Page 115 of Daddies' Holiday Toy
How the hell am I going to run a bakery while pregnant?
How am I supposed to raise a child when I don’t even know who the father is?
Will Liam, Jack, or Reece be willing to take a test to figure out whose it is?
And if we do find out, will the responsible father step up…or just walk away?
The questions whirl through my head, loud and unrelenting.
She sighs through her nose.
“I really don’t know what you were thinking. You should’ve thought about that before you started this whole sugar daddy thing with your dad’s best friends. What’s going to happen when he finds out?”
That’s the one thing I absolutely don’t want to think about.
“Stop. We don’t even know if I’m pregnant yet. It feels like you’re jinxing me.”
“Holly, come on.”
“You think I don’t already hate myself for not being smarter about it?” I snap back at her.
I don’t mean to, she’s only trying to help, but I can’t stop. The panic is already spilling over into anger.
Not at her, but at myself. At every single reckless moment that brought me here to begin with.
This was all supposed to be fun.
A way to act out my dark fantasies with three men who were more than willing to indulge me.
Now here I am, stuck without them in my best friend’s bathroom, figuring out if I’m about to implode everything.
When the little chime from the timer on my phone goes off, I can’t move. Mallory steps forward, and picks up the stick, turning it around to face her.
Her face says it before her mouth does.
As her eyes flick to mine, they’re filled with pity, or maybe fear, I can’t quite tell. “Oh… It’s…”
When she flips it around to show me, my heart sinks, already knowing.
Positive.
The word blurs on the tiny screen as my vision floods.
My breath catches, making my throat burn. I press both hands to my face, but it doesn’t stop the sound—that raw, ugly sob that tears out of me before I can even think to bite it back.
My knees give out and I plunge to the ground.
The tile feels cold and hard beneath me, grounding and cruel all at once. I fold in on myself, but then Mallory is there, sinking down without hesitation to circle her arms around me.
She pulls me into her chest, her fingers weaving into my hair, holding me.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers into the crown of my head, the words muffled by my own ragged breathing. “I’m so sorry, Hol.”
I cling to her like I’m drowning and she’s the only thing keeping me above the surface.
I’m twenty-four.
My business has just begun standing on its own legs again.
