Page 42 of Sealed in Ink

“What an ass,” Brad says, laughing as he looks down at the post.

“I guess he’s just trying to be a showman,” I say, desperate for a change of topic.

“He’s just throwing crap at the wall and seeing what sticks.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Marquis says, looking at me like he’s noticing something and piecing it all together. I stare at the floor, feeling a shimmer inside of me, like a taunt. Like our baby is laughing at the mess we’re making.

Rust opens the door to his dressing room, looking around at us with a forced smirk. He’s trying to make light of it, but it’s not working. We can all feel the genuine rage flaring in him.

“Rust, are you calm, yes?” Marquis approaches. “Are you healthy?”

“Healthy?” Rust says in disgust.

“In the mind,” Marquis goes on. “You cannot let this man get to you just because he’s the only man who’s defeated you. Is that it?”

Rust glances at me. I almost bite my lip to relieve some of the tension. Eye contact feels like a promise to us, a whole universe of want.

“Dead on the money,” Rust says, sighing, lying. I know how badly he wants to tell the truth. The storm tattoo burns against my shoulder like it’s joining in with the baby’s taunting.

“You cannot let those thoughts win,” Marquis says sternly. “Those whispers and your doubts, tell me, what good do they do for you?”

“I never have any doubts.” Rust glances at me again. “Not usually.”

What does that mean? What is he doubting? Us? It probably says something crazy about me that my instinct is to be outraged at the idea of him doubting steaminess—and a life, a future—with his best friend’s sister is bad. Of course, he’s doubting it.

“He’s doubting because you split your legs open on your first night together,”Mom snaps hatefully in my mind.

“Time for training,” Rust says.

“Yes, we train. Brad, would you like to come to the gym?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’ll wait at the hotel,” I say. “I’ll just get a cab. I’m not feeling well.”

The truth is, I can’t be around Rust training again. I can’t sit on the sidelines as the sweat drips all over his body, his shirt molding to him, outlining his ferocious muscles. Not after he cheered about us having a baby together, not after the steam.

“Are you sure?” Brad asks, wincing. He thinks it’s about yesterday and the argument.

“Yeah, really.”

What sort of sister am I, letting him think it’s about that? But don’t I still have a right to be mad that he lied and eavesdropped? No. Hell no. I don’t have the right to be angry about anything he ever does again.

“This isblowing up,” Chrissy says on video chat, beaming, with no idea how badly it’s making me cringe. “It’s crazy. If you take a screenshot of a video, you can tell any story you want, can’t you?”

“Seems that way,” I mutter, biting my nail.

“I’m surprised you’ve got any fingernails left. Did you finally do the you-know-what?”

“I thought you would ask me about that right away.”

“I don’t want to push you,” she says. “No offense, but you look a little crazy.”

I grin shakily. She doesn’t know about Mom, what I learned, what I’ve known in my heart for years. “I feel a little crazy, too. So it fits.”

“Did you do the test?”

“Yep. It’s positive. I’m pregnant, and…”

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