Page 38 of Twin Babies for the Silver Fox (Happy Ever Alpha Daddies #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Knox

The second I see her, my stomach drops.

Savannah’s at the host stand, flipping through the reservation book like she works here. She’s all fake smiles and glossy charm, chatting up the new server like she didn’t just light a match to my life earlier this week.

I cross the dining room in five long strides, jaw tight. “Savannah.”

She turns, beaming like this is a social call. “Knox. Wow, you really should smile more. Your forehead’s gonna crack.”

“You can’t keep coming in here like this.”

She blinks, all innocence. “Why? I’m only saying hi. Looks busier than usual. You’re welcome, by the way.”

I plant a hand on the counter between us. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend this is about the restaurant,” I snap. “I haven’t reacted to whatever little game you’re playing, but I can’t have you here all day long.”

She frowns, like I’ve hurt her feelings. “You had her here.”

I roll my eyes. “Josie works here.”

She tilts her head, faux sympathetic. “That’s adorable. You still think you can protect her. Like you protected me, remember?”

A muscle jumps in my jaw. I don’t bite.

But she’s not done.

“You know what you have to do, Knoxie. I don’t want to have to act out.”

I straighten, pulse hammering. “Stop threatening me.”

She smiles, sharp as glass. “I won’t have to if you just do as I ask.”

Something in my chest twists. “You promised.”

“Only if you keep in line.”

“That’s it,” I snap. “You’re done here.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You’re banned from The Marrow. Don’t come back. Don’t call. Don’t so much as look at someone who works here, or I swear...”

“You’ll what?” she says sweetly. “Throw another tantrum? Maybe that’s the headline I leak next. ‘Disgraced NFL star throws fit in failing kitchen.’ Think that’ll sell?”

I lean in, voice steel. “Try me. You’ll see just how fast I stop playing nice.”

Her smile drops for the first time. For a split second, I see it, that flicker of panic behind her eyes.

But then she recovers. Tosses her hair over her shoulder like this whole thing bores her. “You know, I really thought you’d be smarter about this. Guess not.”

She turns on her heel and walks out.

I don’t move. Can’t. My fists are clenched, my brain’s on fire, and I already know, whatever she’s done, whatever she’s set in motion, it’s going to hurt Josie.

And that’s the part I can’t live with.

I head back to the line, barking out orders just to keep myself upright.

But my voice sounds hollow. My hands shake.

A minute later, I’m elbowing through the pantry door and locking myself inside like it’s the last safe place in the world.

Maybe it is.

I slide down the wall until I’m crouched between a case of fire-roasted tomatoes and a bag of lentils that’s leaking at the seam. My knees protest. My back aches. My brain feels like a pulled muscle. Tight, twitching, useless.

I’m spooning cold butterscotch pudding into a cup of chicken and wild rice soup.

It’s disgusting. I don’t care.

The soup’s from the lunch shift. I didn’t even heat it up. The pudding’s from Gracie’s dessert prep tray. I think it was supposed to be part of the seasonal sampler. Pretty sure I just committed a crime against food.

Still, I take a bite.

Salty, sweet, vaguely gelatinous. Absolutely vile.

I take another.

It’s something to focus on. Something to keep my hands busy while my thoughts spiral out of control.

Dinner service was a war zone. No show servers, a burner that wouldn’t light, a Yelp blogger in the corner who I swear was timing everything with a damn stopwatch.

One of the sous chefs burned the halibut and started crying.

I think I might’ve snapped at Nova. Can’t remember. Might’ve apologized. Might’ve not.

Doesn’t matter.

None of it does.

Because Josie’s not here. And Savannah is.

She keeps showing up like a virus that won’t clear. Keeps acting like this town owes her something. Keeps asking where Josie is, pretending like she just wants to talk, like I don’t know exactly what her brand of ‘talk’ looks like. Gossip, guilt, knives in the back.

It’s a full-time job just keeping her away from Josie. I’ve told her to stay away. I’ve told her to leave Silver Peak altogether. I’ve ignored her texts. Blocked her number.

Nothing works.

