So Bad (Bad Boy Next Door #1)(51)
My hands fist at my sides and I suck in a deep breath. “I didn’t do a thing. This is all on you.”
His face reddens. “And I should have never taken in that cunt whore you couldn’t keep your dick out of to save your fuc—”
My fist connects with his face as all the built-up rage boils over at his words. Dad stumbles backward and hits the wall, slipping to the floor, his expression dazed.
One of the cops grabs my arms and pushes me away from the piece of shit crumpled on the carpet. “Sir. We need you to step back.”
I stare down at Dad over the cop’s shoulder. “Don’t you ever speak of her. Ever. You sick fuck, you don’t even deserve to think about her.”
The other cop hauls Dad to his feet and drags him out. The other officer lets go of me and follows. Mom slams the door as they cross the threshold.
She hugs me around the waist and motions for Rachel to join us. We stand holding each other together for a moment, our world upside down and sideways. I hurt for the pain they must feel, even while a huge weight seems to be lifting off my shoulders.
I squeeze Mom and Rachel before I head up the stairs.
Pulling out my phone, I text Mo.
The cops just picked up Dad.
I smile at the text lighting up my screen as I lay my phone on the arm of the sofa. Slade sets a glass of water on the side table and offers me a plate of food.
With a grimace, I say, “No thanks; I feel weird.”
“You know, I was reading in that book you have that morning sickness can last the entire nine months for some women. That must suck.”
I rub my temples and wiggle around, trying to get comfortable. I hold out my hand. “Give it to me. You don’t need to read that. You might start producing estrogen or something.”
He pulls the book from under his butt and shakes his head. He opens it, turning it one way and then the other, finally flipping it upside down. “There are some interesting pictures in here. Kinda makes me want to be a doctor.”
I giggle. “Yeah. Slade, the OB/Gyn.”
He frowns. “Hey. It could happen. I’m a smart guy. I could do it if I wanted to.”
I wipe off my grin. “Okay. Maybe.”
“I take it, since you’re buying prego books, you’ve decided to have the bambino?”
“Bambino?”
He shrugs, winking at me.
I inspect my nails. “Well, I’m a smart girl. I can do it if I want to.”
He moves from his chair to the cushion next to me. Putting his arm around my shoulders he says. “You can. And—if Danny doesn’t step up, I’d like you to stay with me. I’ll help you.”
My hands fly to my cheeks. “I—well—I—”
He pats my knee. “Just think about it. I don’t mean it as a romantic thing. You know where I am on that. It’s just—I like kids. And I like you. You deserve some help.”
I catch my breath. “Wow. That’s—that’s huge, Slade. Thank you.”
He winks again. “Besides, Danny loves you. I have no doubt he’ll do the right thing.”
The right thing. What is the right thing?
I don’t want Danny to stay with me because I’m having his baby. He might feel stuck. I also don’t want to count on him only to have him leave because he can’t deal.
*
I roll over and pull the blanket around my neck. I grab my phone and check the time. Four-fifty-six. I almost slept the entire night.
I flip on the lamp on the side table and sit up. I rub my face and stretch a bit. When I stand, a bright stain on the sheet pulled over the couch cushion draws my eye.
My stomach turns to lead.
Blood.
I check my sleep shorts. Oh no.
Oh, God. Please no.
I knock on Slade’s door.
“Mo?”
“Hey. I think I need to go to the emergency room.”
In only a second or two Slade stands in front of me, hair wild, eyes wide. “What is it?”
I look down. “I’m—bleeding.”
He grabs my shoulders. “Oh, hell. I’m sorry. Okay. Let’s get you to the emergency room.”
I get a change of clothes and stuff them into my bag.
Slade bundles me into his truck. “Are you hurting?”
I shake my head, but my heart races. “This is all my fault. I wasn’t sure I wanted this baby and now God’s going to take her away.”
He pats my arm. “Don’t say that. You don’t know that. I read in that book some women do something they call spotting. Maybe you’re just spotting.”
The warm flow between my legs doesn’t feel like spotting. But I don’t say that. I just bite my lip and grip the arm rest until we get to the hospital.
The glaring lights of the emergency room waiting area bounce off shiny floors and illuminate the seemingly deserted building. The too-clean smell turns my stomach.