BROKEN BLOOD

Chapter Six: Positive

The drugstore pregnancy test sat on Paige’s bathroom counter like a loaded gun.

Neither of us had spoken much on the drive over. She’d called me at 7:12 a.m., still half-asleep, voice thin and shaking, and told me to come get her. Angel had still been in the shower. I’d left a note on the counter that said early meetingand hated how automatic the lie had become.

Now we were both staring at a plastic stick like it held the rest of our lives in two little windows.

“Three minutes,” Paige said. She was still in the oversized shirt she’d slept in — my shirt, actually, stolen from the last time I’d stayed late — and bare legs, bare feet, arms wrapped tight around herself. “I already feel sick. That has to mean something, right?”

“It means you’re terrified,” I said. “Same as me.”

I wasn’t terrified the way she was. That was the part I couldn’t say out loud yet. Somewhere under the panic there was a dark, possessive part of me that already wanted the answer to be yes. Wanted it to be mine. Wanted proof written into her body that I’d claimed something Dustin and Henry never had.

The timer on her phone went off.

Neither of us moved.

“You look,” she whispered.

I stepped into the bathroom, picked up the stick, and stared at two unmistakable pink lines.

Positive.

The word didn’t even need to be spoken. It was already in the air between us, changing the shape of everything.

Paige made a small broken sound behind me. When I turned, she had both hands over her mouth, eyes shining, not quite crying yet.

“Blake—”

I crossed the tiny bathroom in one step, cupped her face, and kissed her hard enough that she gasped into my mouth. Not gentle. Not comforting. Claiming. The second those two lines appeared, something feral in me stopped pretending this was temporary.

“It’s mine,” I said against her lips. “Do you hear me? Whatever the math says later — it’s mine.”

“You don’t know that—”

“I don’t care.” My forehead pressed to hers, both of us breathing like we’d run miles. “I don’t care if the universe itself tries to tell me otherwise. As of right now, that baby is mine. You’re mine. And I am done sharing any part of you.”

She shivered. Not from fear. From the exact opposite.

“Say it back,” I ordered, voice low.

“It’s yours.” The words came out wrecked already. “I’m yours. Blake—”

I lifted her onto the bathroom counter before she finished my name, shoving the shirt up over her hips. No panties. She’d known exactly how this was going to go the second she put that test on the counter. My mouth was on her throat, her collarbone, the soft place between her breasts while my fingers dragged through the wetness already waiting for me between her thighs.

“You got yourself pregnant,” I growled against her skin, two fingers sliding into her slow and deep, watching her head fall back against the mirror. “Walking around for weeks taking both of us raw and now you’re carrying it. You wanted this.”

“I—” Her hips jerked as I curled my fingers. “Blake, please—”

“Answer me.”

“Yes.” It tore out of her on a sob. “God, yes. After you started— I stopped being careful. I wanted something that wasn’t theirs. Something that was only—”

I didn’t let her finish. I freed myself, dragged her to the edge of the counter, and buried every inch of myself inside her in one hard thrust. She cried out, legs wrapping around me, nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks Angel would eventually ask about if I ever let her see me shirtless in daylight again.

“Only mine,” I finished for her, f*****g into her deep and relentless, the cheap bathroom light buzzing overhead, the positive test still sitting two feet away like a witness. “That baby is going to know one father’s name. Mine. You’re going to say it while I fill you again right now so there’s no goddamn question left.”

“Blake—”

“Louder.”

“Blake!” Her voice cracked against the tile. I drove into her harder, one hand locked on her hip, the other fisted in her hair, making her watch us in the mirror — watch the way her body took me, watch the way her face looked when she stopped pretending this was anything other than what it was.

“You’re going to carry my child,” I rasped against her ear, hips snapping, the wet filthy sound of us filling the whole apartment. “You’re going to get big with it and I’m still going to f**k you just like this. Pregnant. Claimed. Mine. Say you want that.”

“I want it—” She was coming apart already, clenching around me so tight I saw stars. “I want it, Blake, f**k, I want your baby, please don’t stop—”

I didn’t stop. I f****d her through one orgasm and straight into the buildup of another, talking filth against her throat the whole time — how I was going to keep her full, how Dustin would never touch her again, how Henry could go straight to hell, how the only name this child would ever hear in a father’s voice was mine. When I finally came it felt like something in my chest tore loose completely. I buried myself to the hilt and held there, flooding her, both of us shaking, her forehead smashed against my collarbone, my name still falling out of her mouth like a prayer she was afraid to stop saying.

