Page 72 of SINS & Riley
Not today. I’m full-out sprinting.
And two breaths from blacking out… or hacking up a lung.
Leaves crack under my shoes. Branches lash my arms, snag my hair. Fine. At least something’s running a brush through it today.
By the time I round the mausoleum, I’m doubled over, clutching my side, sweat sliding down my spine.
But it’s worth it.
Because he’s here.
The doctor.
“Oh, thank God.” I collapse against the wall, fighting to catch my breath.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. He just stands there, foot tapping, eyes narrowed.
“Where the hell have you been?”
I blink through the haze, lungs on fire. “Sorry.” Pant. “I’m—” pant-pant. “—a little late.”
Frustrated, he scrubs a hand through his hair, pacing. “You have no idea what I’m risking to be here.”
“Well, that makes two of us.”
That’s when I see it—his other hand, wrapped in gauze, stained with the rust of dried blood.
Zver’s words slam back like a hammer: I let him live.
Shit. My eyes squeeze shut. I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I?—”
The doctor exhales slow, like he’s forcing the edge out of his voice. “It’s fine. I’m just…on edge.”
He reaches into his pocket. When his hand comes back, it’s holding a folded sheet of paper.
“Your results.”
I tear it from him before I can stop myself, drawing a shaky breath, and read.
One word jumps off the page.
Positive.
In a single word, my world detonates—shattering everything under me. My knees give out, the mausoleum wall scraping cold against my spine before I hit the ground.
I fold in on myself, clutching my knees to my chest.
What the hell am I going to do?
Breathe, Riley.
Just fucking breathe.
The doctor doesn’t kneel. Doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t even check if the pregnant woman hyperventilating on the ground is okay.
Nope. He just stands there, blank and useless. Until he finally opens his idiot mouth.
“You sure he’s the father?”
