Page 132 of Forking the Billionaire

“Calypso Caribella, yass or pass?”

“I wish I never left.”

“So that’s a yes.” He winked at me, tapped my shoulder, then split.

I could still go back.

I had nine months to figure things out. That’s how long it took to grow a baby, right? When did that countdown start exactly?

For now, I needed to focus on my work, on the project and the problems in front of me.

But instead of doing those things, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through article after article about pregnancy. I read about morning sickness, back pain, and trouble sleeping. Then there were mood swings and skin issues and cravings.

Who was going to run to the store in the middle of the night to get pickles and ice cream if that’s what Esme craved?

It should be me.

The idea of someone else stepping into that role made my head throb. Or when her feet swelled and she had something heavy to lift, what would she do if she had no one?

She shouldn’t have to do all of this alone.

I’d thought I had the perfect life here, with everything figured out. But I couldn’t go five minutes without wishing I had never left that island.

My life was meaningless without Esme in it.

I didn’t just want to be there for the baby.

I wanted Esme.

But my epic fuck-up proved I didn’t deserve her.

How much more would I hurt her if I returned? What if she ended up like my mom, so heartbroken she walked around for years with a shellshocked and exhausted look on her face? What if I screwed up our kid as badly as my dad screwed me up?

I scrubbed my palms over my eyes.

A knock came from the front door. Marc must have forgotten something since he’d turned in his key.

“Coming,” I called as I headed over to let him back in.

I opened the door.

Marc wasn’t standing there, though. Instead I was looking at my brothers, Oscar and Sebastian.

The pair couldn’t look less alike, and only part of that was because of us all having different mothers. Oscar was a walking scowl, all work and no fun. Sebastian was all fun and no work.

“Do I want to ask what brings the two of you together?” I asked. “I don’t think I can handle another funeral right now.”

“Invite us in,” Oscar said.

I stepped back and gestured for them to enter.

Oscar looked around the living room, his hands in his pockets.

Sebastian said. “This quaint little home really proves that happiness isn't always tied to square footage. It's like a rustic dollhouse.”

It was intended as a compliment, even if it didn’t completely sound that way.

“Thanks,” I told him. “Why exactly are you guys here? Not answering me makes it seem like someone really did die.”

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