Page 23 of The (Maybe) Murderer Who Knocked Me Up

“What if I want to keep it?” I ask.

Aunt Emerald smiles. “Then you have a whole family of people who will help you out. Like I said, it’s completely up to you. We will support your decision, no matter what it is.”

For the first time since Mom told me about Slade’s arrest this morning, I feel a bit of hope. Having a little kit would be wonderful. Or kits, if I’m pregnant with a litter. Sure, it would be hard, but Aunt Emerald is right. I’d have everyone’s support. My moms would be the best grandparents a kit could have, and I know my brothers would be great uncles.

But any children I had would also be Slade’s. They would have his genes.

“Do you think people ever inherit personality traits from their parents. Like, I don’t know, violent tendencies?” I ask.

Aunt Emerald presses her lips together. “I think violence is learned. Your children will grow up loved. That will counteract anything bad they may inherit.”

I wonder if Slade’s parents loved him. Maybe they tried, but they couldn’t be there for him the way they wanted to. Or maybe they weren’t loved by their parents either, and they didn’t know how to love him.

I don’t know. The way he kissed me and held me makes me think that someone did love him at some point. Maybe there was a reason he killed someone. A part of me wants to believe that his actions were justified.

But what if he really is a bad person, and I just don’t want to see it? What will happen to our kit if I expose them to someone dangerous because I can’t face the truth?

“Do I have to tell Slade about the kit?” I ask. “Legally, I mean.”

She shakes her head.

“Do you think I should?”

She pauses for a long beat. “I don’t know. That’s a tough decision. At some point, I think you’ll have to tell your kits who their alpha dad is, though. We all deserve the right to know where we came from.”

It’s all too much to process. My whole life has changed in just a few days. I don’t know what I’m going to do about Slade or how I’m going to tell my moms that I’m pregnant. But I do know one thing.

“I don’t want an abortion,” I say.

She brings me in for another hug. “I’m glad you know what you want.”

For now, that will have to be enough.

12

SEQUIN

Six years later…

Chime scurriesacross my torso and curls her little furry body on top of my face. Through the corner of my eye, I look at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It’s still five in the morning.

“Go back to sleep. It’s too early,” I moan, desperately wishing that I could turn on some cartoons and leave her to eat cereal in front of the TV, like my moms did on Saturday mornings when I was little.

Chime launches from my face to my chest, looking up at me with her adorable big black raccoon eyes. She’s so cute with her narrow snout and fuzzy pointed ears. The problem is that she knows it, and she wields that cuteness mercilessly, especially when her uncles are over. She once convinced Link to buy us all tickets to Disneyland, including airfare and a five-day stay at the hotel right inside the park. That’s why he’s not allowed to babysit her anymore. He has too much money and a complete inability to say no.

“Tell you what, my little wind chime. If you give Daddy thirty more minutes to sleep, I’ll take you to grandmas’ house early, and we’ll have breakfast there.”

Chime stands up on her hind legs and claps her paws together. Her grandmas will feed her cinnamon rolls and let her drink juice that isn’t watered down. Which is fine, because they’re watching her today, and they can deal with her inevitable sugar high.

She lies down on top of my chest and curls her tail around her body. All the doctors say we shouldn’t still be cosleeping like this. She’s five years old, and she has a room of her own in the little manufactured home I bought for us and set up right next to Aunt Emerald’s. But I love the warmth of her raccoon form resting on my chest every morning. She’s growing up so fast, and I want to savor every moment.

Just before I go back to sleep, I remember what today is. Normally, on Saturdays I drop Chime off at my moms’ house before I go to the farmer’s market to sell the cookies and bread I baked the day before. But today Aunt Emerald is handling the farmer’s market because I have a more pressing matter.

Slade gets out of prison today, and I’m going to pick him up.

My moms don’t know. My brothers don’t either. The only person I told was Aunt Emerald. She’s also the only person who knows that I still yearn for him, even after all these years. The ache is so painful sometimes, I’ve been tempted to write him again, even though I never received a response to my first letter. It doesn’t make sense. Our connection should have faded years ago, and maybe it has for him. That could be why he never wrote me back. But maybe it hasn’t. After all, he accepted my request to pick him up.

Either way, I have to know.

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