Page 16 of With A Little Luck

Chapter Fifteen

Ridge

I ’m sure I look like a drunk, stumbling into the wall outside the room Trigg entered. I lean against the doorway, taking stock of the living room.

Trigg only made it a few more steps into the room than I did. He’s turned sideways just enough for me to spot his scowl. His eyes narrow, and he glares with the same look on his face that Easton gets when someone is about to suffer.

This has to be a hallucination.

Wishful thinking after wanting to find Quincy for so long?

I asked Calder to look into locating her when I found out about Trigg’s existence, but a first name and a city wasn’t much to go on.

He told me it would take some time—possibly weeks—unless he got lucky and caught her on a security camera the night we hooked up.

But he also warned me that a lot of local systems scrub their old feeds to make room for new recordings.

Finding a place that has footage from that long ago isn’t likely unless it’s one of the government cameras.

The long dark hair of the woman on the couch is familiar and so is that scent.

The man with his hand planted on the arm of the sofa as he cages her in is no one I recognize.

At least, not at first.

He growls and pops up, moving to kneel on the end of the sofa by the woman’s feet, and that’s when I catch sight of his face. “What the fuck?”

“Trigg?” Quincy asks, and her voice is so familiar that my knees wobble.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, but you need to leave,” Hartley says. “I told you there was something wrong with that guy.” The last part he says to Quincy, like Trigg can’t hear every word of what he just said.

I’m still confused how Hartley Adams ended up snuggled on the couch with the woman I had the best sex of my entire life with, but I will slit his throat and leave his body to bleed out on the wooden flooring if he doesn’t move away from her in the next two seconds.

“Holy shit, Ridge?” Quincy’s voice sounds a lot more frantic now than when she spotted Trigg in her house, which doesn’t bode well for her self-preservation skills.

If she’s more intimidated by me than she is him…

Well, that’s a bad look for me.

My gaze swings to the side, taking her in. She was stretched out on the couch as she and the former quarterback were engaged in some kind of foreplay, but she now sits vertically.

It’s a good thing.

It puts a whole cushion between her and Hartley.

Holy fuck.

Maybe I’m in shock?

I blink.

And blink some more.

But she’s still pregnant.

I never take off my glasses in public, unless it’s a situation where it would be rude to leave them on, but I rip them off, dropping them on the top of my head.

She’s super pregnant—like not a couple of months along. She has to be approaching the end of her pregnancy. I’m not the best when it comes to math, but I pull up my hand, trying to count backward from January to find out when she got knocked up.

My God.

Fucking hell.

There’s a possibility that baby is mine.

If she’s eight or nine months…

Shit, I know from my sister’s having a whole herd of kids that pregnancy is calculated in a weird way. It also goes the full forty weeks, which is technically the beginning of the tenth month. For once in my life, I’m grateful for having four pain-in-the-ass sisters.

The bottom line is, I’m not going to know if I don’t ask.

My heart stalls, and my hand flies to my chest to rub at the ache.

I’m about to have a heart attack.

My shitty eating habits have finally caught up with me.

Absolute chaos transpires around us, but I can’t form words.

The dick in his boxer briefs helps Quincy off the couch, and all I can focus on is the swell of her stomach and how different she looks since the last time I saw her.

She’s just as beautiful as she was that night, but she’s glowing now. I finally understand that saying about pregnant women looking more vibrant.

Hartley is only in boxer briefs, but Quincy is in a thin sleep dress that hides all the important bits. Hopefully that means we interrupted them before the sex and not after.

“The two of you know each other?” Quincy asks, planting her hands on her hips. “Someone needs to tell me what is going on.”

I’m of a similar mindset.

We had a connection that night. A chemistry that I’ve never felt with another human being, and she got up and left like it was nothing.

And now she’s pregnant?

I’m usually pretty fucking stellar at rolling with the punches, but apparently that only lasts until my brain literally overloads.

How am I supposed to ask if that’s my baby without sounding like an absolute fuckface?

Does it really matter if I sound like a dick?

I have to ask…

I’ll just frame it in a polite way. And hold off asking how she could abandon me in that hotel room until after I’m no longer bitter as fuck about it.

“Ridge and I are acquaintances.” Trigg crosses his arms. “Coworkers, if you will. We only met when I came to Burlington. I also had no idea about any prior relationship or lack thereof that the two of you may have had.”

