Criminal: A Bad-Boy Stepbrother Romance (21 page)

I'm terrified, though, still.

I have no idea what he'll say, what seeing me will
bring up in him.

What I'll feel at seeing him again.

It's only been three months since we parted ways. It
feels like an eternity, yet at the same time, it feels like no time
at all has passed, and I drive a bit slower out of fear more than
anything.

I've brushed my hair, letting the dark locks spill
around my neck, a casual shirt and jeans hiding most of my body.

I'd gotten so comfortable wearing revealing clothes
around the bar, but now that I'm enrolled in college, I've gotten
back to my more conservative outfits. It just feels more appropriate,
anyways.

To be a bit hidden from him. To protect myself—and
him—from our lusts. From our history.

I didn't tell him I was coming, though, and that
makes me nervous. I don't want him to know. I just wanted to put off
talking to him as long as possible.

But when I pull up in the driveway of our old home,
and I see his bike, I can barely bring myself to get out of the
vehicle.

When he comes to the window, though, and I see the
light and excitement on his face, it pulls at me.

Draws me in, like it was his siren song, and I'm his
willing victim.

He opens the door for me, pulling me out and hugging
me tight, just like nothing ever happened.

And once more, I fall under his spell and remember
why I've loved him so much all these years. I pull away, trying not
to lose myself to his rugged charm, but I'm hopeless. He's covered up
a bit, a shirt covering the myriad of tattoos and, I'd guess, more
than a few scars.

I look down at the ground, suddenly struck mute and
shy.

"Abby, God, why didn't you call? I could've..."
he trailed off. He knew there was nothing he could've done, and for a
second, I wonder if he's forgotten how he left me. That he abandoned
me.

And then it strikes him, wiping the smile from his
face, and he steps aside, letting me in, suddenly more formal.

"You want some tea?"

"Sure."

I go into the old hallway, following the familiar
path to the kitchen. He looks so good, though there's a bit of a limp
to his step, and I guess it's from the fight. He didn't get medical
attention for a while, maybe that caused some damage.

He puts on the kettle, and I look around at the
sparsely decorated room. He doesn't have much, but it seems like he
was able to salvage some stuff from mom and dad, and memories wash
over me.

"How've you been? Your hair is great."

He shakes me out of my reverie, and I give him a
smile and a nod.

"Thank you. And I'm good, fine. I enrolled in
college, started last month," I say, licking my lips.

I went over it in my mind a thousand times how I'd
tell him, but every time it fell flat. And I know, at least in part,
it's because I don't know whether to be happy or not about the news.

He leans against the counter, his biceps bulging and
looking so good. I remember how they felt wrapped around me for those
whirlwind hours we were finally, blissfully together, and it brings a
flush to my cheeks and a heat to my loins.

I'm actually upset by the fact that I still want
him—annoyed, even. By the fact that when he talks, I'm still
looking at that tongue stud, remembering how it felt against my
pussy.

And now I'm paying the price.

I sit at the table, my purse resting at my feet, as I
look up at him. Instantly I regret it, as I feel even smaller now,
but I don't want to stand and draw attention to my discomfort.

"What about you?" I ask, looking around.
"Guess you got the bail money returned?"

He nods, a sheepish smile on his lips.

"Yep. Just enough to get this place out of
foreclosure and a few things from the auction. It's not much, but
it's a start."

I wonder if he regrets giving me the money, but I
know that's not true. He seems perfectly content without me in his
life, and without the money in his life.

I swallow, nodding.

"That's good. It's nice to have it in good
hands," I say, but my voice cracks, and he instantly comes over
to me, his face marred with concern.

"Abby, what's wrong?"

I shake my head, wiping away a stray tear.

"It's nothing, nothing," I swear, but the
words sound hollow and I know it.

His finger hooks in underneath my chin, making me
look at him, stare into those beautiful green eyes. I long for him,
even still, even after all he's done, but I can't let myself fall for
him again. I can't let myself be hurt.

It's not just me anymore, but for the baby, too.

I have to protect us both from the stress and the
agony of Kaiden's fickleness, and thinking he knows best.

I chew on my lower lip, nerves coiling within my gut,
making me regret ever coming here.

I wish I'd just called him or sent a message online,
but I wanted to do the right thing. But doing the right thing feels
so terrible, like my stitches have been torn open.

"I have something I need to tell you," I
say, my voice soft, and the kettle interrupts me with its whistle.

He cringes and takes it off the stove, coming back to
me without pouring up my tea, though this time he doesn't touch my
chin, doesn't touch me at all, and my heart turns to ice.

"Is it the money?" he asks, his voice
filled with worry. "Did something happen to it?"

