I slowly open my eyes, wincing when I do. They’re swollen but that’s not what hurts, they’re so dry that they feel like sandpaper.

After falling asleep, crying in Free’s arms, he gathered me up and brought me home. I ended up crying, again, as soon as I walked into my empty bedroom.

Then I went a tad crazy. I ripped open my panty drawer and gathered the envelope from there before getting the one from the tampon box.

I set them on Prescott’s nightstand and then I decided I couldn’t sleep next to them. So, I took them to Free and threw them at him before I hurried back upstairs, locking myself in my bedroom and crying some more.

Forcing myself to sit up, I stumble toward the bathroom. My eyes and head ache. I take a quick shower, hoping that the warm water will refresh me a little. It doesn’t work. Prescott is still gone. He still hates me, and I still screwed up my entire life—again.

Grabbing a pair of leggings and an oversized shirt, I throw my hair up in a bun before I make my way downstairs. The living room is empty, and I’m surprised to find Free in the kitchen. He’s leaning against the countertop a coffee in his hand, and a frown on his face.

I busy myself, preparing a bagel and cream cheese as he watches me… intently. “I’ve known you for a few years, Ginger,” he begins, and I lower my head as I push my bagel down in the toaster.

“You have,” I agree on a whisper.

“Never known you to be stupid. What the fuck were you thinking, hiding that from your man?”

Free is usually serious, but always caring and considerate. I don’t take his words to be cruel, but they sting because they’re full of the truth.

Taking my bagel out of the toaster, I use my knife and spread the cream cheese on each side before I take a small bite. I’m not hungry, yet I know that I have to eat to keep the baby inside of me nourished.

Inhaling through my nose, I look up at him. His gaze is nothing but pure concern and I know that he’s worried not only about me but about Prescott, too.

“I have no excuses. I was scared, but I didn’t want to show fear. I thought I was being strong,” I whisper.

He nods, but the sadness he aims my way tells me that my excuse, it isn’t enough. If he doesn’t find it enough, or good enough, there’s no way that Prescott will.

“I believe you, but babe, this isn’t little shit. This is your life, and her life, at stake,” he murmurs, pointing to my belly.

Automatically, I place my hand on my stomach, and a wave of nausea rolls through me. I tamp it down as his words roll through my head. He’s right. I fucked up, and I fucked up huge.

“I need to apologize, I need to make this right,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “Snake doesn’t want to see you, he made that clear. You are only to go to your doctor, nowhere else, not even the clubhouse.”

Closing the distance between us, I wrap my hands in his cut and yank him down so that our faces almost touch. “It wasn’t a request,” I grind out through clenched teeth. “Take me to my Old Man,” I demand.

Free wraps one of his hands around mine and squeezes. “I’ll take you, but babe, I don’t think it’s been long enough. He ain’t gonna be happy,” he mutters.

“I could give a fuck,” I spit.

A renewed sense of fire and urgency rolls through me. I need to make this right, and he has to listen to me. I won’t accept anything less.

Free straightens and takes a step back, with a nod he turns and grabs his keys. “Eat that on the way,” he mutters.

I take a paper towel and place my bagel on it, following closely behind him, afraid he’ll leave me behind. We drive toward the clubhouse in silence while I force my breakfast down. I need to talk to Prescott, and that is the only thought that swirls around in my head.

The prospect opens the gate, letting us pass and my heart starts to race. It’s pounding in my chest as Free pulls into an empty spot and shifts his vehicle into park. I reach for the handle, but Free’s hand takes mine first. Turning to him, I tip my head to the side in question.

“Whatever happens, whatever he says. He’s angry right now, hurt, and probably scared,” he whispers.

My heart skips a beat at his words. His words that are clearly from experience. I hate that he’s right, that Prescott is feeling all of those things and it’s my fault. One hundred percent my fault. I also hate that Free knows how he’s feeling.

Nobody should feel this way, not ever. I nod, unable to say anything. He releases me, and I open the door, sliding out before I hurry toward the front of the building.

