loose and languid and perfectly used? The last five months have been so damn hard. Hell, the last five years have been. The last fifteen years.

It just felt good to do something for the pure joy of doing it. And doing Nash Thorndike felt so good.

When my legs stop feeling like jelly, I start down the corridor, still riding the high of endorphins and satisfaction. Maybe I can actually make this work. Maybe Nash meant what he said about helping with the protest ban. He wasn’t as big an asshole as he was before. Maybe—

“Really, ?”

The voice stops me cold. Meg stands near the faculty mailboxes, and the look on her face makes my stomach drop. Her dark eyes take in every detail: my rumpled clothes, the flush still heating my cheeks, a mark blooming purple on my neck.

“Meg.”

My voice comes out rougher than I intend, still affected by the sounds I was making twenty minutes ago.

“I didn’t know you were—”

“Here looking for you? Yeah, I was worried.”

She steps closer, and I can see the hurt beneath her anger.

“Worried you might do something stupid. Guess I was right.”

I straighten, trying to summon some defiance.

“It’s not what you think.”

“Isn’t it?”

She laughs, but there’s no humor in it.

“Because you smell like you just got thoroughly fucked, and I just happened to go by Thorndick’s office looking for you and guess what I heard?”

Heat floods my face. “Meg—”

“How long, ?”

Her voice cracks slightly.

“How long have you been lying to me? To all of us?”

“I haven’t been lying. This just happened. I came here to talk to him about—”

“And ended up with his cock inside you instead.”

Her words make me flinch.

“Fuck’s sake, . We’re facing expulsion because of him. And you decide this is the perfect time to spread your legs for the enemy?”

“Don’t be a bitch.”

She stops dead and stares at me.

“I can’t believe you just called me that.”

“Well, you are being one. You have no idea what’s happening here and you’re just shitting on me anyway.”

“Does it matter? It’s Thorndick. You know exactly who he is and who he stands for. You know, if this was when you first matched, I’d understand but not today. Not when he’s fucking with me too.”

She turns away, shoulders rigid.

“Meg—”

But she’s already walking away. I watch until she disappears around the corner. I’m not going to follow her. I’m suddenly exhausted and I just don’t have the energy. I’m going to go home and get some rest. I’ll figure this mess out in the morning.

I should be running after my oldest friend, trying to talk to her but Nash’s scent still clings to me, and every breath reminds me of what just happened. The desperate way he kissed me, like I was the only thing keeping him sane. The reverent way he touched my belly. The way he looked at me afterward. He looks at me like he can’t believe I exist, like I am the most perfect thing he has ever seen.

It’s intoxicating. I’ve never had that before.

The squat rises ahead. I let myself in and make my way to my room, grateful I’m no longer on the fifth floor and no longer have to climb stairs.

Everything I own fits in this single room, and suddenly it feels pathetic instead of rebellious. I look around, seeing it with Nash’s eyes. Mattress on the floor. No proper curtains. My clothes are neatly stacked on an old office desk. I don’t even have a closet.

I sink onto the mattress, and the lingering soreness between my thighs reminds me again of what just happened.

What happens now? Do I show up to Meg’s meeting? Do I pretend it never happened? Do I text Nash? I’d have to unblock him first.

I reach for my phone, then stop. What would I even say? Thanks for the orgasm?

The phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number: This is Nash. Are you alright?

My heart jumps. I want to hear from him. God, I should never have gone to his office. Meg was right.

Just this simple message has my heart racing and feeling needy and pathetic.

I stare at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Then I delete the message without responding and block the number.

I need to think. I need to figure out how to fix this mess I’ve made.

Morning comes too soon, dragging me from restless sleep filled with dreams of Nash’s hands. We’d slept together during my heat, not as a euphemism for sex but actual sleeping. I’d kept close to him, his body warm and comforting against mine. I’d told myself it was the heat doing it and it didn’t count while the heat was still going, but it felt so good. I want that now. I don’t want to get up. I want to have woken up in bed with Nash, his arms around me and his scent surrounding me, warm and safe and comfortable.

