Page 68 of Twins for the Mountain Daddies

She cuts me off, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Well, it’s one of yours, seeing as I’ve been stuck with you guys for eight weeks.”

And then she’s storming off again, leaving me stunned and speechless for the second time in five minutes.

Twins.

One of ours.

I don’t know how long I stand there, but it feels like forever. My hands are numb, but I feel a warmth, an uncomfortable heat that I recognize as guilt. I’m still trying to process, to understand, to make sense of any of this.

Ivy’s already disappeared around the corner, and I’m left alone in the parking lot, staring at the spot where she just was.

Holy shit.

Chapter 32

Ivy

The ride back is awkward as hell. I wedge myself between Holt and Wyatt on the truck’s worn-out bench seat, arms tucked in tight like I’m afraid touching either of them will make this situation worse. Which, honestly, it might.

I’ve faced swarms of paparazzi and screaming fans more times than I can count. But this? This ambush hits a thousand times harder.

Wyatt blew up my whole plan. I wasn’t going to tell them. I mean, I was, just not yet. I needed time to process, to figure out how to even form the wordsI’m pregnantwithout hyperventilating. But, nope. Wyatt had to go ruin that.

Now, he’s sitting beside me, radiating nervous energy. I can feel him watching me, waiting for me to say something. Anything. I know he’s worried, but I’m too wound up to reassure him. If I open my mouth, I might start screaming and never stop. Instead, I give him a tight-lipped smile, which probably looks more like a grimace, and hope he’ll take the hint.

Holt shifts next to me, his knee brushing mine. He’s been doing that a lot—shifting and looking at me like he’s expecting me to sprout another head at any moment. I stare out the window, pretending to be fascinated by the passing trees, hopinghe’ll stop trying to figure out what’s going on inside my head. If Wyatt told him, he’s doing a damn good job of keeping a straight face. But I don’t think he did. Yet, anyway.

My stomach churns—not just from nausea, though that’s still hanging around like an unwanted party guest, but from the sheer weight of what’s coming.

The truck feels smaller and smaller, like the walls are closing in on me. I need air. I need space. I need to figure out how the hell I’m going to handle this. Mostly, I need to know if they’ll even want me around once they find out.

I’m practically diving out of the truck when we pull in front of the cabin. I do not pass go, I do not collect two hundred dollars. I make a beeline straight for my room, eyes locked ahead like a racehorse with blinders, determined to escape before anyone can corner me.

I shut myself in my room, pressing my back against the door like that’ll somehow keep reality from barging in. Wyatt better not say anything. He didn’t tell Holt, so maybe he’s waiting for me to tell them myself. Maybe he actually understands that I need a second to process before the interrogation starts.

I want to scream into a pillow or maybe throw one at Wyatt’s head. I don’t even know if it’s his. Or Holt’s. I do know it’s not Hank’s. The thought makes me dizzy. I sink onto the bed, trying to breathe, trying to think. But I can’t focus. I can’t do anything except wait for the inevitable sound of?—

“What?” Hank’s voice booms through the cabin, and I flinch. Wyatt. That little shit.

It’s not even a blink later before Hank is banging on my door like he’s about to break it down. “Ivy!” he yells. “Open up.”

I hesitate, my hand on the knob. My stomach drops. I squeeze my eyes shut, take one last deep breath, and open it.

Hank is right there, practically vibrating with tension. Holt and Wyatt stand just behind him, broadcasting a different kind of nervous energy.

“You’re pregnant?” Hank’s voice is rough, almost accusing.

I nod, my throat tight. I blink at Hank, his expression somewhere between disbelief and fury. He’s practically radiating heat, nostrils flaring like a bull about to charge. I get that this was unexpected, but I’m not sure I understand his reaction.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he snaps, arms crossing over his chest.

I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. I’m too stunned by the accusation, by the anger in his voice.

“I can’t believe this.” Hank shakes his head, his hands running through his hair. “Was this your plan all along? Trap us? Make sure we couldn’t walk away?”

The words hit me like a slap, and I recoil. “No! I didn’t even know until?—”

His jaw ticks. “How do we even know?—”

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