Crooner is sitting outside of the main entrance and his eyes widen when he sees me walking in his direction. I hold up my hand as soon as his mouth opens to speak.

“I know I’m not supposed to be here. I forced Free to bring me. Is he inside?” I whisper the last words, afraid to know the truth.

He could be inside, sure, but he could be there with a whore, trying to fuck me off of his mind. I have no doubt that he did that the first time we broke things off. Things are different this time, though. We’re married, and I’m not going anywhere. Prescott is mine.

“Far as I know he’s up in his room,” he grumbles. I wrap my fingers around the handle of the door, inhaling deeply. “Alone,” he finishes.

My shoulders drop, the tension completely fleeing from them at that one simple word. I shouldn’t have even though he wasn’t alone, he made a promise to me, and Prescott keeps his promises.

The clubhouse is quiet as I step inside, it surprises me. I don’t think I’ve ever been in here when it’s practically empty. I don’t come here often, but usually there are at least a few people milling around. Today, it’s completely dead.

I begin to walk toward the hallway that will lead me to Prescott’s room when someone clears their throat. I stop in my tracks and turn toward the sound. It’s Hayden, and she’s behind the bar. She lifts her hand and motions me toward her. Abandoning my mission, I make my way to her.

“You really pissed him off,” she whispers as soon as I arrive. I nod, because I did, and there’s no other way to put it. “He loves you though. It’s clear.”

Okay…

“I’m only saying this because I know how club life is. Especially life inside of the clubhouse. He didn’t do anything, he got shitfaced and stumbled to bed, alone,” she offers with a shrug.

There are a million things I want to ask her. Like how does a seventeen-year-old girl know anything about club life, about what happens behind these walls? I don’t ask her anything though.

I give her a smile and a nod, instead. She doesn’t say anything else, turning to clean the bar top and completely ignores me. That girl is going to be a tough nut to crack.

The hallway is dark, as usual, and when I find Prescott’s door, I turn the knob, surprised to find it unlocked. Stepping into the dark room, I lock the door behind me before I chance a look at the bed. He’s there, sprawled out on his stomach, stripped down to his boxer briefs and as both Crooner and Hayden informed me, he is indeed, alone.

I want to wake him up, scream, and demand that he talks to me, but I don’t. Instead, I strip down to just my panties and I crawl into bed beside him.

I need to feel his warm body next to mine.

I need to smell his scent, even if it smells heavily of booze and weed right now.

I just need to be next to him. When he wakes up, then we’ll hash everything out, and I’ll refuse to allow him to push me away. Until then, I’ll be content to have his warm body next to mine.

Something warm presses against my back. I crack an eye open and groan at the brightness of the room. Fuck, I can’t believe I drank as much as I did last night. And smoked. Shit, I haven’t smoked pot in years. I can’t deny that I needed it though. After the day I had yesterday, I needed to escape. Right or wrong, I needed it.

I groan, and a hand gently traces down my side, causing me to freeze. It slips along my stomach to the top of my boxers. I pinch my eyes closed, wishing my dick would go flaccid, but that fucker is hard as nails.

I don’t know who is behind me, but I can’t imagine bringing a whore to my bed. Unfortunately, I only remember walking into my room. I don’t even recall undressing last night.

Slim fingers slide between the waistband of my boxers and wrap around my cock, squeezing me gently but firmly. I suck in a breath, as lips skim my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” a sweet voice whispers and that’s when I relax.

It’s Ginger.

I don’t know how she got here, but right now I’m glad it’s her hand on my dick, and not some whore’s.

“You fuckin’ should be,” I growl.

I’m unwilling to forgive her, or even be nice to her at the moment. She strokes my cock a few times, sliding her thumb across the head to swipe the pre-cum that’s begun to gather there.

“What do you want me to do?” she asks, her voice trembling against my skin. I close my eyes for just a second, shifting my hips as she begins to stroke a little harder.