Instead, I feel sluggish, nauseous, the pregnancy symptoms hitting harder than usual. Stress always makes them worse and I’ve got a job to get to.

The bus ride to Brennan & Wallace is torture. Every bump makes my stomach lurch, and the scent of someone’s coffee makes me gag. An older woman offers me her seat, and I accept gratefully, pressing a hand to my belly as another wave of nausea hits.

Maybe this is karma. Maybe this is what I deserve for betraying everything I believed in and fucking Nash Thorndike for no good reason.

Still, I need to get my life in order. I’ve got a baby coming in just a few months and I’m not even close to ready. That needs to change right now.

I badge through security on unsteady legs and take the elevator to the fourteenth floor.

Eliza Wallace’s office door stands open. I knock and peer inside, forcing a smile.

“!”

She looks up from her computer, face brightening.

“Perfect timing. Come in, come in.”

I settle into the chair across from her desk, trying to ignore how the leather makes my skin crawl.

“Did you want to discuss the Johnson hearing?”

she says.

“Your work was excellent by the way. Great attention to detail.”

“No, there’s something I need to tell you.”

I take a deep breath and immediately regret it. The scent of her perfume is far too sweet.

“I’m pregnant. Five months along.”

Her eyes shift immediately to my belly and I see realization light up in her eyes.

“Oh, that’s wonderful. Congratulations!”

Relief sweeps through me. Brennan & Wallace is one of the more progressive law firms but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t have reacted badly.

I grin.

“Thank you. I just want to let you know it’s not going to make a difference to my job. This is such a wonderful opportunity and I can’t wait to be on the benches at the Johnson trial.”

Something shifts in her expression. A flicker of... pity.

“Oh, sweetheart, but won’t you be...?”

My stomach clenches.

“I’ll be what?”

“Well, you’re expecting in January, aren’t you?”

Her voice is gentle, which somehow makes it worse.

“The Johnson case will require intensive preparation through your entire third trimester. Late nights, depositions, extended court appearances.”

“I can handle it,”

I insist, but my voice sounds weak even to me.

“I’ve already started researching the precedents.”

“Oh, honey.”

She leans forward, expression full of sympathy.

“You’ll have a newborn. You’ll need time to recover, to bond. And without a partner to help...”

She trails off delicately.

There it is. The real issue. Single omega, no alpha, unreliable.

“I’m not planning an extended maternity leave,”

I say, desperation creeping in.

“Just a few weeks, then back part-time.”

She shakes her head sadly.

“That’s not realistic, especially for a first-time parent. The sleepless nights, the feeding schedule, the doctor’s appointments. You’ll be overwhelmed.”

“I can manage my own schedule. My grades haven’t suffered.”

“No one’s questioning your abilities,”

she says, but her tone suggests otherwise.

“It’s just practical resource allocation. We need someone who can commit fully to the timeline.”

The words punch me in the gut. “I see.”

“I’ve got something else that would be perfect for you though,”

she continues brightly.

“It wraps up in December, just before you’re due. Much more manageable for someone in your position.”

“That sounds... great,”

I manage, the words sticking in my throat.

We discuss details for another few minutes, but I’m barely listening. It’s clear from how she is speaking, ever so kindly, that the internship is going to end on the day that I become a father.

I excuse myself as soon as possible and stumble to the bathroom, where I promptly throw up everything I’ve eaten today. The pregnancy nausea is bad enough without the stress making it worse.

I spend the rest of the day going through the motions of the work day. By evening, I feel wrung out and hollow. The disappointment from Wallace’s gentle dismissal mixes with the shame from Meg’s accusations, creating a toxic cocktail of self-loathing.

I’m so lost in my misery that I almost don’t notice the chaos on my street until I’m right in the middle of it.

Police cars line the block, their flashing lights painting everything in harsh red and blue. Officers in tactical gear have cordoned off my building, and there’s a massive dumpster in the middle of the road, already half-full of furniture and belongings.

The eviction. It’s happening right now. I thought I had more time.