We stayed like that a long time. Connected. Ruined. Quiet except for the sound of our breathing and the distant city traffic outside her window.

Then her phone buzzed on the counter next to the test.

Once. Twice. A third time in rapid succession.

She reached for it absently, still half in my arms — and the blood drained out of her face so fast I thought she might pass out.

“What.”

She turned the screen toward me.

Dustin: Landing early. Flight got in twenty minutes ago. Coming straight to you. We need to talk. I’m leaving Sarah. I mean it this time. Be naked when I get there.

A second message stacked underneath before either of us could speak.

Dustin: Also — I know about Dad. I’ve known for two years. Don’t bother lying. We deal with him together. Ten minutes out.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Paige’s eyes met mine, wide and terrified and still blown from everything we’d just done. My come was still leaking out of her onto the bathroom counter. The pregnancy test still sat there with its two pink lines. And my brother — the original thief, the six-year secret, the man who still thought he owned half of her — was ten minutes away, ready to leave his wife, ready to “deal with” Henry, and about to walk into an apartment that still smelled like me.

I pulled out of her slowly. Tucked myself away. Looked her dead in the eye.

“Get in the shower,” I said, voice gone flat and dangerous. “Wash me off. Put on something that doesn’t look freshly f****d. And Paige?”

“Yeah?” Barely a whisper.

“You’re not leaving Sarah with him. You’re not running away with him. And you sure as hell aren’t ‘dealing with’ my father by his side.” I leaned in close enough that she could feel the words against her mouth. “You’re carrying my child. That makes every single one of these decisions mine now. When he gets here, you tell him nothing about the baby. Nothing about me. You hear me?”

She nodded, shaking.

I kissed her once — hard, final, a brand — and walked out of the bathroom.

I was halfway to the front door when my own phone vibrated in my pocket.

Angel: Come home. Now. Don’t text. Don’t call. Just come home.

Angel: Sarah is sitting at our kitchen table. She has photos, Blake. A lot of photos.

Angel: And some of them aren’t of Dustin.

I stood in Paige’s hallway with my hand on the doorknob, the positive test still warm on the counter behind me, my brother’s car probably turning onto her street, and my wife two miles away staring at pictures of me walking into this exact apartment.

For the first time since this whole thing started, I didn’t know which disaster was going to hit first.

I only knew none of them were going to miss

BROKEN BLOOD

Chapter Six: Positive

The drugstore pregnancy test sat on Paige’s bathroom counter like a loaded gun.

Neither of us had spoken much on the drive over. She’d called me at 7:12 a.m., still half-asleep, voice thin and shaking, and told me to come get her. Angel had still been in the shower. I’d left a note on the counter that said early meetingand hated how automatic the lie had become.

Now we were both staring at a plastic stick like it held the rest of our lives in two little windows.

“Three minutes,” Paige said. She was still in the oversized shirt she’d slept in — my shirt, actually, stolen from the last time I’d stayed late — and bare legs, bare feet, arms wrapped tight around herself. “I already feel sick. That has to mean something, right?”

“It means you’re terrified,” I said. “Same as me.”

I wasn’t terrified the way she was. That was the part I couldn’t say out loud yet. Somewhere under the panic there was a dark, possessive part of me that already wanted the answer to be yes. Wanted it to be mine. Wanted proof written into her body that I’d claimed something Dustin and Henry never had.

The timer on her phone went off.

Neither of us moved.

“You look,” she whispered.

I stepped into the bathroom, picked up the stick, and stared at two unmistakable pink lines.

Positive.

The word didn’t even need to be spoken. It was already in the air between us, changing the shape of everything.

Paige made a small broken sound behind me. When I turned, she had both hands over her mouth, eyes shining, not quite crying yet.

“Blake—”

I crossed the tiny bathroom in one step, cupped her face, and kissed her hard enough that she gasped into my mouth. Not gentle. Not comforting. Claiming. The second those two lines appeared, something feral in me stopped pretending this was temporary.

“It’s mine,” I said against her lips. “Do you hear me? Whatever the math says later — it’s mine.”

“You don’t know that—”

“I don’t care.” My forehead pressed to hers, both of us breathing like we’d run miles. “I don’t care if the universe itself tries to tell me otherwise. As of right now, that baby is mine. You’re mine. And I am done sharing any part of you.”

She shivered. Not from fear. From the exact opposite.

“Say it back,” I ordered, voice low.

“It’s yours.” The words came out wrecked already. “I’m yours. Blake—”

I lifted her onto the bathroom counter before she finished my name, shoving the shirt up over her hips. No panties. She’d known exactly how this was going to go the second she put that test on the counter. My mouth was on her throat, her collarbone, the soft place between her breasts while my fingers dragged through the wetness already waiting for me between her thighs.

