Chapter One
Grace
I’m suing Trojan.
Ninety-eight percent effective, my ass.
Ten tests.
Each one positive.
The only time I want my period, she decides to go on hiatus.
Stupid thing always had bad timing—prom night, spring breaks, recovering from a bad breakup.
I stare at the white stick I’m holding with tears rolling down my cheeks.
Two thin pink lines.
Two reminders of what I did.
How could I have been so stupid?
I slept with a man I should’ve never slept with.
Trusted and fell for a man who was nothing but a heartless, lying asshole.
I’m unsure of how long I’ve been sitting here, slumped against the tub with the cold tiles hitting the backs of my thighs. I pull my knees to my chest and stare at the truth, wishing I had the power to change it.
A knock on the door breaks me away from my thoughts of regret. Tensing, I grip the stick, and my breath is heavy, as if I’d run a 10K.
Like that’ll ever happen.
“Grace,” Cassidy, my roommate, calls from the other side.
Wiping my snotty nose with my arm, I open my mouth to answer, but no words come. A faint whimper is my only response.
She knocks again. “Are you okay?”
Hell no.
I’m pregnant … and terrified.
My overpriced Catholic high school was on to something in their abstinence sex-ed classes when they forced us to watch those childbirth videos. It scarred me for life. Sure, eventually, I planned to marry and have kids. My plan was to at least be prepared and have a partner to share this moment with.
The door slowly opens at my lack of response, and Cassidy slips inside the bathroom. She shuts the door, resting her back against it, and sighs. Concern is etched along her face as our gazes meet.
I sluggishly hold up the stick as if I were seven and Santa had brought me the wrong Barbie for Christmas. “I’m pregnant.”
My heart races at my confession.
It’s the first time those words have left my mouth.
The first time my secret has been given permission to break into reality.
It’ll become my new world, a regular phrase in my vocabulary for the next nine months. Although as my belly grows, that’ll be the only evidence people need. Deep down, I know dreading becoming a mother is terrible. I’m a teacher, for Christ’s sake. I’m supposed to adore the little rascals, but just because I enjoy children doesn’t mean I’m ready to become a single mother. I’ll be nursing a baby while nursing my broken heart.
Her soft voice cuts me away from my thoughts. “Is it his?”
I nod. “Unfortunately.”
My family is going to kill me.
I’m going to kill him.
The man who swore he was falling in love with me but lied.
The man I wish I could take back ever touching.
The man I thought was different.
Chapter Two
Finn
“You asshole!” a drunken idiot yells, the stench of his beer and nacho breath hitting me in the face.
Gripping the back of his shirt, I smirk. “An asshole who’s kicking you out.”
He grunts and stumbles forward as I forcefully guide him through the bar and outside to the parking lot. I release him, and he turns to flip me off, nearly tripping on his feet. Shaking my head, I chuckle and wait for his ride to pick him up. His friends shove him into the back seat, cursing him for ruining their night, and I wave good-bye before returning to the bar.
Another night, another shift of tossing drunk idiots out of Twisted Fox—the bar where I work. I’m the bouncer, ID checker, and the man who handles any bullshit from customers.
Two guys shove their IDs at me as soon as I’m back at the door, and I step aside, allowing them entry.
There’s no stopping a huge-ass grin from taking over my face when the next group comes into view.
I whistle. “There are my favorite girls.”
That’s not some bullshit compliment babbled with the hopes of getting laid at the end of the night—a popular move among guys in my line of work. Being a bouncer at bars and clubs gives sway with the ladies.
The compliment is the truth.
The nights are always better when they’re here.
What’s also the truth? They’re off-limits to me.
Georgia, the snarkiest and shortest, is at the front of the line. “Hey, Finney,” she says, playfully smacking my stomach.
Behind her is Lola, who winks, and then Cassidy wiggles her fingers in a wave before blowing me a kiss.
I love this group of girls, but no matter what, I have a number one, and tonight, she’s at the end of the line.
Save the best for last.
Grace Mitchell.
The only person I’m terrified to love.
The only woman I’m not supposed to crave like I do.
This woman has somehow slipped underneath my skin, rooting her innocence there, and no matter how hard I fight my feelings for her, there’s no winning.
She’s all I’ll ever want and everything I don’t deserve.
An alarm rings through me as I look at her, yet she won’t do the same with me. Her customary smile—that polite, sweet, and lopsided yet cute-as-fuck grin—is nonexistent and replaced with a deep depth of worry. She walks at a slow pace, and her shoulders are slumped as if being held down by a deep burden.
What the fuck?
This isn’t my Grace.
I stop her before she passes me. “Damn, babe, bad day?”
“Bad week,” she mutters, fidgeting with the strap of her designer handbag.
Just as I’m about to ask why, Georgia says, “Let’s grab our table before my favorite is stolen.”
Cassidy laughs. “Your favorite, meaning the one closest to your man?”
“Damn straight.” Georgia smirks at her. “Don’t act like it’s not close to your boyfriend too.”
Lola gestures toward their usual table. “Silas is already saving it for us.”
Neglecting my job and not giving a shit—sorry, bosses (aka my friends who won’t fire me)—I follow them to the table. On my way, I direct another employee to take my place. The girls slide out their stools, plopping down one by one. As soon as Grace’s ass hits her seat, she bows her head, her strawberry-blond hair creating a wall of curls around her face.
My gut twists from seeing her like this. Squeezing between her and Georgia, I tip my head and whisper in Grace’s ear, “What happened?”
“Nothing,” she rushes out.
Georgia slaps her hand on the table. “All right, give me your margarita orders.”
Everyone blurts out their flavor but Grace.
“Just a water for me,” she replies, her voice soft.
“No margarita?” Georgia asks, raising a brow.
Margarita nights are a weekly tradition for them. Not only that, but it’s also her go-to when she’s having a shit day.
“I wish,” Grace replies before slapping a hand over her mouth and shutting her eyes. She quickly changes her tone. “I work in the morning.”
Lola checks her watch. “Babe, you look like you’ve had a hell of a day. Have a drink, scarf down some greasy bar food, and don’t give a shit about calories. Consider it a serotonin booster.” She winks at her. “Trust me, I’m a pro at this stuff.”