Page 12 of Owen (Storm Enterprises)

The front door slamming shut has Steph shooting up from her chair and rushing toward the entrance as if she’s expecting someone.

Hushed voices filter through from the foyer, and a prickle of awareness invades me. She’s here. My heart hammers.

She’s fucking here.

Shit, she’s here.

I try to regulate my breathing, and each click of her heels heading in our direction has my heart thudding louder, and I will it to slow down, convinced everyone else can hear the deep thrumming filling my ears.

“Mom, it’s fine. Jeez, stop fussing.” Her soft voice forces me to suck in a deep breath while I try my best to keep my face impassive.

“Here we fucking go,” Dex grumbles, making my eyes narrow on the little prick. He throws an arm over the back of the chair beside him, then glances at me and winks.

My eyebrows furrow. What the fuck is he going on about?

The moment she steps foot in the room, every muscle on my body becomes taught. Jesus, my body is so in tune with her presence, it’s like the ability to function is stolen from me.

My hand trembles as I bring my fork to my mouth, and I stare straight ahead, determined to keep this simple and my head on straight. I refuse to give away how I feel inside, like a fucking wrecking ball.

“Laya, this is Emi. Shaw’s wife. Emi, this is my daughter, Laya.” Steph introduces Laya to Emi.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were married, Shaw,” Laya says, and I balk at that. Of course she doesn’t fucking know, she’s never here. Then, during her college breaks, she chooses to be anywhere but here.

“You wouldn’t fucking know. You’re never home,” I grumble, unable to help myself.

“Well, I’m here now, and I have news.” I squeeze my eyes shut on her soft voice. Why the fuck does it have to hurt so damn much?

“What news? Is everything okay?” Mark asks, and my eyes snap open.

“I’m married.”

Gasps fill the table, then it falls silent. Instead of paying her the attention she craves, I shovel another forkful of green beans into my mouth, choosing to ignore the pain lancing through my chest like it doesn’t exist.

Denial.

“And there’s more.” Her voice drones on while I try to control the rage inside me, the blood surging through my veins at an alarming speed.

“I’m pregnant!”

I pause with my fork midair.

Did she just say she’s pregnant?

“What the fuck, Laya?” Tate explodes from his chair, and I’m unable to breathe, the room closing in around me, my chest caving in. I push back on my chair, sending it falling to the floor while I push through the clouds in my vision to get outside; I need fresh air. I need to fucking breathe.

She’s pregnant.

The cold air hits me, and I reel back on my heels. I’ve never felt so out of control in my entire life. Sickness wells inside me, bile churning as it rises and sticks in my throat.

I grip onto the balcony railing and feel like I’m falling. “Oh shit.” I close my eyes, willing it all to be a dream. “Please! Fuck!” I scream, not caring who hears. Not giving a damn for the first time, not giving a motherfucking damn who knows.

I breathe in through my nose and out of my mouth until the pulsating in my ears dampens and my pulse settles.

“Have you got something to tell me, Owen?” I still at the sound of Tate’s firm voice. He’s pissed.

But he doesn’t know anything. He just suspects because I couldn’t keep a lid on my damn emotions.

I suck in a sharp breath and steel my emotions as I turn to face him.

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