I grip the plastic spoon tighter. The handle snaps in half.

“Shit.”

I toss the broken spoon across the pantry, where it ricochets off a can of navy beans and clatters to the floor. The soup sloshes over my hand. Sticky butterscotch coats my knuckles. I sit there like a damn toddler with pudding on my fingers and no one to blame but myself.

Shit, what the hell am I doing?

The pantry door creaks open.

I freeze.

Shit. I thought I locked it.

But then I see her.

Josie .

She steps inside like a ghost, quiet, pale, eyes too big for her face. She closes the door behind her, pressing her back to it like she needs the wood for support.

Her hair’s pulled up in a messy bun, strands sticking to her cheeks like she’s been sweating or crying. Or both.

“Josie,” I breathe, heart lurching straight into my throat. I start to rise. “You… are you okay? What are you?—”

“I need to talk to you,” she says, voice thin but steady. “Right now.”

I’m on my feet instantly, adrenaline flooding my system. “If it’s Savannah, listen, I’ve been trying to keep her away. I swear I didn’t know she’d show up at?—”

“It’s not about Savannah.”

Her hands tremble at her sides. She’s trying to keep her chin up, but I can see it, that glassy edge in her eyes. Whatever this is, it’s going to wreck me.

“I’ve been trying to find the right moment. Trying to say it nicely… but now I just need to get it out.”

I stiffen as my entire nervous system is drenched in ice, poised for the hurt I know will come. She draws in a breath that sounds like it scrapes her lungs raw.

“I’m pregnant.”

The words hang in the air for a second too long before they detonate.

Pregnant .

I stare at her.

Then the world tilts.

No noise. No motion. Just the single, blinding snap of something coming undone inside me.

I step back like she hit me. Like the word itself was a fist to my gut.

“What?” I manage, but my voice barely works.

“I’m pregnant, Knox.” Her chin trembles now, but she lifts it higher. “I’m pregnant, and it’s yours.”

My pulse stutters. The blood in my veins goes ice cold.

No.

No. No. Not this. Not again.

My body moves before my mind can catch up. I take another step back, fingers curling into fists.

“How do you even know?” I ask. My voice is taut, but I can’t stop it. “Are you sure?”

Her mouth parts, confusion flickering across her face. “What?”

“This timing, Josie, everything’s been chaos lately. Savannah showing up, the press, the mess with the restaurant, are you sure this isn’t just…”

I stop myself, barely. But the words are already there between us. Poison in the air.

Her face crumples.

“Oh wow,” she whispers. “You think I’m lying.”

“I didn’t say that,” I snap, but even I don’t believe it.

I can feel the old scars tearing open, one by one. Savannah’s voice in my head, fake tears, the positive test she waved in front of me like a trap. The press conference. The fallout. The betrayal.

This feels the same.

Too familiar.

Too dangerous.

Josie doesn’t yell.

Doesn’t cry.

She just goes quiet.

That scary, heartbreakingly calm kind of quiet that makes my stomach churn like I swallowed a bucket of nails.

She looks at me like she doesn’t even recognize the man standing in front of her.

“Okay,” she says softly. Not a whimper. Not a sob. Just a word, so even and hollow it echoes. “That’s all I needed to know.”

“Josie.” I step forward, heart in my throat, but she shakes her head.

“I thought you deserved to know,” she says, voice still eerily steady. “I thought you’d want to hear it from me. That maybe…” Her lips twitch like she’s fighting back. “Maybe you'd care. Maybe we’d figure it out. Together.”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

She huffs a breath, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “Guess I was wrong.”

“Wait, please,” I say, reaching for her.

But she takes a step back. One step, but it feels like a mile.

Her eyes lock on mine. No more fear in them. No more hope either. Just clarity. Cold and cutting.

“I know exactly what I need to do now.”

“Josie.” Her name shreds out of my throat.

She turns.

Walks to the door.

And this time, this damn time, she doesn’t look back.

The pantry door swings open, lets in a blast of hot kitchen air, then slams shut behind her with a finality that echoes in my bones.

And I just stand there.

Frozen.

What the hell is going on in my messed-up life now?