“Right now?” I ask. She hums as her answer. “Take my cock, Ginger.”

“Anything,” she whispers.

“I can’t look at you, though.”

A drop of wetness touches my shoulder and I know she’s crying. I feel like a dick, but I can’t look at her face, not now and definitely not while I’m inside of her. She releases me, and I feel her shift.

I close my eyes, inhaling through my nose, then sit up. Standing, I turn around to see that she’s on all fours, her ass in view, and her pussy gleaming with wetness.

Silently, I drag my fingers through her wet pussy, swirling them around her clit before I slip two inside of her. She moans, pushing against my hand, as my fingers fuck her.

I watch her body, her hips moving back and forth, fucking my fingers and my cock aches to be inside of her. I know she’s warm and tight, and no matter how pissed off I am at her, nothing is better than the feel of my woman.

Sliding my fingers from her center, I move my hands to her hips and jerk her entire body back to the edge of the bed. Slamming my cock inside of her, I groan when I’m completely at the root, her body enveloping my own.

“Fuck,” she hisses.

Reaching back, I slap her ass, watching as a red handprint appears. “I don’t want to hear your voice,” I growl.

Using her hips, I push them forward as I pull out of her, then I wrench them back as I surge forward. I’m fucking her harder than I have in weeks.

The guilt that I should have, doesn’t make any type of appearance. I expect her to scream, to cry out, or to ask me to be more careful. She doesn’t, so I don’t control myself.

There’s no other word for what I’m doing right now, other than, angry fucking her. I am pissed, too. Each time I sink inside of her my anger hitches higher.

How fucking dare, she hide something this important to me.

How fucking dare, she leave herself and our child in danger.

How fucking dare, she not trust me.

How fucking dare, her.

Closing my eyes, I fuck, and I fuck her hard. I give not a single shit if she’s in pain, even if in the back of my mind I know that I should. I’m too livid to care right now.

I slap her ass again, then the other cheek, over and over. I’m slapping her too hard, fucking her too rough, but I can’t stop. I need to punish her and make her feel as fucking shitty as I feel right now.

When I’m close I don’t come inside of her, she doesn’t deserve it. I feel her pussy flutter and then it clenches around my cock as she rears back and screams with her release.

Pulling out of her immediately, I jack my cock and watch as my cum shoots in ribbons all over her ass, dripping down the crack, and I wish I would have fucked her asshole instead.

My eyes scan over her. Ginger’s ass is painted redder than I’ve ever left it before, there’s cum leaking down her crack and her pussy looks swollen.

I stumble backward, disgusted with myself for leaving her that way, especially since she’s pregnant. I had no fucking control and it makes me sick to my stomach.

When my back hits the wall, I sink down to my ass. Placing my arms on my knees, I hang my head in shame.

We stay silent, unmoving, our breathing being the only sounds in the room. About fifteen minutes go by before I hear her moving around.

I don’t look up, not wishing to see the hurt in her eyes or the sadness in her face. Then I feel her sink down next to me, she rests her head on my bicep and I hold my breath.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, repeating her words from earlier.

“Me too,” I grunt.

We don’t say anything else. We stay quiet until my ass goes numb and I’m sure hers is too. Lifting my head, I look over at her. I expect to see her differently, but she still just looks like my woman, my Georgia peach.

Moving my arm from where her head rests, I wrap my hand in the back of her hair and press my lips to hers in a hard, bruising kiss. “I’m still pissed off,” I growl against her lips.

“I know,” she breathes.

“I fuckin’ love you, peaches,” I whisper, resting my forehead against hers.

She smiles, it’s sad, but her lips tip in a grin anyway. “I love you too, Pres.”

That’s it.

No more words are needed.

We have shit we definitely need to discuss, but at the end of the day we love one another, and that is all that matters. I don’t want to lose her over something like this, and yet, I want to be clear that if this shit happens again, she will lose me.

It sounds harsh, but the way I live my life, I cannot have a woman who hides things from me, no matter the intentions.