“You got yourself pregnant,” I growled against her skin, two fingers sliding into her slow and deep, watching her head fall back against the mirror. “Walking around for weeks taking both of us raw and now you’re carrying it. You wanted this.”

“I—” Her hips jerked as I curled my fingers. “Blake, please—”

“Answer me.”

“Yes.” It tore out of her on a sob. “God, yes. After you started— I stopped being careful. I wanted something that wasn’t theirs. Something that was only—”

I didn’t let her finish. I freed myself, dragged her to the edge of the counter, and buried every inch of myself inside her in one hard thrust. She cried out, legs wrapping around me, nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks Angel would eventually ask about if I ever let her see me shirtless in daylight again.

“Only mine,” I finished for her, f*****g into her deep and relentless, the cheap bathroom light buzzing overhead, the positive test still sitting two feet away like a witness. “That baby is going to know one father’s name. Mine. You’re going to say it while I fill you again right now so there’s no goddamn question left.”

“Blake—”

“Louder.”

“Blake!” Her voice cracked against the tile. I drove into her harder, one hand locked on her hip, the other fisted in her hair, making her watch us in the mirror — watch the way her body took me, watch the way her face looked when she stopped pretending this was anything other than what it was.

“You’re going to carry my child,” I rasped against her ear, hips snapping, the wet filthy sound of us filling the whole apartment. “You’re going to get big with it and I’m still going to f**k you just like this. Pregnant. Claimed. Mine. Say you want that.”

“I want it—” She was coming apart already, clenching around me so tight I saw stars. “I want it, Blake, f**k, I want your baby, please don’t stop—”

I didn’t stop. I f****d her through one orgasm and straight into the buildup of another, talking filth against her throat the whole time — how I was going to keep her full, how Dustin would never touch her again, how Henry could go straight to hell, how the only name this child would ever hear in a father’s voice was mine. When I finally came it felt like something in my chest tore loose completely. I buried myself to the hilt and held there, flooding her, both of us shaking, her forehead smashed against my collarbone, my name still falling out of her mouth like a prayer she was afraid to stop saying.

We stayed like that a long time. Connected. Ruined. Quiet except for the sound of our breathing and the distant city traffic outside her window.

Then her phone buzzed on the counter next to the test.

Once. Twice. A third time in rapid succession.

She reached for it absently, still half in my arms — and the blood drained out of her face so fast I thought she might pass out.

“What.”

She turned the screen toward me.

Dustin: Landing early. Flight got in twenty minutes ago. Coming straight to you. We need to talk. I’m leaving Sarah. I mean it this time. Be naked when I get there.

A second message stacked underneath before either of us could speak.

Dustin: Also — I know about Dad. I’ve known for two years. Don’t bother lying. We deal with him together. Ten minutes out.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Paige’s eyes met mine, wide and terrified and still blown from everything we’d just done. My come was still leaking out of her onto the bathroom counter. The pregnancy test still sat there with its two pink lines. And my brother — the original thief, the six-year secret, the man who still thought he owned half of her — was ten minutes away, ready to leave his wife, ready to “deal with” Henry, and about to walk into an apartment that still smelled like me.

I pulled out of her slowly. Tucked myself away. Looked her dead in the eye.

“Get in the shower,” I said, voice gone flat and dangerous. “Wash me off. Put on something that doesn’t look freshly f****d. And Paige?”

“Yeah?” Barely a whisper.

“You’re not leaving Sarah with him. You’re not running away with him. And you sure as hell aren’t ‘dealing with’ my father by his side.” I leaned in close enough that she could feel the words against her mouth. “You’re carrying my child. That makes every single one of these decisions mine now. When he gets here, you tell him nothing about the baby. Nothing about me. You hear me?”

She nodded, shaking.

I kissed her once — hard, final, a brand — and walked out of the bathroom.

I was halfway to the front door when my own phone vibrated in my pocket.

Angel: Come home. Now. Don’t text. Don’t call. Just come home.

Angel: Sarah is sitting at our kitchen table. She has photos, Blake. A lot of photos.

Angel: And some of them aren’t of Dustin.

I stood in Paige’s hallway with my hand on the doorknob, the positive test still warm on the counter behind me, my brother’s car probably turning onto her street, and my wife two miles away staring at pictures of me walking into this exact apartment.

For the first time since this whole thing started, I didn’t know which disaster was going to hit first.

I only knew none of them were going to miss