I shake my head.

"Axel?"

I shake my head again, and he opens his mouth to ask
something else and I silence him with my words.

"I'm pregnant."

Two simple, easy words, said billions of times over
the course of humanity. So why did they feel so wrong?

He takes a step back, as if I'd just turned
poisonous, and I stand up, quickly.

"This was a bad idea," I say, grabbing my
purse, but he reaches out and holds my wrist firm.

"You're pregnant?" he asks, his voice dark,
as if he hadn't heard me right the first time, and I nod.

"But... who?"

Anger floods through me, and I spin to face him, fire
in my eyes.

"Who?" I ask, my voice rising. "What
the fuck, Kaiden? Who? What do you think I am, huh? Just some floozy
slut like all the rest of the girls you bring home?"

I've held onto so much anger, anger at him
controlling so much of my life, anger at him making all the decisions
that affect both of us, and I can hardly contain it.

"I thought you were on the pill!" he argues
as he takes a step back, looking shocked at my outburst, but I don't
feel anywhere near to done.

"On the
pill
? I was a virgin, Kaiden, and
intended on keeping it that way!"

He takes another step back, leaning against the
counter like I just punched him in the gut, and I feel a moment of
satisfaction. I throw my purse over my shoulder and start towards the
door, but he's faster than me, and he grabs both of my shoulders,
pulling me to face him.

"So what now?" he asks, his voice softer,
more filled with care and concern, but it's too little, too late.

"So now you know," I reply, trying to make
my voice cold, but it comes out with a tremble of pain that I know he
can sense.

He pushes me to the wall, stopping me from leaving,
and I stare up at him aghast.

"Let me go."

"I can't," he protests, and his mouth moves
to silence my words, his pierced tongue running against my upper lip
as he presses his body to mine. He's already stiff against my
stomach, grinding there, and for a moment I'm rendered dumb.

He tastes so good, and I kiss him back, the passion
between us mounting. I want him so bad, now more than ever, and I
moan into his mouth.

"I want you," he whispers between kisses,
his mouth trailing down my neck, over my collarbone, down along the
fabric of my top as he pulls up the bottom of it. He exposes my
stomach, still smooth but with a slight bump, to his mouth, and I
want more than anything to lose myself in him again.

But I can't.

I push him away, his back hitting against the other
side of the hallway, and I run out the door.

I sit on my bed, my headphones on. I just need to
blare out all the badness, all the sorrow and loss.

Four months, and the morning sickness hasn't totally
gone away, though I think at least part of it is due to missing him.

Wanting him back in my life.

I haven't heard from Kaiden since that horrible day,
but the memory of his hands and mouth on me once more ignited that
passion I'd quelled with the anger and rage of being abandoned.

But he didn't mean it.

If he did, I would've heard from him by now.

I flip through the adoption pamphlet Becky gave me,
but I don't feel right about it. I don't feel right about any of it.
I should've been more careful, more cautious, but he had me wrapped
around his finger.

And now I'm paying the price.

Tossing the pamphlet aside, I sigh and pick up my
phone. Even my old favorite songs aren't perking me up. Maybe I
should try to find something more upbeat.

But when I turn on the screen, there's a text from a
number I don't recognize. Probably another stupid reminder about some
clothing sale I accidentally signed up for.

But when I swipe down, my heart stops.

Princess, I know I don't deserve you, but I
want to. More than anything. Can we talk?

Tears spring to my eyes, and I don't know if it's the
hormones or not, but I swipe them away quickly. My lower lip
trembles, and the rest of the world is forgotten.

I stare for so long at that message, reading it over
and over again. My heart starts racing, my palms going sweaty as I
wonder what to say.

He's just going to blow you off,
I chide
myself, but I don't want to believe it. Not this time. Not now.

If ever I'm going to give him the benefit of the
doubt, it has to be now.

Talk about what?
I reply, and the
second I hit send, I start wondering if it's too terse.

If he's going to think I'm still mad.

You are still mad
, my subconscious reminds me,
but that doesn't stop me from staring at my phone. Every time the
screen goes black again, I swipe it back on, the anticipation killing
me.

Luckily, he doesn't keep me waiting for long.

I want to make it up to you. Can we meet? You
know our spot on Big Bear Lake?

Big Bear Lake?

That was where...

I shake my head free of the memory of his mouth
lingering so near to mine, and swallow. My mouth feels dry, my
breathing increased. Big Bear Lake is still a seven-hour drive if
traffic is good.

Do I really want to put myself in that position?

But even as I antagonize over it, I'm texting him
back.

When?

This weekend?

And nothing within me can stop me from sending back:

OK.

I put the phone down, staring up at the ceiling.