Page 37 of The SEALs' Single Mom Baby Surprise

Because I can’t fathom anything happening to them.

The shower shuts off, and we three all turn toward the door. We’re in trouble where she’s concerned. Big trouble.

17

SLOANE

The shower is hot as I step under it, taking as much pleasure as I can from how it beats against my tense muscles. Until the tears come. They’re hotter down my cheeks, falling hard as I slowly lower to the bottom of the tub.

This is the only place I can release these kinds of emotions without fear.

The violation of having unknown people in my house, touching the few things I own, my daughter’s things… it lashes deep. Almost as deep as the things Alistair did to me.

Only the threat is so much more obvious.

It should make this easier to deal with. The direct threat. But I learned how to dance around Alistair’s manipulations.

I’m so out of depth here.

At least nothing can get me in here. Right now. Not with those three overprotective assholes out there.

It takes time for the sobbing to stop and leave me with a hitch in my breath. Finally, after the tears are gone, other thoughts invade.

Like the way Shepard kissed me. At such complete odds with how I expected—so different from any way I’ve been kissed before.

My raging teenage hormones threw me at Skylar, and that mistake got me the best thing that ever happened to me. My baby girl.

But the aftermath left me alone. Vulnerable. A teen mom with an infant. No home. No parents to help me.

All I had was a dorm room and a pre-paid food plan.

And a mentor who took me under his wing. Who saw potential in me even though I’d fucked up my life so thoroughly.

His guidance and care got me through a rough time. Postpartum depression is a bitch. I was useless for weeks, and Alistair took over.

At first, it seemed like a blessing. Someone to help me rebuild my life, to lend some of their time and already established life until I could give back.

A sick shudder runs through me as I sink lower under the spray.

I did give back. More than gave back. My paychecks were deposited into his bank accounts the moment I got a job so that he could give me an allowance and pay my bills. My classes were chosen for me to learn under his colleagues.

My time was accounted for, given fifteen minutes to get to class and home again unless I did an errand for him.

Playing hostess to his intellectual parties—cooking treats, serving drinks, taking too many pats and squeezes of my ass. Too many leering men.

How he’d guilt me onto my knees at the end of the night for teasing his friends and making him jealous. It was an excuse he used often to get a blow job. Or he’d insult my technique and tell me I needed to practice. Or he’d say I owed him a favor for helping me with Reese.

I’d missed so many red flags with Alistair.

No red flags are popping now. Not with the way Shepard still pokes at me even though I keep pushing him away.

Not when Rhett almost kissed me this morning after staying up all night to watch us.

Or how Cole lingered at my back when I was one thread away from unraveling completely, all protective and warm.

And nothing? No warning bells other than the ones I keep trying to tell myself.

I don’t need this.

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