“Can’t go in there, sir,”

an officer says, stepping into my path.

“Building’s being cleared by court order.”

“I live here,”

I say, panic rising in my throat.

“My things are inside.”

“Personal items are being sorted over there.”

He gestures toward a pathetic pile of belongings on the sidewalk.

“Anything not claimed gets disposed of.”

I scan the heap frantically, but nothing looks familiar.

“My laptop?”

I say, voice cracking. The officer shrugs.

“If it’s not in the pile, it’s in the dumpster.”

I watch in horror as more officers emerge from the building, carrying garbage bags that they toss carelessly into the dumpster. Years of work, thousands of dollars in textbooks, our lives treated like trash.

Without thinking, I rush toward the dumpster. The officer shouts something, but I ignore him, scrambling up the metal side and dropping into the chaos below.

The stench hits me immediately: rotting food and mildew. But I push deeper, digging frantically through the filth. This is it. I have finally hit rock bottom in my life: pregnant, homeless, jobless and digging in a dumpster.

There. The corner of my constitutional law textbook, wedged under a broken chair. My laptop bag, thank god, still intact.

“! What in God’s name are you doing? Get out of there this instant!”

I look up, disoriented, to find my mother standing at the edge of the dumpster.

She looks older than when I saw her last. There are more lines at the corners of her eyes and her hair is gray. She’s still perfectly styled though, hair and clothes. Some things never change.

She’s looking at me like she’s about to cry.

“Mom?”

I stare at her in shock.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came looking for you after I got your email,”

she says, extending a manicured hand.

“About the pregnancy. Please, sweetheart, let me help you up before you hurt yourself.”

I let her pull me out, suddenly aware of how I must look. Garbage clinging to my clothes, stench coating my skin, tears streaming down my face. My mother’s eyes widen as she takes in my appearance, lingering on the curve of my belly that’s impossible to hide now.

“Oh, my baby,”

she whispers, and the endearment breaks something inside me.

“Look at you. I know you didn’t want to talk to me after all that with your father but—”

Her mouth turns down at the corners and for one horrifying moment, I think she’s about to start bawling. But then I see her steel herself and a deep breath.

“You’re going to be a father. You’re carrying my grandbaby. That’s what matters now. You need to stop being so stubborn and come home. After the baby’s born and you’re back on your feet, you can go back to being as stubborn as your father was but not now. Now you need to come home.”

The words spill out of her quickly as if she’s been keeping them inside for a long time.

I clutch my salvaged belongings, acutely aware of how little I have left. I shake my head.

“Mom, I can’t. You know I can’t.”

“No, what you mean is that you won’t.”

“I just need a little time to work out how to fix it.”

“Well, you don’t have to fix anything tonight,”

she says gently.

“Come home with me. Just until you get back on your feet.”

The offer hangs between us, and I know what it means. It’s a step backward.

But what choice do I have? Where else can I go?

Nash’s offer surfaces in my mind. I’m stuck between one person who wants to control me and another. And Nash? Well, that’s a far more complicated system.

“Just until I find something else,”

I hear myself say.

Relief floods her features.

“Of course, darling. Whatever you need.”

I take one last look at the building that’s been my home, watching officers carry out the last of everyone’s things.

“My car’s just around the corner,”

Mom says, taking my laptop bag with gentle hands.

I follow her through the chaos to her car. She opens the door for me like we’re on a date and I resist the urge to laugh.

Mom’s car is like her. It’s expensive and clean and well-maintained. It’s the opposite of what my life has been.

I rest my hand on my belly, feeling the slight flutter of movement that’s become more frequent lately. At least I’m not completely alone. At least there’s one person who will never judge me.

“It’s going to be okay,”

my mother says softly, reaching over to squeeze my hand.

“You’re going to be okay.”

I want to believe her but in one day, I’ve lost my friend, my job and my home.

Sometimes there are no good choices. Sometimes you just have to pick the least devastating option and hope you can live with the consequences.

That’s a choice that isn’t really a choice at all.