Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
But all I can think about now is how feral Rust became when Cain Cruz aimed the trash talk at us. He’s never lost it like that. I check my phone and swipe. Cain Cruz has uploaded the photo of us to Instagram with the caption, Suspicious, ladies and gents? Look at those lovers’ eyes. You’ll see by how the so-called bogeyman No Rust reacts that I’m DEAD on the money.
“What an ass,” Brad says, laughing as he looks down at the post.
“I guess he’s just trying to be a showman,” I say, desperate for a change of topic.
“He’s just throwing crap at the wall and seeing what sticks.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Marquis says, looking at me like he’s noticing something and piecing it all together. I stare at the floor, feeling a shimmer inside of me, like a taunt. Like our baby is laughing at the mess we’re making.
Rust opens the door to his dressing room, looking around at us with a forced smirk. He’s trying to make light of it, but it’s not working. We can all feel the genuine rage flaring in him.
“Rust, are you calm, yes?” Marquis approaches. “Are you healthy?”
“Healthy?” Rust says in disgust.
“In the mind,” Marquis goes on. “You cannot let this man get to you just because he’s the only man who’s defeated you. Is that it?”
Rust glances at me. I almost bite my lip to relieve some of the tension. Eye contact feels like a promise to us, a whole universe of want.
“Dead on the money,” Rust says, sighing, lying. I know how badly he wants to tell the truth. The storm tattoo burns against my shoulder like it’s joining in with the baby’s taunting.
“You cannot let those thoughts win,” Marquis says sternly. “Those whispers and your doubts, tell me, what good do they do for you?”
“I never have any doubts.” Rust glances at me again. “Not usually.”
What does that mean? What is he doubting? Us? It probably says something crazy about me that my instinct is to be outraged at the idea of him doubting steaminess—and a life, a future—with his best friend’s sister is bad. Of course, he’s doubting it.
“He’s doubting because you split your legs open on your first night together,” Mom snaps hatefully in my mind.
“Time for training,” Rust says.
“Yes, we train. Brad, would you like to come to the gym?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I’ll wait at the hotel,” I say. “I’ll just get a cab. I’m not feeling well.”
The truth is, I can’t be around Rust training again. I can’t sit on the sidelines as the sweat drips all over his body, his shirt molding to him, outlining his ferocious muscles. Not after he cheered about us having a baby together, not after the steam.
“Are you sure?” Brad asks, wincing. He thinks it’s about yesterday and the argument.
“Yeah, really.”
What sort of sister am I, letting him think it’s about that? But don’t I still have a right to be mad that he lied and eavesdropped? No. Hell no. I don’t have the right to be angry about anything he ever does again.
“This is blowing up,” Chrissy says on video chat, beaming, with no idea how badly it’s making me cringe. “It’s crazy. If you take a screenshot of a video, you can tell any story you want, can’t you?”
“Seems that way,” I mutter, biting my nail.
“I’m surprised you’ve got any fingernails left. Did you finally do the you-know-what?”
“I thought you would ask me about that right away.”
“I don’t want to push you,” she says. “No offense, but you look a little crazy.”
I grin shakily. She doesn’t know about Mom, what I learned, what I’ve known in my heart for years. “I feel a little crazy, too. So it fits.”
“Did you do the test?”
“Yep. It’s positive. I’m pregnant, and…”
She waits patiently for me to go on, but this voice in my head tells me to stay quiet and stop. Maybe there’s something good that can come from this. I can finally stop listening to that voice. Stop letting fear trap me.
“Mary?”
I lower my voice, even though I know Brad is at the gym with Rust.
“Rust is the father. Oh, and I’ve had a crush on him for years. Mom left me this weird video about being pure and never sinning, but I have sinned and want to do it again and again.”
“Wait, Mary, hold up.” Chrissy is leaning over her desk, her elbows on the table, holding her head. “Just wait a second. One at a time.”
“Rust took my virginity the night of the storm, and he gave me a tattoo.”
“A tattoo?”
“He’s going to be a tattoo artist after he retires. I know it’s surprising, but he seems to like it. He can’t fight forever.”
He’ll be retired by the time the baby is five or six. They probably won’t even remember his fighting days. They’ll never have to worry about Daddy getting hurt in a cage.