Strays

I Promise

Chapter Seventeen

Tully

The room smells like bleach and stale air, the kind that clings to concrete no matter how many times they mop it. Somewhere down the tier, a CO's keys jangle against his belt, sharp and metallic, echoing through the quiet. Jaycee sits across from me, hands in her lap, and I can see it written all over her face — fear. Not just nerves. Fear.

I don't like it. I don't like seeing my Peaches look at me like she's bracing for a hit I'd never throw.

I reach across the scratched metal table and take her hand, rough fingertips over soft skin, lowering my voice so it doesn't carry past us. "I had a visit from your cousin yesterday. He let the cat out of the bag."

She freezes, blinks, and for a split second I think she might cry. But then the Jaycee I know flashes through, chin up, jaw tight. That fire in her eyes.

"Of course he did," she snaps, nostrils flaring. "He never could keep his big mouth shut. I wanted to be the one to tell you."

I lean back in the hard plastic chair, letting the silence stretch for a beat, dragging my thumb along the chipped edge of the table. "I wish I'd been the first to know." My tone's even, but the weight's there.

Her shoulders drop. "Yeah, I know, and I'm sorry," she says fast, words tumbling out like she's trying to outrun them. "You weren't answering the phone, and I was freaking out. When Jax found out Wendy was pregnant, I was the first person he told. I don't know... I couldn't keep him in the dark any longer."

The hum of the overhead lights fills the pause between us. I rub at the stubble along my jaw and keep my tone measured. "I'm surprised Donny didn't spill it when I talked to him a couple days ago."

"Don't be mad at him, I asked him not to." She's quick to defend, loyal even when it stings. "I wasn't lying when I said I wanted you to hear it from me first."

I study her, the way her thumbnail taps against the table, restless, and I want to tell her just how much the news does to me. How it makes my chest tight in a way I'm not used to. But right beneath that heat sits frustration, a coil of it low in my gut. I'm locked up in here, counting time in concrete shadows, and she's out there with a war breathing down our necks. This? This just made it messier.

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a folded piece of paper, sets it between us like contraband. "I went to the clinic and they confirmed it."

I pick it up carefully. It's light but it feels heavy in my hand, Jaycee's name in the top corner, a blurry little blob circled in pen with an arrow drawn toward it. My throat goes dry. "Well, Peaches," I murmur, keeping my voice low, "this is quite a predicament, you know that, right?"

Her chin wobbles, but her voice doesn't. "If you want to call this whole thing off, I'd understand."

I look at her, really look, and for a second I picture doing it, telling her to pack her shit, leave my house, cut this whole thing clean. But then I remember the way she felt pressed against me earlier, her hand trembling when I held it, the way her heart beats louder than she thinks I can hear.

And I can't. I won't.

What I can't stop thinking about is Juicy boy.

Where do I even start with him? Those eyes, wide and wet, always giving away more than he wants. That mouth, soft when he's quiet, quick when he's angry. And yeah, his body, too, coiled tension and bruised heat. I've had him under me, had him crying into my shoulder after Bobby's death, and somewhere along the way, the line blurred. Didn't think he'd lean into it like he has. Didn't think I would, either.