Page 57 of Halfway to Hell

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Chapter 23

Sunday and Texas stared at the white plastic stick in her trembling hand.

Two pink lines. Clear. Undeniable.

Her knees gave out, and she sank onto the edge of the bed. All she could do was stare. The world felt distant, muffled, like cotton had been stuffed into her ears.

When she finally looked up, Texas was still standing there—pale, silent, stunned.How the hell had this happened?

It was the dumbest question she could’ve asked herself. She knew exactly how. They hadn’t been careful. There’d been no discussion, no plan, no talk of children or even the future.

Sunday shut her eyes, trying to slow the spin of her thoughts. One thing at a time. Being pregnant didn’t mean marriage. She had to remember that. Texas hadbeenmarried. He’d lost his wife. He might never want that again.

Texas snatched the test from her hand, staring at it like it might suddenly explain itself. “What the hell do two lines mean?” he muttered. “Wasn’t it one line for pregnant?”

He grabbed the crumpled instructions from the counter and scanned them, flipping the paper over, then back again, frustration building.

“Are you pregnant?” he asked, voice tight.

Sunday nodded, her whole-body trembling.

“Fuck me.”

Her eyes widened at his response, and Texas saw the fear flicker behind them.

He crossed the room and dropped to a crouch in front of her, cupping her face with a rough, gentle hand. His thumb brushed away the tear that slid down her cheek.

“Hey,” he said softly, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t cry.”

“You’re mad.”

“No,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’m not mad.”

He held out both hands to her, steady and sure. “Come on. Let’s go tell our family and friends we’re gonna be parents.”

Sunday hesitated for half a second, then slipped her hands into his. He pulled her up gently, wrapping her in his arms for a moment before easing back.

Part of her wanted to ask,Are you really okay with this?But the words stuck in her throat. She didn’t want to push, didn’t want to make it heavier than it already was.

Texas must have sensed her hesitation, because he tightened his arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

Without another word, he guided her out of the room, walking with her toward the living room like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Texas sat beside Sunday, trying to steady the storm rolling through his chest. He wasn’t mad—not at her. But himself? Yeah. He was angry.

They should’ve talked about this. Abouteverything. Mostly about his daughter. He stared down at his hands, flexing his fingers like he might shake the guilt out of them. The fear he’d buried years ago came roaring back now, sharp and cold.

The doctors had called it a rare birth defect. Nothing they could’ve predicted. Nothing they could’ve done. But what if it hadn’t been a fluke? What if it was genetic?

He and Lisa had never looked into it. After the funeral, she’d shut the door on having more kids, and Texas hadn’t pushed. It hurt too much. Now, with Sunday pregnant, he found himself wishing—no, needing—answers.

“Texas,” Sunday said quietly.

Her voice pulled him from the spiral. He looked up, locking eyes with her.

They’d been thrown together out of necessity—her safety first, nothing more. But somewhere between Sudbury and here, something had shifted. They’d found something real.

Sunday had been the one thing that made him feel whole again. She’d reached the part of him he’d buried so deep, he’d almost forgotten it existed and she’d brought it back to life.