“You’re a haughty fucker,” I growl, rolling my eyes.

He ignores me completely, instead splitting his focus between Hartley and Quincy.

“I know you’ve been relying on your employer more and more lately, but I’m here now, and we have an emergency,” Trigg says in a monotone voice that reminds me a little too much of Easton. “Hartley can return to his restaurant while you come with me and Ridge.”

“What?” Quincy squeaks. “What are you even talking about?”

“I told you something was wrong with that guy,” the asshole at Quincy’s side says. “You need to go before I call the cops.”

A low, dangerous growl rattles out of my chest. It’s a warning that he should heed if he would like to continue breathing.

Quincy is the only one who can kick us out. I don’t care if it’s his house—which I don’t think it is, based on what Trigg has said. Even then, if she doesn’t want me around, she’s going to need to answer a few questions.

The most prominent being…

“Is that my baby?” I ask, pointing at her stomach.

“Um, w-we s-should talk,” she stutters, swallowing thickly.

The look on her face as her hand flies to cradle her stomach tells me all I need to know.

“Holy shit,” I choke out.

“Seriously, where the fuck did my pants go? They couldn’t have made it that far,” Hartley mumbles, glancing around. “I never should have let my security team go. Trust me, beautiful. I can recognize a stalker when I see one?—”

“Your opinion of me matters none,” Trigg says, rolling his eyes. He focuses on Quincy and goes on. “And yes, you and Ridge clearly need to have a conversation. You can do that once we have you settled somewhere safe.”

“I don’t know what bullshit mind games you’re trying to play, but there’s no way I’m letting her leave with you,” Hartley growls, sounding like an alpha for the first time.

Trigg stomps forward, unbuttons his jacket, pulls his gun from its holster, and slams the muzzle into Hartley’s temple. “Fine, I’ll remove you from the equation completely, then.”

“Whoa!” Quincy chokes out with wide eyes. “What in the world is wrong with you?” She looks at me. “You brought him here. Aren’t you going to do something to stop this?”

“Actually, I had no idea how to find you,” I say pointedly as I rock on my heels. “ He brought me here if you want to get technical.”

Her eyes narrow. “There were extenuating circumstances that I will tell you about.” She jabs a finger at Trigg. “You specifically asked me if I was afraid of you, and I told you the truth, but this isn’t okay.”

“You have nothing to fear from me,” he says calmly. “He wouldn’t, either, but he’s being even more of a pain in the ass than normal. I would love to know why he thinks he has the right to stop you from leaving with me.”

“She’s my girlfriend, and I live here,” Hartley says, like he wants Trigg to splatter his brain all over the living room floor.

“Is this true?” Trigg asks Quincy.

“Yes, but it’s all very fresh.” She nods. “Please don’t hurt him.”

“I didn’t react the last time he was over,” Trigg says petulantly. “But I believe you just hurt my feelings.”

“You’re really not helping yourself sound like less of a stalker,” I say out of the side of my mouth. “Like, at all. Dial it back, man.”

“How would you know he was here before?” Quincy asks. “You really have been stalking me?”

I’m more focused on Hartley. His jaw clenches, and everything in me says he’s going to go for the gun while Trigg is distracted answering Quincy.

“I have been romantically checking in on you. Just to make sure you’re okay here alone in this giant house,” Trigg says, not helping his case one tiny fucking bit.

“He’s about to—” My words cut off as Hartley ducks and pivots, slamming Trigg’s gun arm toward the back of the room. He’s damn lucky the gun ends up pointing away from Quincy, or I would have rearranged both their faces for that stupid fucking move.

Hartley tackles Trigg.

Huh, looks like he did learn something from all those years on the field. He wasn’t doing the tackling then, but he picked up a trick or two.

I sigh as the gun goes flying.

Quincy’s eyes widen. “I’ve had enough of whatever this is!” Her head swivels until her gaze meets mine. “Stop them!”

“They’re just negotiating the pecking order.

It’ll be better if we don’t interfere. That’s something they have to hash out among themselves.

” I shove my hands into my pockets and stride closer, trying not to look like a giant.

It’s practically impossible, but I still slouch, hoping it’ll help me look like less of a threat. “How pregnant are you?”

“The baby is yours,” she says, her eyes falling shut.

My heart stalls in my chest, but the way her brow furrows as her lips purse keeps me from snapping something shitty. She looks like she’s physically in pain, and I hate it.