Page 32 of Choices

What the hell did I do? Spinning the lid off, it bounces with a clink…clink…clink…across the tiles, coming to rest by the toilet. I sink to the cold floor, gulping at the fiery amber liquid, pounding it back until my throat is raw and my gut churns. Bringing the sheet to my face, I inhale the scent of us and close my eyes.

When I open them, Claire is standing over me dripping water onto my face. “What are you doing?” I croak, my voice gruff.

“Callan is at the door, and I need to pee. You wouldn’t wake up.”

“What time is it?” I attempt to move, and my body protests the action, my limbs stiff, like rigor mortis set in overnight. Maybe I did die and this is my hell.

Bouncing on the spot, she says, “Six in the morning.” Swiveling her attention between me and the toilet, she adds, “I really need to pee.”

“Sorry,” I grunt, noticing the sheet still tightly in my grip. Pushing myself to my feet I shuffle out to find Callan standing between the bed and entryway.

“What the actual fuck? Have you lost your damn mind? My old man will help you find it.” His lips curl into a sneer as he punches out toward the bathroom door.

“It’s complicated,” I grumble, yanking open my closet and chucking the sheet inside.

“Uncomplicate it,” he barks out, his voice carrying through the room, jarring my brain.

I move around him to close the bedroom door and breathe out, “She’s pregnant.”

“Excuse me?” He steps forward until we’re an arm’s length apart and turns his head, putting a hand to his ear like the information was too hard to compute and needs repeating.

I incline my head and say more firmly, “She’s pregnant.”

Snorting, we exchange looks that need no words but he says them anyway. “Well, it isn’t my old man’s—and it can’t be yours.”

“Only you know that.” Leaning my back against the doorframe, I scrub my hands down my face and exhale an exhausted breath that reeks of whisky. Callan is the only person who knows about me being infertile. It’s a fact I didn’t want people to know. Feeling embarrassed and ashamed oversomething entirely out of my control is pathetic. It doesn’t make me less of a man. I know that, but knowing and forcing yourself to believe is complex.

“What does that mean?”

The bathroom door opens, and Claire’s head pokes out. “Is it okay to shower?” Her tone is soft, wary, as she flits her gaze between us.

“Do what you want. There’s a fresh towel in the cabinet.”

“I found the towels. Thank you.”

She’s already making herself at home. A second later, the shower blasts.

“Have you lost your mind?” Callan’s face screws up in disgust.

“Your old man wants to fucking kill her.” I jab a hand toward the closed door. “She was puking and begging and I went along with the lie.”

“So, you’re going to be dad to some club slut’s baby?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Might be my only chance to have a kid.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. This isn’t the way, Cutter.”

“It’s done.”

“It can be undone.”

“No.” I stand firm. “This is how it is. How it’s going to be.”

“Has she even told you who the dad is? She may not even be pregnant.”

Blanching, I ask, “Why would she lie?”

“If she thought it’d sway my old man, the bitch will say anything.”

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