Page 27 of Secret Shifters Next Door

A groan escaped my lips as the hot water cascaded down my body. I mentally cursed Tate. Why did he have to be the one who fixed it? I didn’t know how to show my gratitude. Pushing the thought from my mind, I lathered soap over my body and scrubbed the sweat off my body. Once done, I sat on the shower bench and enjoyed the feel of the water streaming over me.

I’d lost track of time when I heard the front door open. “Shit.”

I jumped out of the shower and pulled on a pair of shorts and a white tank top, not even bothering with a bra. I probably still had time to get downstairs and help the girls bring the groceries in when they got home.

I jogged down the stairs, hair still dripping, and almost slid to a stop. Frozen in place, I stared at the front door, where Tate stood holding a paper grocery bag. My eyes locked on him, his on me. His gaze traveled down my body, and I was suddenly aware of the thin white tank top. The dark outline of my nipples was probably visible. Heat crept into my cheeks, and I had to force myself not to cover my chest with my hands.

The heat in my face drained away, and a chill ran up my spine when I saw that Tate wasn’t looking at my breasts but at my slightly rounded belly. The girls hadn’t noticed the tiny bump, and I’d thought I was still safe from discovery. Obviously, from the look in his eyes, that wasn’t the case.

The girls stood by the kitchen door, awkwardly watching us stare each other down. The looks on their faces said they were confused by the strange standoff. I wished they didn’t have to be here for this.

Tate, never taking his eyes off me, handed his bag to Mariah. “Girls, go put the groceries away. I need to talk to your mom.”

Instead of questioning it, surprisingly, Jordyn and Mariah did exactly what he asked of them without a single protest. Tatewalked up the steps toward me. When he got to the step below me, he placed a warm hand against my stomach and unhurriedly guided me back up the stairs.

I clutched at the banister and slowly walked backward, keeping my eyes locked on his. What was he thinking? What was he feeling? Did he know? How could he know? I didn’t look pregnant yet, just bloated—maybe a little more than just regular bloat. The look in his eyes was intense but not dangerous. Nothing about the situation made me fearful. I was terrified, but in a different way.

He gently steered me into my bedroom and closed the door behind us. He turned to make sure it was latched, and I finally came back to my senses. Panic flooded me. What did he want? How many different ways could the next few minutes play out? Screaming, yelling, crying, accusations—all of the above? God, could this day get any worse? Why were so many damned questions spinning through my head?

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice cracking.

Ignoring my question, he turned to face me, staring right at me. He didn’t speak or move; he just looked at me. It could have been that he was trying to think of what to say, or what to ask, but he looked almost like a statue. Immovable. Uncaring. Perhaps he was waiting for me to say something again.

I repeated my original question, putting more strength and conviction into my voice. “What are you doing, Tate?”

“Is there something you need to tell me?” he asked, ignoring my question.

He did know. Somehow, he realized I was pregnant. All coherent thoughts fled my mind, replaced by abject, unblinking fear. I fell back to my only defense. Denial.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, hoping the confused derision in my voice sounded genuine.

“You don’t?” His gaze flicked to my belly, and he tilted his head. “Looking a little rounder than when you moved in, aren’t you?”

I sputtered, not even sure how to respond to such a direct accusation. I wanted to be shocked or offended, but… hewasfucking right.

Forcing the shocked look on my face to morph into one of irritation, I said, “Tate, it’s not really polite to point out when a woman’s gained weight. You may not have a lot of experience with that, but it’s pretty rude, actually.”

Tate threw his head back, rolling his eyes, before fixing me with a knowing grin. “Is this why you’ve been feeling sick?”

I wanted to respond with another lie, anything to get him out of here, but he continued speaking before I could.

“Your girls are worried as shit about you. That tells me they don’t know either…”

He was piecing everything together. I’d been an idiot to think I could keep it hidden. All the ridiculous thoughts and plans I had to keep the baby a secret were unraveling because he was too damned smart––because he couldn’t keep his damned nose out of my business.

“This isn’t your concern. It has nothing to do with you,” I said.

Tate stepped forward, uncomfortably close but not touching me, his face soft and calm. “Are you sure about that?”

“Y-yes. It’s—” I thought for a split second and made one last attempt at lying. “It’s not yours. It’s my ex’s, but he’s not a great guy. That’s why we moved away. I wanted to raise the baby away from him.”

That was a pretty decent story. It was honestly as close to the truth as I could get. If Luis had been the father, I still would have moved away. It made sense. It was believable. It was logical. He should have bought it hook, line, and sinker.

He smiled at me and said, “Well, a DNA test will prove it one way or another.”

“What?” It was like a slap in the face.

He winced and looked at my belly again. “I never planned on being a father. Figured it was something that would never be for me. Though, if this is my baby? I’m not going to be some deadbeat, piece-of-shit father. I won’t abandon my child.”

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