Page 145 of Three Irish Kings

“No! Of course not.” She bites her lip, looking away so that she’s not looking at any of us. “I couldn’t if I wanted to. This isn’t about that.”

“Then what is this about?”

“I… I’m…” She clears her throat and takes a deep breath. “I’m pregnant, and I have no idea which of you is the father.”

The words fall over me like an ocean wave, threatening to take me under.

“You’re not fucking serious.” Dare’s voice is as low and dangerous as I’ve ever heard it.

“Pregnant?Mo chuisle...”Cillian sounds shell-shocked but not angry.

“I’m telling the truth.” She takes a shaky breath. “I took a test a few days before I left, and it was positive. I didn’t know what to do, so I left because I knew you’d all be upset, and because I just didn’t know how to handle it. Plus, I don’t want to raise a child in that life. I grew up that way and...”

She closes her mouth, sighing muffled by her lips. “I’m babbling.”

“And you don’t know whose it is?” Dare accuses. “How could you?—”

“How would I know, Dare, huh? Not exactly like we kept up with my cycle, and none of you used protection.”

“Oh, Isla…” Cillian walks toward her, but I can’t speak.

I’m struck silent again, because all I can think about is a little girl with Isla’s hazel eyes, or maybe a little boy with my smile.

What if it’s mine? What if I have a chance to raise a child outside of the clan?

I could do it. Isla and I could be together, maybe put my father in a home, move far away so that Cormac couldn’t reach us. We’d be... a family.

But what about Cill and Dare? They’re my best friends, and they want her, too. One of them could also be the father.

“Liam.”

The sound of my name brings me back to reality.

Isla walks up to me, taking her hands in mine.

“Liam, you have to say something.”

“I need....” I take a breath, pulling away from her. “I need some time to think.”

I stalk out of the room, slamming the door, and head downstairs. The receptionist, a bald, fat man looks at me like I’m crazy.

I brace my hands on the desk, staring at him, and he steps back.

God knows what expression is on my face, but it can’t be good.

“Is there a bar here?”

“It’s connected to the building.” He clears his throat and points to a door on the other side of the lobby. “Just go through there.”

“Thank you.”

I walk through the door, striding to the bar instantly and sitting down.

“Double whiskey, and keep them coming.” I lie a hundred-dollar bill down on the table, and the bartender sweeps it up with his eyes raised.

“What kind of whiskey?”

“Whatever Irish whiskey you have on the shelf.”