Page 60 of Beautifully Reckless

I blink a few times wondering if Lexi and Ringo planned this given their matching smirks, before I’m distracted by the sonographer pressing the probe thingy to my skin.

All eyes turn to the screen.

It’s nothing but black, white and grey at first. Nothing really resembling much until…

“And there’s your little bub.” The sonographer’s words have me blinking a few times to see past the tears blurring my vision.

But I see it.

The shapes… the round of a head. The bud of a nose. And oh my gosh… even lips.

I giggle as a little hand moves, looking like it’s waving.

“Holy shit, Abs,” Lexi cries. “Look at your little baby.”

I laugh through my tears, seeing even Andrea is getting emotional. I look at everyone but Ringo.

I can’t.

I’m too scared.

What if I see pain in his eyes? What if I see regret, or even worse, resentment?

“Do you want to know if it’s a boy or girl?” the sonographer asks, and all eyes turn to me.

Do I?

I hadn’t even thought of that. It’s probably something I should have considered. I guess that and thinking of names, but I’ve been too busy trying to stay alive. Too busy running.

“I don’t,” I say quietly, clearing my throat. “I’d like it to be a surprise.”

She nods, giving me a warm smile, and Lexi squeezes my hand, pressing a kiss to it before she holds my hand out, offering it to Ringo.

I don’t know why she does that, but he takes it, and when I finally glance at him, his whiskey eyes are softer than I’ve ever seen them.

Resting an elbow on the bed, Ringo leans in to press his lips to my fingers. The tenderness of it steals my breath, making me forget a complete stranger is currently probing my stomach.

This soft side of Ringo is almost jarring.

We barely know each other.

I’m eighteen. He’s thirty-three. That’s like fifteen years difference.

He walks on the wild side and brushes shoulders with criminals. I go to church and confess my sins to a congregation of perverted men.

We’re polar opposites.

Fire and water.

Chaos and calm.

And yet… we’ve been thrown together. A broken girl and her dangerous protector.

On paper, in society’s eyes, we don’t make sense.

So why does it feel so damn right?

Why does Ringo, holding my hand during my first ultrasound for a baby that isn’t even his, feel like the safest place in the world?

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