Page 86 of Stick Work

I turn and—fuck.

Grandma’s diamond catches the light as Kalen picks it up from the coffee table.

I whip back to Taylor, throat tightening. “You got it off.” My eyes drop to her bare hand. The sight of it, the absence of that stupid little band, hits harder than a puck to the face and I recoil. “How? Why?” I murmur, and shake my head.

Why the hell am I asking why? I know the why.

She doesn’t want to be married to me. Sure we’re great together in bed. But she has her whole life ahead of her, and I can’t be a selfish prick and ask for more, only for her to resent me down the road.

Before she can explain, before she can say anything that might shatter whatever hope I was stupid enough to entertain earlier, I nod, forcing a tight, empty smile. “Good.” My voice is rough. “That’s good.”

Her eyes widen, confusion flickering across her face as I put a measure of distance between us, her free ring finger the wake-up call I needed.

“What’s good? What are you talking about, Elias?” Kalen’s gaze flicks from the ring to me, then to Taylor, his brows pulling together. “Taylor?”

Silence. Thick, suffocating. Taylor stays curled up on the couch, her feet tucked beneath her, and I feel the weight of it pressing down on my chest. I force out a laugh, aiming for casual, but it comes out hollow. “It was just a misunderstanding,” I say, waving a hand like this whole thing is nothing more than some ridiculous mix-up.

Kalen frowns, turning the ring over in his fingers. Then it happens. Recognition. The moment realization dawns in his eyes, his whole face changes, shifts. His brows lift, his mouth parts slightly as concern morphs into worry.

“What the fuck happened in Vegas?” he demands.

I quickly blurt out everything. Well, not everything, but enough for him to piece together a story that makes this seem less of a disaster. “Grandma,” I finally joke, forcing a laugh as I glance at Taylor. “Am I right or am I right?”

Nothing.

Not a smile. Not even a flicker of amusement.

She won’t look at me. Won’t look at anyone.

What the hell is going on with her?

The unease in my gut tightens. I reach over, plucking the ring from Kalen’s tight fingers, and shove it deep into my pocket. Out of sight, out of mind. If only it could be that easy.

“Don’t worry,” I say quickly. “Grandma’s getting this back, and I’m going to fix it.”

A small sound, barely more than a squeak, comes from Taylor. I turn to her just in time to see her face drain of color. If I thought she was pale before…

“Jesus, Elias.” Kalen’s voice cuts through the chaos in my brain. “How the hell did you let this happen?”

I slice my hands through the air, dismissing it. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it, buddy. I’m going to fix this.”

Taylor makes another sound, a choked noise that has my stomach twisting into a tight, uneasy knot. I look at her again. Really look at her. She isn’t just pale. She isn’t just quiet. She’s a wreck. Like something is breaking apart inside of her. Her eyes flick to Sahara, and that’s when I know. Whatever this is—it’s bigger than Vegas. Bigger than the marriage.

“Taylor?” I say, my voice lower now as I try to stay calm—her anchor—as she weathers a storm.

Sahara stands. “You two need to talk. In private.” She reaches for Kalen’s hand, trying to pull him with her.

Kalen resists, his eyes narrowing. “Why?” His voice hardens. “What else is going on here?” His accusatory glare locks on me, but I can’t meet his eyes.

“Just come with me,” Sahara urges, pulling harder.

“I’m pregnant,” Taylor blurts out. The words drop like a bomb. Everything stops. A cold, eerie stillness falls over the room, like all the air has been sucked out, leaving behind only the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears. I turn to her, and the second I see the tears, I drop to my knees. But I must have heard her wrong. She just said she was sick. Right? Not pregnant.

But I already know I’m wrong.

My chest locks up, lungs refusing to work. I try to breathe, but the room feels too damn small, too damn tight.

“Taylor,” Sahara says softly, her voice gentle, coaxing.

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