She lifts her head enough to look down. “What do you mean?”
I wince. “I don’t know if I pulled out fast enough.”
She stares at me. Then smacks my chest—half laugh, half horror. “Alex.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We had a plan,” she says, trying to sound stern but failing.
“I know, I know.” I kiss her, soft and apologetic. “That plan went to shit the second I was inside you.”
She sighs, shakes her head. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”
“And you’re lucky I love chaos.”
She huffs out a laugh and looks down at her dress. “Well, if it happens, it happens. But I don’t think it will.”
I grin. “You’re not mad?”
“Oh, make no mistake. I’m mad. But I’m also slightly turned on by it.”
“Mmm… that’s my girl.”
She leans into me, her head finding its favorite spot on my shoulder. Her breath is still uneven, warm against my neck. My arms slide around her waist, holding her close, grounding us both in the aftershock.
Neither of us speaks. We don’t need to.
Her knickers are shredded. And if I had my black-light flashlight, I’m pretty sure she and that dress would look like a crime scene. But she’s in my arms, flushed and glowing and mine.
And if this is the last reckless night before our lives shift into something quieter, more intentional—then damn.
If this is how we go out before the next chapter… it was one hell of a finale.
Chapter 33
Magnolia Sebring
The swatch in my hand is coral. Or maybe clay. Possibly salmon. Honestly, I couldn’t care less if it were nuclear orange.
I stare at it like it holds the answer to the question that’s been chewing a hole through my brain since I opened my eyes this morning. To be clear, it doesn’t.
I set the swatch down on the desk next to a half-finished sketch, a mug of cold coffee, and my denial. My fingers reach for my phone before I can even talk myself out of it. Again.
Calendar app. Cycle tracker. Count backward.
I count again. Then one more time in case math has suddenly betrayed me.
But no. Same answer every time.
I should’ve gotten my period two days ago.
I open the pregnancy tracker app. Tap through the calendar. Last period? Entered. Date of possible conception? Entered.
Kitchen. Countertop. One very unplanned moment of recklessness.
The app whirs for half a second and flashes the result at me in bold, unforgiving text.
Estimated due date––same day as the Grand Final Game. The team hasn’t played in that game since Alex left. But with him back on the team, they will definitely be one of the final two.
