Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
His mom’s lips part, her face caught somewhere between supportive and amazed and “what in the McFuck have you done.” His dad guzzles from his water bottle.
“And you two . . . like each other?” his mom asks delicately, obviously afraid to use the word L-O-V-E. As if one of us will spook.
Maverick doesn’t hesitate. “Aye. I like her.”
His mom gives him a long, searching look, as if gauging the sarcasm level or sincerity—which, to be fair, is always kind of difficult to ascertain.
He grins and turns to me. “I more than like her.”
Awww.
“He’s all right,” I mutter, which makes his dad bark out a surprised laugh.
“Oh, thank God,” he says, setting his bottle down. “I was worried this was a hostage situation.”
“Blink twice if you’re in danger.” His mom laughs, half serious.
I hold up three fingers and deadpan, “I married a man who eats peanut butter straight from the jar. Send help.”
Maverick slings his arm around my shoulder. “You love it.”
“Debatable.”
“We’re glad you’re both okay,” his mom continues. “That you’ve got each other. We didn’t know what to think when we saw the headlines—we figured if it was serious, you’d call, but . . . you’re grown. We didn’t want to interfere.”
“And now we know.” His dad scratches his head. “Still processing how it works without a marriage certificate and calling each other husband and wife, but all right.”
Maverick shares a look with me—one of those telepathic “should we just rip off the Band-Aid” kinds of looks—so I know what’s coming next.
Oh God.
Here comes plot twist number two.
His hand squeezes my thigh. “Not to dump a shit ton on ye, but . . .” He sits up straight, sliding his arm around the back of me. “There’s one more thing.”
“One more thing?” his mom echoes, blinking.
“We didn’t plan for it,” Maverick says gently, and now I feel every nerve ending in my body light up like it’s bracing for impact. “But . . . we’re expecting.”
Silence.
Not just quiet—true, soul-splitting silence.
You could hear a pin drop.
I suddenly wish the earth would swallow me whole. Or that I could crawl into Maverick’s hoodie and live there forever like a crab in its shell. I stare at the coffee table, then at my lap, then out the window at a rooftop deck somewhere in the distance.
“I know it’s a lot,” Maverick says softly. “And it all happened fast. But it’s real. And we’re happy.”
Still silent on the other end. His mum blinks. His dad sips again. I brace for judgment. For questions. For an offer to send a priest or maybe just a pamphlet on abstinence.
Then his mom exhales. “Well.”
Maverick and I both tense up.
“I suppose congratulations are in order,” she says, polite but distant, like someone congratulating a stranger on winning a raffle. “It’s just . . . a lot to take in.”
“We understand,” I say quickly, trying to meet her eyes through the screen. “And for the record, I had no idea who Maverick was when I met him. Like . . . zero clue.”
His dad leans forward. “You didn’t recognize him?”
“Not even a little,” I admit. “All I knew was that he was in the cabin I rented—and I was in his.”
His mom gives a short, nervous laugh, then smooths out the strays of her dark hair. “Well, I suppose that’s a relief to hear. You never know sometimes with women . . .”
“I didn’t pursue him for who he was,” I say in all seriousness. “I wasn’t trying to trap him or anything like that. Believe me, this wasn’t how I expected my weekend to end.”
“We believe you,” she says after a thoughtful pause. “It’s just . . . you have to understand where we’re coming from. One minute he’s at rehab. The next there are wedding photos online, and now we find out you’re having a baby.”
A baby.
Before thinking twice, I place a hand on my stomach. Protectively.
“We’re still getting used to it too,” Maverick adds, squeezing my hand. “But we’re excited.”
His dad finally puts down his water bottle. “So let me get this straight—you’re not legally married, but you’re living together, and you’re having a baby?”
Mav nods. “Yup.”
His dad just stares at us for a beat, processing. Then he lets out a low whistle. “Your mother is going to need a brandy after this.” Him too.
“I thought this was the brandy conversation,” his mom jokes, looking dazed. “Do we even have brandy?”
“You do now,” Maverick quips, trying to ease the tension. “That would make a great baby name. Brandy McBride—has a nice ring to it.”
I want to give him a shove but don’t want to do it in front of his parents. “Don’t even think about it.”
Maverick grins at me, than his parents, completely unfazed by my glare. “Too late. I’m already picturing her with a teeny-tiny leather jacket.”