Page 57 of Mortify

"He knows." I don't mention that Regnor's been deleting them before I can hear most of them. That he's trying to shield me from Dylan's escalating threats. "He's handling it."

"Good." She settles back in her seat. "That's what ol’ men do—they handle shit."

The rest of our shift passes in a blur of calls: a kid with a broken arm from falling off his bike, an elderly woman with complications from diabetes, and a fender bender with minor injuries.

Normal calls that keep my mind busy, keep me from dwelling on the baby situation or Dylan's threats or the conversation I'll eventually have to have with my parents.

By the time we're back at the station for shift change, I'm exhausted in that bone-deep way that comes from being pregnant while working twelve-hour shifts.

"You coming to the clubhouse thing tonight?" Vail asks as we change in the locker room.

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot."

"Fern's holiday party. We really need an early Christmas celebration since everyone's been so stressed with the lockdown." She pulls on jeans and a festive red sweater. "Good excuse to drink and pretend things are normal for a few hours."

Normal.

I barely remember what that feels like.

"Yeah, I'll be there." I dig through my bag for the dress I brought.

"Look at you, all domestic." She grins. "Who would've thought little Everly would be shacking up with a biker?"

Who would've thought little Everly would be pregnant with her abuser's baby while pretending it belongs to a man who's never even kissed her properly?

But I don't say that.

Instead, I pull out the evergreen dress Regnor bought me last week.

He'd shown up with it after I mentioned having nothing that fit anymore, my body already changing even though I'm barely showing.

Everything is just tighter.

"That's gorgeous," Vail says. "Very festive."

The dress is beautiful—soft fabric that drapes instead of clings, hiding the slight swell of my belly while making me feel pretty instead of pregnant.

I slip it on, add some mascara and lip gloss.

Trying to look like a woman who has her shit together instead of one living an elaborate lie.

Regnor's voice from the doorway makes me jump. "There's my girl."

He's leaning against the frame, leather cut over a dark henley, looking at me like I'm something precious.

The act is so convincing sometimes I almost believe it myself.

"Hey," I say, hyper aware of Vail watching us. "You're early."

"Couldn't wait." He pushes off the frame, crosses to me in three strides. His hand finds my waist, thumb brushing over the fabric. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks."

The word comes out breathless.

Because he's looking at me like hemeansit, like the dress and the pregnancy and the exhaustion don't matter.

Like I'm beautiful just for existing.

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