Page 64 of Mortify

"What was that for?" I whisper.

"Because I wanted to. Because you're mine, even if it started as a lie." His forehead rests against mine. "Because that asshole needed to see it, and he's probably watching from his car."

I don't look.

Don't care if Dylan's watching.

All I care about is the solid warmth of Regnor against me, the safety of his arms, the certainty in his voice when he calls me his.

"We should tell people," I say suddenly. "Tonight. At the party. Make it official."

"You sure?"

"He knows. By tomorrow, he'll be spreading his version. Better if we control the narrative. And if you want me with you at the club… we need to tell my parents too."

"Smart girl." He kisses me again, quick but thorough. "Your dad's gonna lose his shit."

"Probably." I think about Dad's rules, his protectiveness, his fury when he finds out. "You scared?"

"Of your dad? Fuck yes." He grins. "But you're worth it. Both of you are worth it."

His hand finds my stomach again, protective.

The baby that's not his but somehow is.

The lie that's becoming the truth.

The future that started as desperation but might become something real.

"Let's go face the music," I say.

And for the first time since those two lines appeared on the test, I actually believe we might make this work.

CHAPTER SIX

Everly

The whipped cream and ginger ale feel like props in a play I'm no longer sure I'm acting in.

Regnor's hand rests on my lower back as we enter the clubhouse, and the weight of it feels different now.

After that kiss.

After Dylan.

Aftereverything.

The party's in full swing—kids running around with cookies, Christmas music mixing with classic rock, the smell of cinnamon and pine almost masking the ever-present leather and beer.

But something shifts when we walk in.

Conversations stutter.

Eyes track our movement.

Gunnar—Vail and Vanir's teenage son—is holding court near the pool table with some of the younger crowd.

"I'm telling you, they were really going at it," he's saying, animated with the importance of having gossip. "Like, against Fern's car and everything. Thought they were gonna?—"

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