39 - Until Nico (Until #4) Page 39

“We’re having a baby,” she repeated, this time sobbing into my chest.

I pulled her face away so I could look at her. “You okay?”

“I’m scared, but so happy,” she cried and smiled at the same time.

“Me too, baby. But I know everything’s going to be perfect.” She nodded, and then she smiled a smile that lit her whole face—a smile that, even thinking about it now, makes me feel like king of the f**king world.

Knowing that Sophie is pregnant—fuck me, if that shit doesn’t make f**king her even hotter. I can’t keep my hands off her. I love knowing that my kid is growing inside her. After that shit with Cash’s ex and the kids going missing, I spent all my free time trying to get Sophie pregnant. Not that I hadn’t been on a mission before that, but knowing how short life is only made it that much more important. Next on the list is giving her my last name. Yes, I’m doing shit ass-backwards, but I don’t give a f**k.

“Babe, seriously—when I get home, you better be in bed, butt naked, and ready for my mouth,” I tell her, coming out of my daydream.

“You can’t talk to me like that and expect me to get anything done,” she cries, making me smile.

“You better hurry. You have a little less than two hours to get your shit done before I’m home and you’re mine. Besides, what do you even have at your old place that you could possibly need? The last time I walked into our bedroom, all your shoes, clothes, and other shit were spread from one side to the other.”

“I’m not that bad,” she says low, probably looking around the bedroom at the disaster she has turned our room into. “I have to get my suitcase and the stuff for Maggie’s wedding.”

“You need to just put that house on the market and stop saying the market’s shit. Who cares if you take a loss? You know I got you.”

“You can’t tell me to take a loss on my house,” she huffs.

“We’re not talking about this right now.” Every time we discuss her house situation, she gets upset. “Just get you’re shit and then be naked when I get to the house.”

“Maybe,” she says, but I can hear the smile in her voice and can’t help but smile too.

“Don’t f**k with me, Sophie,” I growl before gentling my voice. “How’s my baby doing?”

“Good. Making me tired, but good.” She sighs.

“I’ll have a talk with him when I get home.”

“It could be a girl.” She laughs. I swore up and down to her that it is going to be a boy, but something keeps telling me it’s going to be a girl.

“It’s not.” I smile.

“Love you,” she says quietly, making my heart squeeze like it always does when she says those words to me.

“You too, babe. See you soon,” I tell her, hanging up.

I’m about twenty minutes outside of Nashville when my phone rings. At first, I think about not answering it, knowing that I will be home soon, but I know that, if my friend Leo—a cop in Nashville—is calling, he probably has a job for me or needs my help with something. I reluctantly answer on the third ring.

“Yo, Leo. What’s up?”

“Mayson, I need you to meet me at your girlfriend’s house.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, dread creeping up my spine.

“Look, I wanted to give you a heads-up. I don’t want you to get here and flip your shit. Therefore, I’m telling you now so you have time to calm down.”

“What the f**k is going on?” My adrenalin surges; he’s f**ked if he thinks I can calm down before I get there when he starts a conversation out like that.

“I called Kenton. He’s on his way. Someone got into her house when she was inside.”

“Tell me she’s okay.”

“She’s fine. Has a couple scratches, a bump on her head, and she’s pretty shaken up, but she’s all right, man.”

Fuck, my heart is beating out of my chest. I press down on the accelerator, needing to get to my girl. “Put her on the phone,” I bark.

“Give me a second. She’s in the ambulance,” he says, and my f**king fingers feel like they’re going to make dents in the steering wheel.

“Why the f**k is she in the ambulance? You said she’s okay.”

“It’s a precaution. You know that shit.”

“Man, she’s f**king pregnant,” I bellow into the phone. I do not care about anything except her and finding out she’s all right.

“Fuck me,” he growls. I can hear the wind moving down the line, indicating that he’s running. “Sophie, Nico’s on the phone,” I hear him say, and then the line is quiet for a second.

“Hey.” Her sweet voice is like a balm to my rage.

“I’m almost there, baby.”

“Okay,” she says quietly, and I want to f**king scream because I can hear the fear in her voice. She’s been so good—no freak-outs, no worries. She’s settled in and started coming around…and now this.

“Talk to me, baby,” I say soothingly.

“About what?”

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I…I’m okay.” I can feel her anxiety through the phone. My foot eases off the gas as I exit off the highway.

“How’s my son?” I ask, hoping to get her to relax a little.

“It could be a girl,” she tells me quietly before taking a deep breath. “I think she’s okay. I…I didn’t hit my stomach or anything.”

“It’s a boy, babe. I keep telling you this,” I prod.

“You don’t know that,” she replies, sounding annoyed, making me smile slightly as I turn onto her street.

I park on the curb, seeing not only an ambulance, but three squad cars. The minute I shut off the car, I hop out and jog to the ambulance. Leo’s standing in front of the open doors of the ambulance with his arms crossed over his chest and his feet planted apart. I can’t see her until I’m right on them. The minute my eyes lock on her, my slightly calmed rage erupts once again.

There’s a scratch down the side of her face and a dark mark under her jaw that looks like a bruise, and the top she has on is ripped at the neck. I take a second to get myself under control before she sees me. I don’t need her feeding off the anger I’m feeling. The second her head turns and our eyes lock, tears fill hers to the brim. Fuck, I hate seeing tears in her eyes, and knowing that she’s scared isn’t helping settle my rage any. I hop in the back with her, getting down on my knees in front of her. The EMT starts to say something, but I give him a don’t-fuck-with-me glare and he backs off.

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