Wrong (A Bad Boy Romance)(125)

What the hell is wrong with me?

But I know the answer to that one, too. I’m an idiot. And I’m scared shitless. Scared like I’ve never been in my life. If I think about it too much, my chest goes tight and I can barely breathe. Even now I can feel my heart beating hard in the back of my throat, and it’s not because of the workout.

I punch the back so hard it rebounds faster than I want it to and I have to catch it to keep it from bloodying my nose. With the bag between my taped, gloved hands, I just stand there, staring at nothing.

Where is Jess? I have no idea. I called her sister, who cursed me roundly. Seriously, she called me names even I’ve never heard before. But she had no idea where Jess was, and I got the impression they haven’t even spoken since before Jess and I got married. Whatever hatred she was spewing at me probably came more from her father’s reactions than from any concern from Jess. In the end I hung up on her and didn’t answer when she rang back.

And I don’t know anything about who else Jess might confide in. I’ve never talked to her about her friends, people she might go to when there’s a problem. For God’s sake, we’re married, and it turns out I know jack shit about her outside the bedroom.

Like I said—I’m an idiot.

I have no way to get hold of her, and she has every reason to never speak to me again. So where does that leave me?

“Fucked, that’s where,” I mutter. I push off from the big bag and head for the locker room to clean up. I’ve got a few hours yet before the fight, and it’s about time I wised up and quit burning energy I’ll need later. Nothing about what I plan to do tonight is going to be easy.

Under hot water in the shower, all I can think about is the time we fucked in here, her under the water, covered in it, her skin looking almost silver because of the streams pouring down her. My dick twitches because it, too, is a fucking moron. Why did I lash out the way I did?

It’d be easy enough to blame Jess for everything. She let me fuck her bareback, she went along with everything I wanted to do sexually, then she was the one who sprung that damn pregnancy test on me with no warning. So it was her fault, clearly, that I reacted the way I did.

But that’s a coward’s way out. We were in this thing together right from the beginning, and to throw everything back on her just because I’m worried is wrong. And I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a coward. I need to figure out a way to make this right.

Over the past few days, alone in my condo that’s already started to smell like Jess, I rolled things around and around in my head, and I realized something.

I don’t care how afraid I am of it—I want that baby. That baby is something Jess and I made together, out of love for each other, whether either of us is willing to admit it or not.

But Jess did admit it. Because she’s braver than I am. That’s one thing I do remember clearly from that day: her leaning into me, saying I love you. What did I say in return? Nothing good, that’s for damn sure.

I do love her though. I think I’ve loved her for a long time. Maybe not from the first night—then again, maybe from a long time before that. Maybe from the moment I first saw her, when she wasn’t even grown yet, when she was a bright-eyed teenager attending fights with her dad, punching the air to encourage me in the ring.

Yeah, it’s a fucked-up mess. And I have to fix it, or I’ll never forgive myself.

I don’t know what I’m going to say to her. Sorry, babe. You caught me by surprise and I acted like an asshole. No big deal, right? You’re okay with me being a douchebag, right? I roll my eyes at myself. I’ll figure that out when I’m face-to-face with her.

First, though, I have to find her. How, I don’t know, but I have to.

I have to.





Jess



It’s been a few days since I saw Cain. I’m still trying to convince myself that’s for the best. If his reaction when I told him about the baby is any indication of how the rest of our lives are going to go, then it’s pretty damn obvious that marrying him was a mistake of epic proportions.

I glance at the clock on the wall. I’m staying in a hotel not far from home—correction, not far from Cain’s condo. That’s not really home to me anymore, if it ever was. He didn’t throw me out of his life, but he might as well have. If he can’t accept this baby then I’m done.

I realize then that my hand is lying on my belly. I always thought that was something pregnant women did on purpose, to draw attention to themselves. I’ve honestly found it rather annoying when I’ve seen friends or family doing it. Like, Hi, look at me, how pregnant I am with babies inside me! But I did it without realizing it at all. I look down. My stomach looks exactly the same as it always has. How long until it starts to shift, to get bigger? How long until I have a baby bump I won’t be able to hide from Pop or anybody else? What happens then?